A Yacht Voyage to Norway, Denmark, and Sweden Part 14

"Thank you," I replied; "I want some dinner; but I cannot make this girl understand me."

"I not English," answered the man, "and I not speak te Swedish. I am Russian. I alway make sign for tings I wish."

"And so do I," I said; "but in this case I am quite at a loss what to do."

"You want dinner, Sir? When I want dinner," replied the Russian, "I alway say, 'food,' vitch is, 'foda,' and put my finger down my mout; and if tey not know what I mean by 'foda,' I say, 'kott,' vitch is meat."

"That's a capital plan; but, you see, I could not adopt it, for I never heard of 'Foda' and 'Kott' before."

"Ha! Sir," exclaimed the Russian, "I alway find out te word for 'eat' in every country. I travel much. I starve if I not know. What shall I help for you?"

"Why--I will have some dinner," I said; "anything I can get--I don't care what it may be."

"Good," answered the Russian; and, turning to the girl, who had remained listening to our dialogue, but totally at a loss to imagine its drift,

"Kott! kott!" he exclaimed.

"Visserligen," said the girl, and walked away with her tall coffee-pot and tray; but, stopping when she had reached the door, she looked back as if some other idea, which she had altogether forgotten, suddenly presented itself to her mind, and she asked,

"Farkott?"

The little Russian understood her directly, and told me she desired to know if I would have some 'farkott,' mutton. I undertook the task of answering for myself, and exclaimed aloud, with striking brevity,

"Ja."

My pretty Hebe laughed outright, and left the apartment to seek the mutton.

In ten minutes she reappeared smiling; and brought me not only what I asked for, but three or four potatoes in the bargain. I pointed to them.

Nodding her head, as if she understood I meant to say "How kind of you to bring those too," she said,

"Goot."

"Ja; manga goot," I answered in a dialect of my own. She hurried away laughing heartily; but did not forget to glance at me over her shoulder as she pa.s.sed out of the room.

Crossing, on my way home, a bridge which is thrown over one of the many ca.n.a.ls that intersect Gottenborg in all quarters, I stumbled against an old watchman. In one hand he held the formidable "Morning Star," or truncheon, and in the other hand an implement of chastis.e.m.e.nt, of which I could make out no decisive cla.s.sification, at least, so I fancied; and, led away by that fancy, I drew near to the unsleeping Swede. I requested him, as courteously and distinctly as I possibly could in tattered English and with original signs, that he would permit me to take a bird's-eye view of the instrument. It was a stick four or five yards in length, to the end of which two pieces of iron were attached in the shape of a heart. The implement may be drawn thus:

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Suppose Charley finds cause that a thief, who may be rather swifter of foot than himself, should be taken into custody: he proceeds after the following fashion. The instrument is seized hold of in the right hand, or both hands, firmly, at the end A, and, giving the stick the full benefit of his arm's length, the watchman runs along in the purloiner's wake. Having approached sufficiently near to guarantee a certainty of success, he thrusts the ingenious instrument either at the calves, or neck of the flying thief; and the point B coming in contact with the calf, or the nape of the neck, opens, and admits the leg, or head into the centre C, and the sides D and E, being elastic, instantly close again, the centre C being adapted to fit a man's neck, or leg, and no more. The most careless reader may easily perceive the relative positions of the guardian and the breaker of the Law, when the former is at the extremity A, the latter in the centre C, and the advantage one has obtained, without risk of injury to himself, of throwing the other to the ground, should he prove restive. The watchman was as much amused by observing me, as I was by scrutinizing his wand of office.

On Monday morning I was present at a review of the Horse Artillery. The men went through their various evolutions, loading and discharging their guns without ball or powder, by applying a walking-cane, in lieu of a fusee, to the touch-hole, and, then, shouting aloud to imitate the report of cannon.

At the upper part of the town of Gottenborg is a road, curving like a crescent, sheltered on each side by trees, growing at equal distances from one another, under the shade of which are benches where the traveller may rest when tired, and enjoy the cool air, perfumed, as it sometimes is, with the pleasant odour of flowers abounding in the nursery gardens on either side of the road.

The noon of day had come with intense sultriness, and, feeling fatigued, I walked towards this shady grove, with the intention of pa.s.sing an hour there, in the full enjoyment of my own thoughts, or in listening to any zephyr which might be sighing among the young leaves of the elm and cherry. Between the trunks of the trees I saw the stooping figure of a man creeping slowly, by the aid of a stick, under the thickly leaved boughs. He was dressed much after the manner of some of our English farmers, with knee breeches, white stockings, and shoes fastened over the instep with a large silver buckle. A short drab coat, and a scarlet felt hat, something like a cardinal's, with large flaps, completed his costume. After a while the man crawled, rather than walked, towards one of the benches, and sat down.

He was apparently seventy, or eighty years of age. His long, silvered hair strayed down over the collar of his coat; and the soft languor of his light blue eye imparted a sad impression to his countenance, which, when he was young, must have been eminently handsome. He smiled as I approached, and seemed desirous that I should take a seat by his side, for he moved nearer to the end of the bench to make more room. The day being hot, as I have said, I received the hint, hoping by doing so to find entertainment, at least, and, perhaps, information. Soon as I had taken my seat the old man touched his hat, and bowed low as his infirmities would permit, and,

"Hur mr Herren?" he said. Knowing sufficient of the Swedish language to understand that he asked me how I was, I answered in the same tongue, and, in compliment to himself,

"Bra, Gud ske lf;" which four words I intended should intimate my grat.i.tude to Heaven that I was well. The old man appeared pleased, that I should make reply to him in Swedish, and no doubt deemed me no deficient linguist; for, observing my eyes were wandering over the beautiful landscape, undulating with corn-fields, and terminating by gentle hills clothed with the beech and elm, he ventured to say,

"Det ar ett vackert land."

I knew he alluded to the pretty appearance of the country; but I was anxious to inform him that I did not understand the Swedish language sufficiently well to carry on a conversation, and, at the same time, to fall as decently as possible from the height on which I had placed myself by the grammatical answer I had previously given, and which I had accidentally learned by listening to the salutations and ordinary replies of our pilots. I therefore curtly said,

"Ja."

A light seemed to stream across the old man's expressive features, and he asked, leaning forward to catch my words, whence I had come;

"Hvarifrn kommer Ni?"

"Jag kommer frn England," I answered.

The old man rose from his seat, and said, in tolerable English, that he was glad to see me, (at which I was also delighted) and then begged, like all the inhabitants of Northern Europe, that I would shake hands with him. I did so, and taking my hand in his, he clapsed it firmer than I imagined he could, and looked into my face.

"You are not French?" he observed inquiringly.

"I am not."

"Then I am glad," and he pressed my hand again; then letting it drop, continued:

"I speak English, sir, but badly; and, yet, I always address an Englishman, and read an English book when I can get it, and, this one, in particular;" holding up to my view an old black book I had not observed.

"May I see it?" I said, and, taking the volume from his hand, a Bible fell open at the 8th chapter of Solomon's song. These two verses were marked by a line being drawn down the margin.

"Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for Love is strong as death; Jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame. Many waters cannot quench Love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for Love, it would utterly be contemned."

"You read, sir?" he said interrogatively; and, putting on his spectacles, glanced over my shoulder.

"Ah! sir, fifty-eight years ago, I was young like you, and it was then I noted those two verses. You are young," he continued, "and perhaps have loved."

"No," I replied; "Heaven has not given me the opportunity of partic.i.p.ating in one of its most essential blessings."

"Then, sir, Heaven has blessed you," he said. "I am old, you see; but I am alone in the world. Love has made me solitary." He sighed.

The old man seemed overcome with grief, and, desirous though I now was to hear his story, I dreaded to renew a sorrow, the intensity of which Time had not lessened. He drew forth in silence from his bosom, a miniature, suspended from his neck by a black ribbon, and with shaking hands he touched a spring, and held it unclapsed before me. It was the likeness of a girl about seventeen years of age. A loose robe partially covered her shoulders, and, the elbows resting on a kind of slab, her right cheek was cradled on the back of the left hand, the fingers of which touched her throat; and she looked, with laughing, light blue eyes, over her left shoulder. Her hair, parted slightly on one side, cl.u.s.tered in ringlets above a full, fair forehead; while a melancholy expression about her small, compressed mouth seemed to counteract the joyousness of the upper part of her countenance. The resemblance to the old man was striking.

"Sixty years ago, sir, I first saw that face, and it is as fresh in my memory as if I had only seen it yesterday. It was a face once to look on, to dream of for ever."

"It is very beautiful," I said, still gazing on the picture. "Was she your daughter?"

"Oh! no, sir, no. Would to G.o.d she had been!" the old man mournfully replied. "When, sir, I first saw that fair young creature, I was eighteen years of age, and she might have been seventeen. Endeavouring in vain to suppress the emotions which her beauty and amiable temper caused in my heart, I ventured one day to tell the father of Thora Rensel, for that was her name, the love I bore his daughter. Eric Rensel listened; and, when I had told my tale in words as fervent as my feelings, he replied, 'Engelbert Carlson, my daughter's hand is uncontrolled as her heart; win the girl's affections, and I will not stand in the way of your union.' I thanked Rensel with a grateful heart, and went forth to seek Thora.

"Do you see yonder hill?" said my narrator, pointing in the direction of a hill skirting some corn-fields before us; "there, close to that clump of elm-trees, stood Eric Rensel's cottage. Descending that hill, I met Thora, returning homewards, laden with a little basket full of fruit and flowers. She smiled when she observed me, and held out her hand, as she always did, in token of friendship. I hastened towards her, and, seizing the offered hand, pressed it warmly, and would have raised it to my lips, but I had not the courage.

"'Are you not well, Engelbert?'" she said, in a gentle tone, "'for your hand trembles;'" and she took hold of my hand with both of hers, and looked round inquiringly into my averted face.

"'Yes, Thora,'" I replied; "'I am ill at heart, and I can find relief nowhere else but when I am near to you. I have endeavoured for the many months since I have known you, to hide my grief, or forget my pain; but the more I have exerted myself to do so, the keener felt my sorrow, and deeper still I probed the wound.'