Larsa

“ It was probably Gungunu who succeeded in transferring the capital of Babylonia from Isin to Ur, but his place in the dynasty (or dynasties) is still uncertain. One of his successors was Ur-Gur, a great builder, who built or restored the temples of the Moon-god at Ur, of the Sun-god at Larsa, of Ishtar at Erech and of Bel at Nippur. His son and successor was Dungi, whose reign lasted more than 51 years, and among whose vassals was Gudea, the patesi or high-priest of Lagash. ”

“ They must be very valuable to have been put away in a safe, and the key to which to be of so much importance. Perhaps a thought of blackmail occurred to him as a useful possibility in helping him in his designs on Mademoiselle Stangerson. He quickly made a parcel of the papers and took it to the lavatory in the vestibule. Between the time of his first examination of the pavilion and the night of the murder of the keeper, Larsan had had time to find out what those papers contained. He could do nothing with them, and they were rather compromising. That night he took them back to the château. ”

“ Four were to sail; one was Tim Bell. He, too, had some one to wave a special good-by—Sigrid.
“See,” Lars's mother whispered, poking his shins with her stick, “she watches you while she talks to him! Say something pretty to make her remember you; bring her a present from the city. Her tongue is for him, but her eyes are for you—and a girl's heart is in her eyes.” ”

“ SIGRID had grown up in a springtime, as girls of the open often develop. One week Lars had thought her just a child of Petit Blanc, working about her father's house, in the evening playing on the white beach with the other children; one of the several of negligible age to whom he waved his hand at rare intervals when he put out into the lake, and who, at other times, he told gruffly to go away from where he worked on shore. But the next time he noticed the girl—ah, she had become a woman! Not one to wave the hand at, not one to order out of his way. ”

“ It was to no purpose that Lars showed him the drop of blood on the rude whittled arrow; he insisted that the feather was the Prince’s, and that Lars was a thief and a robber. But Lars was not to be frightened even at that. He stuck to his story and refused to give up the feather.
“Well, then,” said the King, with a wicked grin, “we’ll say that it is yours. But in that case you must be prepared to prove it. When you bring me the golden hen, from whose tail this feather has been shot, then I’ll admit that it is yours. But if you fail, you will be burned alive in a barrel of tar.” ”

“ But he was Lars, Lars the unthinking, and he could deal only with those things which, to him, were essential. Just now life and the safety of his cargo were secondary matters. He had forgotten his torture at the girl's whims. He remembered only that he loved her, just as he had loved her even while Tim Bell loved her. Only then it had been a forlorn love and now it was leavened by hope. He had learned how to hold a woman's love. That was what made him put aside fear of the lake, the blizzard, thought of his single-handedness, as inconsequential trifles! ”

“ When he had finished, the great audience sat spellbound, while Lars shuffled off behind the stage. Then the people jumped to their feet. Men shouted, women wept; never had they heard such wonderful music.
241 Men gave Lars so much gold that he was dazzled and wondered what he would do with it all. But he did not forget the old folks, and a good part of his gold found its bright way to the cottage in the far northern country. If he did forget sometimes there was always the shoes to remind him, and Lars wore them constantly and lovingly. ”

“ Lars stared dumbly at his plate.
“His talk is wasted wind,” he growled. “It does not make him a good worker; it will not feed a woman. I am a good fisherman. I will give her a good home.”
“Tell her about it, then! Tell the same thing in sixty ways!” his mother shrilled, old eyes dancing. “You think all the time of work and sleep; you are unthinking about the things that make girls' hearts light; you are always long-faced, like a sick old man. You should laugh and joke and be silly!”
“Foolishness won't put bread in our bellies,” he scoffed.
“No, but it'll put Sigrid's babies in your cradle. ”

“ Goodness and kindness were shining from her features, and Lars was filled with such ineffable Joy at the mere sight of her that he forgot all about the hen and the barrel of tar, and his playmate the Prince, and the fox’s warning. He did not know that this was her great charm—every one who looked upon her was instantly filled with gladness unspeakable. Sorrow, and care, and malice, and hatred instantly fled from the heart of every one who came into her presence. No wonder Lars couldn’t think of hens, when he had so lovely a creature to look upon. ”

“ A few days after he had the answer from Olle in Säby, he sent his servant to fiddler Lars Larsson, who lived at the game lodge in Ullerud parish. Lars Larsson was a well-to-do man who owned a fine farm. He was sensible and considerate and no hotspur, like the other musicians. But Lars Larsson, like the others, at once thought of Jan Öster, and asked how it happened that he was not to play at the wedding. ”

“ He did not think of his slim chance of life, of the improbability of being able to pull the Elsa through, nor of the island village back somewhere in the lake; he was seeing again the light of eager anticipation in a girl's face as she gazed into Tim Bell's beady eyes when he promised with bravado to grant the useless, precious trifle for which he had encouraged her to wish. Most men, had they confronted the situation Lars had faced through those months, would have put her from their minds long ago ”

“ He was stable-boy when I was housemaid at the major's. My lady was sitting in the carriage one day, and Lars—we called him Lars then—was standing holding the horses. My lady had sent the coachman in for his cape, for it was getting cold—just like her. The horses took fright at a travelling music-man who came along, and must begin just then to play. Off they started full run, dragging Lars, who hung on to the reins until they stopped. ”

“ He fancied the large pine roots began to gesticulate, as if they were threatening him. "Beware, you who think yourself cleverer than the Water-Sprite!" it seemed as if they wanted to say.
Lars Larsson felt how his heart contracted with dread. A heavy weight bore down upon his chest, so that he could scarcely breathe, and his hands became ice-cold. Then he stopped in the middle of the wood and tried to talk sense to himself.
"Why, there's no musician in the waterfall!" said he. "Such things are only superstition and nonsense! ”

“ Lars had mounted a table, that every one might see what he had to offer, and from this point of vantage he soon discovered that the newly created emperor, who lived in the little hut close to Falla and had been a day labourer all his life, moved about in the crowd. Lars saw him bowing and smiling to right and left, and letting people examine his stars and his stick, and, at every turn, he had a long line of youngsters at his heels. Nor were older folks above bandying words with him. No wonder the auction went badly, with a grand monarch like him there to draw every one's attention to himself! ”

“ The big Dane's glances never frightened her the way this man's did; but his talk did not thrill her, either. Tim Bell's attentions came somewhere near answering the yearning set in her heart by her knowledge of luxuries and of the young lover's constant concern for the lawyer's daughter; unnecessary, yet so precious!
Lars was slow to comprehend. His mother saw, though, and warned him curtly.
“But why?” he asked, surprised into accented speech. “He is little and weak; he's not a good fisherman, even!”
His old mother laughed deprecatingly and answered in their tongue:
“She has got notions. ”

“ In America he is a saint and an apostle. In Europe he is known but as a proscribed murderer. The later scenes, where Lars, accompanied by his true and tender wife, meets his old love, his neighbors, and his rival restored to life, are of a more ambitious character than any that have preceded. The holy principles imbibed on the shores of Delaware are made to triumph, and Lars, dropping the sharp blade from his hand in the thronged arena whither he is forced once more, stands first as a laughing-stock, and then as an apostle, among his old neighbors. ”

“ Then, as he strained against the wheel to hold the distressed schooner on what he hoped was her course, his slippery footing gave and he floundered heavily to regain uprightness and keep his stiff hands in control of the reluctant steering-rig.
Bell made no response; Lars added nothing.
Each time the Elsa, caught off her poise, failed to rise to the heave of the lake and shoved her ugly snout into the swift gray seas, she came up more slowly, for the ice accumulated that fast. ”

“ No word or token had he received from the great Empress, the little girl of Ruffluck, since the day Lars wrested from him his majesty and glory. He felt that such a thing could never have happened without her sanction, and inferred from this that he had done something to incur her displeasure; but what he could not imagine! He had brooded over this all through the long winter evenings; through the long dark mornings, when threshing in the barn at Falla; through the short days, when carting wood from the big forest. ”

“ Now, to be burned alive in a barrel of tar is not a pleasant thing; and Lars, when he heard that such a fate was in store for him, wished he had never seen the golden feather. But it would be disgraceful to back down now, so he accepted the terms, stuffed into his luncheon-bag a leg of smoked mutton and a dozen loaves of bread, which the cook at the castle gave him, and started on his journey. But the question now arose, where should he go? Golden hens were not such everyday affairs that he might expect to find them in any barn-yard. ”

“ Once only did it seem to go badly for Lars, and that was at Sven Österby's, at Bergvik. There was a fine big house, with all its furnishings up for sale. Many people had assembled, and though late in the autumn the weather was so mild that the auction could be held out of doors; yet the sales were almost negligible. Lars could not make the people take any interest in the wares, or get them to bid. It looked as though it would go no better for him than it had gone for Jöns of Kisterud the day Lars had to take up the hammer to help him out. ”

“ But here both his tears and his happy imaginings ceased, for out of a tavern at the top of the street came Father Lasse’s own living self. He looked in excellent spirits and held a bottle in his hand.
“Danish brandy, laddie!” he cried, waving the bottle. “Hats off to the Danish brandy! But what have you been crying for? Oh, you were afraid? And why were you afraid? Isn’t your father’s name Lasse—Lasse Karlsson from Kungstorp? And he’s not one to quarrel with; he hits hard, he does, when he’s provoked. To come and frighten good little boys! They’d better look out! ”

“ He got away with the loss of his sword, his pistols, and his gloves. “I will remember you with a crust that shall do for your bairns too,” he promised one of his rescuers, a stout peasant lad, and he kept his word. Thomas Larssön’s descendants a generation ago still tilled the farm the King gave him. When the trouble with Denmark was over for the time being, he settled old scores with Russia and Poland in a way that left Sweden mistress of the Baltic. In the Polish war he was wounded twice and was repeatedly in peril of his life. ”

“ It was Knud Aakre.
When Lars regained his consciousness, he was lying outside in a bleak wind, which chilled his limbs. There was not a soul with him; he saw the flaming gard to the left; around him his cattle were grazing and making their voices heard; the sheep were huddled together in a frightened flock; the household goods were scattered about, and when he looked again he [245] saw some one sitting on a knoll close by, weeping. It was his wife. He called her by name. She started.
"The Lord Jesus be praised that you are alive!" ”

“ Not a solitary person made a move to help him, but there were some who laughed. Now they had all gone over to Lars's side. There was just one individual who seemed to feel sorry for Jan. A woman cried out to the auctioneer:
"Ah, Lars, let him keep his royal trumpery! The cap and stick are of no use to you."
"I'll give him one of my own caps, when I get home," returned Lars. "But I'll be hanged if I let him go about any longer with these heirlooms, making of them a target for jests!" ”

“ Then Maria corked the bottle. “Do you even grudge us our food?” he said, making great eyes at her—what a rogue he was! And Maria stared at him with eyes that were just as big, and said: “Yah! you want to fight, do you?” It quite warmed Lasse’s heart to see their happiness.
“How’s the farmer at Stone Farm? I suppose he’s got over the worst now, hasn’t he?” said Kalle.
“Well, I think he’s as much a man as he’ll ever be. A thing like that leaves its mark upon any one,” answered Lasse. Maria was smiling, and as soon as they looked at her, she looked away. ”

“ Then Lars found himself winding his arms in the wheel to stay on deck and felt the schooner righting drunkenly, and in a queer, detached way took up the fight for his life and the schooner's life and the safety of the cargo which meant so much to the fishing people back there on Petit Blanc; and as he let his weight fall on the slippery spokes he called aloud the name of the girl: “Sigrid! ... Sig ...” ”