THE WAIF OF THE "CYNTHIA."
By
Jules Verne and André Laurie
Copyrighted 1885 by George Munro--
Entered at the Post Office at New York
at second class rates--
Jan. 6, 1886
Rand McNally edition, published Feb. 1888
325 pages printed on fine paper beautifully illustrated
with handsome illuminated and embossed covers.
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THE WAIF OF THE "CYNTHIA."
CHAPTER I.
MR. MALARIUS' FRIEND.
There is probably neither in Europe nor anywhere else a scholar whose
face is more universally known than that of Dr. Schwaryencrona, of
Stockholm. His portrait appears on the millions of bottles with green
seals, which are sent to the confines of the globe.
Truth compels us to state that these bottles only contain cod liver oil,
a good and useful medicine; which is sold to the inhabitants of Norway
for a "couronnes," which is worth one franc and thirty-nine centimes.
Formerly this oil was made by the fishermen, but now the process is a
more scientific one, and the prince of this special industry is the
celebrated Dr. Schwaryencrona.
There is no one who has not seen his pointed beard, his spectacles, his
hooked nose, and his cap of otter skin. The engraving, perhaps, is not
very fine, but it is certainly a striking likeness. A proof of this is
what happened one day in a primary school in Noroe, on the western coast
of Norway, a few leagues from Bergen.
Two o'clock had struck. The pupils were in their classes in the large,
sanded hall--the girls on the left and the boys on the right--occupied
in following the demonstration which their teacher, Mr. Malarius, was
making on the black-board. Suddenly the door opened, and a fur coat, fur
boots, fur gloves, and a cap of otter, made their appearance on the
threshold.
The pupils immediately rose respectfully, as is usual when a stranger
visits the class-room. None of them had ever seen the new arrival
before, but they all whispered when they saw him, "Doctor
Schwaryencrona," so much did the picture engraved on the bottles
resemble the doctor.
We must say that the pupils of Mr. Malarius had the bottles continually
before their eyes, for one of the principal manufactories of the doctor
was at Noroe. But for many years the learned man had not visited that
place, and none of the children consequently could have beheld him in
the flesh. In imagination it was another matter, for they often spoke of
him in Noroe, and his ears must have often tingled, if the popular
belief has any foundation. Be this as it may, his recognition was
unanimous, and a triumph for the unknown artist who had drawn his
portrait--a triumph of which this modest artist might justly be proud,
and of which more than one photographer in the world might well be
jealous.
But what astonished and disappointed the pupils a little was to discover
that the doctor was a man below the ordinary height, and not the giant
which they had imagined him to be. How could such an illustrious man be
satisfied with a height of only five feet three inches? His gray head
hardly reached the shoulder of Mr. Malarius, and he was already stooping
with age. He was also much thinner than the doctor, which made him
appear twice as tall. His large brown overcoat, to which long use had
given a greenish tint, hung loosely around him; he wore short breeches
and shoes with buckles, and from beneath his black silk cap a few gray
locks had made their escape. His rosy cheeks and smiling countenance
gave an expression of great sweetness to his face. He also wore
spectacles, through which he did not cast piercing glances like the
doctor, but through them his blue eyes shone with inexhaustible
benevolence.
In the memory of his pupils Mr. Malarius had never punished a scholar.
But, nevertheless, they all respected him, and loved him. He had a brave
soul, and all the world knew it very well. They were not ignorant of the
fact that in his youth he had passed brilliant examinations, and that he
had been offered a professorship in a great university, where he might
have attained to honor and wealth. But he had a sister, poor Kristina,
who was always ill and suffering. She would not have left her native
village for the world, for she felt sure that she would die if they
removed to the city. So Mr. Malarius had submitted gently to her wishes,
and sacrificed his own prospects. He had accepted the humble duty of the
village school-master, and when twenty years afterward Kristina had
died, blessing him, he had become accustomed to his obscure and retired
life, and did not care to change it. He was absorbed in his work, and
forgot the world. He found a supreme pleasure in becoming a model
instructor, and in having the best-conducted school in his country.
Above all, he liked to instruct his best pupils in the higher branches,
to initiate them into scientific studies, and in ancient and modern
literature, and give them the information which is usually the portion
of the higher classes, and not bestowed upon the children of fishermen
and peasants.
"What is good for one class, is good for the other," he argued. "If the
poor have not as many comforts, that is no reason why they should be
denied an acquaintance with Homer and Shakespeare; the names of the
stars which guide them across the ocean, or of the plants which grow on
the earth. They will soon see them laid low by their ploughs, but in
their infancy at least they will have drunk from pure sources, and
participated in the common patrimony of mankind." In more than one
country this system would have been thought imprudent, and calculated to
disgust the lowly with their humble lot in life, and lead them to wander
away in search of adventures. But in Norway nobody thinks of these
things. The patriarchal sweetness of their dispositions, the distance
between the villages, and the laborious habits of the people, seem to
remove all danger of this kind. This higher instruction is more frequent
than a stranger would believe to be possible. Nowhere is education more
generally diffused, and nowhere is it carried so high; as well in the
poorest rural schools, as in the colleges.
Therefore the Scandinavian Peninsula may flatter herself, that she has
produced more learned and distinguished men in proportion to her
population, than any other region of Europe. The traveler is constantly
astonished by the contrast between the wild and savage aspect of nature,
and the manufactures, and works of art, which represent the most refined
civilization.
But perhaps it is time for us to return to Noroe, and Dr.
Schwaryencrona, whom we have left on the threshold of the school. If the
pupils had been quick to recognize him, although they had never seen him
before, it had been different with the instructor, whose acquaintance
with him dated further back.
"Ah! good-day, my dear Malarius!" said the visitor cordially, advancing
with outstretched hands toward the school-master.
"Sir! you are very welcome," answered the latter, a little surprised,
and somewhat timidly, as is customary with all men who have lived
secluded lives; and are interrupted in the midst of their duties. "But
excuse me if I ask whom I have the honor of--"
"What! Have I changed so much since we ran together over the snow, and
smoked our long pipes at Christiania; have you forgotten our Krauss
boarding-house, and must I name your comrade and friend?"
"Schwaryencrona!" cried Mr. Malarius. "Is it possible.--Is it really
you.--Is it the doctor?"
"Oh! I beg of you, omit all ceremony. I am your old friend Roff, and you
are my brave Olaf, the best, the dearest friend of my youth. Yes, I know
you well. We have both changed a little in thirty years; but our hearts
are still young, and we have always kept a little corner in them for
those whom we learned to love, when we were students, and eat our dry
bread side by side."
The doctor laughed, and squeezed the hands of Mr. Malarius, whose eyes
were moist.
"My dear friend, my good excellent doctor, you must not stay here," said
he; "I will give all these youngsters a holiday, for which they will not
be sorry, I assure you, and then you must go home with me."
"Not at all!" declared the doctor, turning toward the pupils who were
watching this scene with lively interest. "I must neither interfere with
your work, nor the studies of these youths. If you wish to give me great
pleasure, you will permit me to sit here near you, while you resume your
teaching."
"I would willingly do so," answered Mr. Malarius, "but to tell you the
truth, I have no longer any heart for geometry; besides, having
mentioned a holiday, I do not like to disappoint the children. There is
one way of arranging the matter however. If Doctor Schwaryencrona would
deign to do my pupils the honor of questioning them about their studies,
and then I will dismiss them for the rest of the day."
"An excellent idea. I shall be only too happy to do so. I will become
their examiner."
Then taking the master's seat, he addressed the school:
"Tell me," asked the doctor, "who is the best pupil?"
"Erik Hersebom!" answered fifty youthful voices unhesitatingly.
"Ah! Erik Hersebom. Well, Erik, will you come here?"
A young boy, about twelve years of age, who was seated on the front row
of benches, approached his chair. He was a grave, serious-looking child,
whose pensive cast of countenance, and large deep set eyes, would have
attracted attention anywhere, and he was the more remarkable, because of
the blonde heads by which he was surrounded. While all his companions of
both sexes had hair the color of flax, rosy complexions, and blue eyes,
his hair was of deep chestnut color, like his eyes, and his skin was
brown. He had not the prominent cheek bones, the short nose, and the
stout frame of these Scandinavian children. In a word, by his physical
characteristics so plainly marked, it was evident that he did not belong
to the race by whom he was surrounded.
He was clothed like them in the coarse cloth of the country, made in the
style common among the peasantry of Bergen; but the delicacy of his
limbs, the smallness of his head, the easy elegance of his poise, and
the natural gracefulness of his movements and attitudes, all seemed to
denote a foreign origin.
No physiologist could have helped being struck at once by these
peculiarities, and such was the case with Dr. Schwaryencrona.
However, he had no motive for calling attention to these facts, and he
simply proceeded to fulfill the duty which he had undertaken.
"Where shall we begin--with grammar?" he asked the young lad.
"I am at the command of the doctor," answered Erik, modestly.
The doctor then gave him two or three simple questions, but was
astonished to hear him answer them, not only in the Swedish language,
but also in French and English. It was the usual custom of Mr. Malarius,
who contended that it was as easy to learn three languages at once as it
was to learn only one.
"You teach them French and English then?" said the doctor, turning
toward his friend.
"Why not? also the elements of Greek and Latin. I do not see what harm
it can do them."
"Nor I," said the doctor, laughing, and Erik Hersebom translated several
sentences very correctly.
In one of the sentences, reference was made to the hemlock drunk by
Socrates, and Mr. Malarius asked the doctor to question him as to the
family which this plant belonged to.
Erik answered without hesitation "that it was one of the family of
umbelliferous plants," and described them in detail.
From botany they passed to geometry, and Erik demonstrated clearly a
theorem relative to the sum of the angles of a triangle.
The doctor became every moment more and more surprised.
"Let us have a little talk about geography," he said. "What sea is it
which bounds Scandinavia, Russia and Siberia on the north?"
"It is the Arctic Ocean."
"And what waters does this ocean communicate with?"
"The Atlantic on the west, and the Pacific on the east."
"Can you name two or three of the most important seaports on the
Pacific?"
"I can mention Yokohama, in Japan; Melbourne, in Australia; San
Francisco, in the State of California."
"Well, since the Arctic Ocean communicates on one side with the
Atlantic, and on the other with the Pacific, do you not think that the
shortest route to Yokohama or San Francisco would be through this Arctic
Ocean?"
"Assuredly," answered Erik, "it would be the shortest way, if it were
practicable, but all navigators who have attempted to follow it have
been prevented by ice, and been compelled to renounce the enterprise,
when they have escaped death."
"Have they often attempted to discover the north-east passage?"
"At least fifty times during the last three centuries, but without
success."
"Could you mention a few of the expeditions?"
"The first was organized in 1523, under the direction of Franois
Sebastian Cabot. It consisted of three vessels under the command of the
unfortunate Sir Hugh Willoughby, who perished in Lapland, with all his
crew. One of his lieutenants, Chancellor, was at first successful, and
opened a direct route through the Polar Sea. But he also, while making a
second attempt, was shipwrecked, and perished. A captain, Stephen
Borough, who was sent in search of him, succeeded in making his way
through the strait which separates Nova Zembla from the Island of
Waigate and in penetrating into the Sea of Kara. But the fog and ice
prevented him from going any further.
"Two expeditions which were sent out in 1580 were equally unsuccessful.
The project was nevertheless revived by the Hollanders about fifteen
years later, and they fitted out, successively, three expeditions, under
the command of Barentz.
"In 1596, Barentz also perished, in the ice of Nova Zembla.
"Ten years later Henry Hudson was sent out, but also failed.
"The Danes were not more successful in 1653.
"In 1676, Captain John Wood was also shipwrecked. Since that period the
north-east passage has been considered impracticable, and abandoned by
the maritime powers."
"Has it never been attempted since that epoch?"
"It has been by Russia, to whom it would be of immense advantage, as
well as to all the northern nations, to find a direct route between her
shores and Siberia. She has sent out during a century no less than
eighteen expeditions to explore the coasts of Nova Zembla, the Sea of
Kara, and the eastern and western coasts of Siberia. But, although these
expeditions have made these places better known, they have also
demonstrated the impossibility of forcing a passage through the Arctic
Ocean. The academician Van Baer, who made the last attempt in 1837,
after Admiral Lutke and Pachtusow, declared emphatically that this ocean
is simply a glacier, as impracticable for vessels as it would be if it
were a continent."
"Must we, then, renounce all hopes of discovering a north-east passage?"
"That seems to be the conclusion which we must arrive at, from the
failure of these numerous attempts. It is said, however, that a great
navigator, named Nordenskiold, wishes to make another attempt, after he
has prepared himself by first exploring portions of this polar sea. If
he then considers it practicable, he may get up another expedition."
Dr. Schwaryencrona was a warm admirer of Nordenskiold, and this is why
he had asked these questions about the north-east passage. He was
charmed with the clearness of these answers.
He fixed his eyes on Erik Hersebom, with an expression of the deepest
interest.
"Where did you learn all this, my dear child?" he demanded, after a
short silence.
"Here, sir," answered Erik, surprised at the question.
"You have never studied in any other school?"
"Certainly not."
"Mr. Malarius may be proud of you, then," said the doctor, turning
toward the master.
"I am very well satisfied with Erik," said the latter.
"He has been my pupil for eight years. When I first took him he was very
young, and he has always been at the head of his section."
The doctor became silent. His piercing eyes were fixed upon Erik, with a
singular intensity. He seemed to be considering some problem, which it
would not be wise to mention.
"He could not have answered my question better and I think it useless to
continue the examination," he said at last. "I will no longer delay your
holiday, my children, and since Mr. Malarius desires it, we will stop
for to-day."
At these words, the master clapped his hands. All the pupils rose at
once, collected their books, and arranged themselves in four lines, in
the empty spaces between the benches.
Mr. Malarias clapped his hands a second time. The column started, and
marched out, keeping step with military precision.
At a third signal they broke their ranks, and took to flight with joyous
cries.
In a few seconds they were scattered around the blue waters of the
fiord, where might be seen also the turf roofs of the village of Noroe.
CHAPTER II.
THE HOME OF A FISHERMAN IN NOROE.
The house of Mr. Hersebom was, like all others in Noroe, covered by a
turf roof, and built of enormous timbers of fir-trees, in the
Scandinavian fashion. The two large rooms were separated by a hall in
the center, which led to the boat-house where the canoes were kept. Here
were also to be seen the fishing-tackle and the codfish, which they dry
and sell. These two rooms were used both as living-rooms and bedrooms.
They had a sort of wooden drawer let into the wall, with its mattress
and skins, which serve for beds, and are only to be seen at night. This
arrangement for sleeping, with the bright panels, and the large open
fire-place, where a blazing fire of wood was always kept burning, gave
to the interior of the most humble homes an appearance of neatness and
domestic luxury unknown to the peasantry of Southern Europe.
This evening all the family were gathered round the fire-place, where a
huge kettle was boiling, containing "sillsallat," or smoked herring,
salmon and potatoes.
Mr. Hersebom, seated in a high wooden chair, was making a net, which was
his usual occupation when he was not on the sea, or drying his fish. He
was a hardy fisherman, whose skin had been bronzed by exposure to the
arctic breezes, and his hair was gray, although he was still in the
prime of life. His son Otto, a great boy, fourteen years old, who bore a
strong resemblance to him, and who was destined to also become famous as
a fisherman, sat near him. At present he was occupied in solving the
mysteries of the rule of three, covering a little slate with figures,
although his large hands looked as if they would be much more at home
handling the oars.
Erik, seated before the dining-table, was absorbed in a Volume of
history that Mr. Malarius had lent him. Katrina, Hersebom, the goodwife,
was occupied peacefully with her spinning-wheel, while little Vanda, a
blonde of ten years, was seated on a stool, knitting a large stocking
with red wool.
At their feet a large dog of a yellowish-white color, with wool as thick
as that of a sheep, lay curled up sound asleep.
For more than one hour the silence had been unbroken, and the copper
lamp suspended over their heads, and filled with fish oil, lighted
softly this tranquil interior.
To tell the truth, the silence became oppressive to Dame Katrina, who
for some moments had betrayed the desire of unloosing her tongue.
At last she could keep quiet no longer.
"You have worked long enough for to-night," she said, "it is time to lay
the cloth for supper."
Without a word of expostulation. Erik lifted his large book, and seated
himself nearer the fire-place, whilst Vanda laid aside her knitting, and
going to the buffet brought out the plates and spoons.
"Did you say, Otto," asked the little girl, "that our Erik answered the
doctor very well?"
"Very well, indeed," said Otto enthusiastically, "he talked like a book
in fact. I do not know where he learned it all. The more questions the
doctor asked the more he had to answer. The words came and came. Mr.
Malarius was well satisfied with him."
"I am also," said Vanda, gravely.
"Oh, we were all well pleased. If you could have seen, mother, how the
children all listened, with their mouths open. We were only afraid that
our turn would come. But Erik was not afraid, and answered the doctor as
he would have answered the master."
"Stop. Mr. Malarius is as good as the doctor, and quite as learned,"
cried Erik, whom their praises seemed to annoy.
The old fisherman gave him an approving smile.
"You are right, little boy," he said; "Mr. Malarius, if he chose, could
be the superior of all the doctors in the town, and besides he does not
make use of his scientific knowledge to ruin poor people."
"Has Doctor Schwaryencrona ruined any one?" asked Erik with curiosity.
"Well--if he has not done so, it has not been his fault. Do you think
that I have taken any pleasure in the erection of his factory, which is
sending forth its smoke on the borders of our fiord? Your mother can
tell you that formerly we manufactured our own oil, and that we sold it
easily in Bergen for a hundred and fifty to two hundred kroners a year.
But that is all ended now--nobody will buy the brown oil, or, if they
do, they pay so little for it, that it is not worth while to take the
journey. We must be satisfied with selling the livers to the factory,
and God only knows how this tiresome doctor has managed to get them for
such a low price. I hardly realize forty-five kroners now, and I have to
take twice as much trouble as formerly. Ah, well. I say it is not just,
and the doctor would do better to look after his patients in Stockholm,
instead of coming here to take away our trade by which we earn our
bread."
After these bitter words they were all silent. They heard nothing for
some minutes except the clicking of the plates, as Vanda arranged them,
whilst her mother emptied the contents of the pot into a large dish.
Erik reflected deeply upon what Mr. Hersebom had said. Numerous
objections presented themselves to his mind, and as he was candor
itself--he could not help speaking.
"It seems to me that you have a right to regret your former profits,
father," he said, "but is it just to accuse Doctor Schwaryencrona of
having diminished them? Is not his oil worth more than the home-made
article?"
"Ah! it is clearer, that is all. It does not taste as strong as ours,
they say; and that is the reason why all the fine ladies in the town
prefer it, no doubt; but it does not do any more good to the lungs of
sick people than our oil."
"But for some reason or other they buy it in preference; and since it is
a very useful medicine it is essential that the public should experience
as little disgust as possible in taking it. Therefore, if a doctor finds
out a method of making it more palatable, is it not his duty to make use
of his discovery?"
Master Hersebom scratched his ear.
"Doubtless," he said, reluctantly, "it is his duty as a doctor, but that
is no reason why he should prevent poor fishermen from getting their
living."
"I believe the doctor's factory gives employment to three hundred,
whilst there were only twenty in Noroe at the time of which you speak,"
objected Erik, timidly.
"You are right, and that is why the business is no longer worth
anything," said Hersebom.
"Come, supper is ready. Seat yourselves at the table," said Dame
Katrina, who saw that the discussion was in danger of becoming
unpleasantly warm.
Erik understood that further opposition on his part would be out of
place, and he did not answer the last argument of his father, but took
his habitual seat beside Vanda.
"Were the doctor and Mr. Malarius friends in childhood?" he asked, in
order to give a turn to the conversation.
"Yes," answered the fisherman, as he seated himself at the table. "They
were both born in Noroe, and I can remember when they played around the
school-house, although they are both ten years older than I am. Mr.
Malarius was the son of the physician, and Doctor Schwaryencrona only
the son of a simple fisherman. But he has risen in the world, and they
say that he is now worth millions, and that his residence in Stockholm
is a perfect palace. Oh, learning is a fine thing."
After uttering this aphorism the brave man took a spoon to help the
smoking fish and potatoes, when a knock at the door made him pause.
"May I come in, Master Hersebom?" said a deep-toned voice. And without
waiting for permission the person who had spoken entered, bringing with
him a great blast of icy air.
"Doctor Schwaryencrona!" cried the three children, while the father and
mother rose quickly.
"My dear Hersebom," said the doctor, taking the fisherman's hand, "we
have not seen each other for many years, but I have not forgotten your
excellent father, and thought I might call and see a friend of my
childhood!"
The worthy man felt a little ashamed of the accusations which he had so
recently made against his visitor, and he did not know what to say. He
contented himself, therefore, with returning the doctor's shake of the
hand cordially, and smiling a welcome, whilst his good wife was more
demonstrative.
"Quick, Otto, Erik, help the doctor to take off his overcoat, and you,
Vanda, prepare another place at the table," she said, for, like all
Norwegian housekeepers, she was very hospitable.
"Will you do us the honor, doctor, of eating a morsel with us?"
"Indeed I would not refuse, you may be sure, if I had the least
appetite; for I see you have a very tempting dish before you. But it is
not an hour since I took supper with Mr. Malarius, and I certainly would
not have called so early if I had thought you would be at the table. It
would give me great pleasure if you would resume your seats and eat your
supper."
"Oh, doctor!" implored the good wife, "at least you will not refuse some
'snorgas' and a cup of tea?"
"I will gladly take a cup of tea, but on condition that, you eat your
supper first," answered the doctor, seating himself in the large
arm-chair.
Vanda immediately placed the tea-kettle on the fire, and disappeared in
the neighboring room. The rest of the family understanding with native
courtesy that it would annoy their guest if they did not do as he
wished, began to eat their supper.
In two minutes the doctor was quite at his ease. He stirred the fire,
and warmed his legs in the blaze of the dry wood that Katrina had thrown
on before going to supper. He talked about old times, and old friends;
those who had disappeared, and those who remained, about the changes
that had taken place even in Bergen.
He made himself quite at home, and, what was more remarkable, he
succeeded in making Mr. Hersebom eat his supper.
Vanda now entered carrying a large wooden dish, upon which was a saucer,
which she offered so graciously to the doctor that he could not refuse
it. It was the famous "snorgas" of Norway, slices of smoked reindeer,
and shreds of herring, and red pepper, minced up and laid between slices
of black bread, spiced cheese, and other condiments; which they eat at
any hour to produce an appetite.
It succeeded so well in the doctor's case, that although he only took it
out of politeness, he was soon able to do honor to some preserved
mulberries which were Dame Katrina's special pride, and so thirsty that
he drank seven or eight cups of tea.
Mr. Hersebom brought out a bottle of "schiedam," which he had bought of
a Hollander.
Then supper being ended, the doctor accepted an enormous pipe which his
host offered him, and smoked away to their general satisfaction.
By this time all feeling of constraint had passed away, and it seemed as
if the doctor had always been a member of the family. They joked and
laughed, and were the best of friends in the world, until the old clock
of varnished wood struck ten.
"My good friends, it is growing late," said the doctor.
"If you will send the children to bed, we will talk about more serious
matters."
Upon a sign from Dame Katrina, Otto, Erik, and Vanda bade them
good-night and left the room.
"You wonder why I have come," said the doctor, after a moments' silence,
fixing his penetrating glance upon the fisherman.
"My guests are always welcome," answered the fisherman, sententiously.
"Yes! I know that Noroe is famous for hospitality. But you must
certainly have asked yourself what motive could have induced me to leave
the society of my old friend Malarius and come to you. I am sure that
Dame Hersebom has some suspicion of my motive."
"We shall know when you tell us," replied the good woman,
diplomatically.
"Well," said the doctor, with a sigh, "since you will not help me, I
must face it alone. Your son, Erik, Master Hersebom, is a most
remarkable child."
"I do not complain of him," answered the fisherman.
"He is singularly intelligent, and well informed for his age," continued
the doctor. "I questioned him to-day, in school, and I was very much
surprised by the extraordinary ability which his answers displayed. I
was also astonished, when I learned his name, to see that he bore no
resemblance to you, nor indeed to any of the natives of this country."
The fisherman and his wife remained silent and motionless.
"To be brief," continued the doctor, with visible impatience, "this
child not only interests me--he puzzles me. I have talked with Malarius,
who told me that he was not your son, but that he had been cast on your
shore by a shipwreck, and that you took him in and adopted him, bringing
him up as your own, and bestowing your name upon him. This is true, is
it not?"
"Yes, doctor," answered Hersebom, gravely.
"If he is not our son by birth, he is in love and affection," said
Katrina, with moist eyes and trembling hands. "Between him, and Otto,
and Vanda, we have made no difference--we have never thought of him only
as our own child."
"These sentiments do you both honor," said the doctor, moved by the
emotion of the brave woman. "But I beg of you, my friends, relate to me
the history of this child. I have come to hear it, and I assure you that
I wish him well."
The fisherman appeared to hesitate a moment. Then seeing that the doctor
was waiting impatiently for him to speak, he concluded to gratify him.
"You have been told the truth," he said, regretfully; "the child is not
our son. Twelve years ago I was fishing near the island at the entrance
of the fiord, near the open sea. You know it is surrounded by a sand
bank, and that cod-fish are plentiful there. After a good day's work, I
drew in my lines, and was going to hoist my sail, when something white
moving upon the water, about a mile off, attracted my attention. The sea
was calm, and there was nothing pressing to hurry me home, so I had the
curiosity to go and see what this white object was. In ten minutes I had
reached it. It was a little wicker cradle, enveloped in a woolen cloth,
and strongly tied to a buoy. I drew it toward me; an emotion which I
could not understand seized me; I beheld a sleeping infant, about seven
or eight months old, whose little fists were tightly clinched. He looked
a little pale and cold, but did not appear to have suffered much from
his adventurous voyage, if one might judge by his lusty screams when he
awoke, as he did immediately, when he no longer felt himself rocked by
the waves. Our little Otto was over two years old, and I knew how to
manage such little rogues. I rolled up a bit of rag, dipped it in some
-eau de vie- and water that I had with me, and gave it to him to suck.
This quieted him at once, and he seemed to enjoy the cordial. But I knew
that he would not be quiet long, therefore I made all haste to return to
Noroe. I had untied the cradle and placed it in the boat at my feet; and
while I attended to my sail, I watched the poor little one, and asked
myself where it could possibly have come from. Doubtless from some
shipwrecked vessel. A fierce tempest had been raging during the night,
and there had been many disasters. But by what means had this infant
escaped the fate of those who had had the charge of him? How had they
thought of tying him to the buoy? How many hours had he been floating on
the waves? Where were his father and mother, those who loved him? But
all these questions had to remain unanswered, the poor baby was unable
to give us any information. In half an hour I was at home, and gave my
new possession to Katrina. We had a cow then, and she was immediately
pressed into service as a nurse for the infant. He was so pretty, so
smiling, so rosy, when he had been fed and warmed before the fire, that
we fell in love with him at once; just the same as if he had been our
own. And then, you see, we took care of him; we brought him up, and we
have never made any difference between him and our own two children. Is
it not true, wife?" added Mr. Hersebom, turning toward Katrina.
"Very true, the poor little one," answered the good dame, drying her
eyes, which this recital had filled with tears. "And he is our child
now, for we have adopted him. I do not know why Mr. Malarius should say
anything to the contrary."
"It is true," said Hersebom, and I do not see that it concerns any one
but ourselves."
"That is so," said the doctor, in a conciliatory tone, "but you must
not accuse Mr. Malarius of being indiscreet. I was struck with the
physiognomy of the child, and I begged my friend confidentially to
relate his history. He told me that Erik believed himself to be your
son, and that every one in Noroe had forgotten how he had become
yours. Therefore, you see, I took care not to speak until the children
had been sent to bed. You say that he was about seven or eight months
old when you found him?"
"About that; he had already four teeth, the little brigand, and I assure
you that it was not long before he began to use them," said Hersebom,
laughing.
"Oh, he was a superb child," said Katrinn, eagerly. "He was so white,
and strong, and plump; and such arms and legs. You should have seen
them!"
"How was he dressed?" asked Dr. Schwaryencrona.
Hersebom did not answer, but his wife was less discreet.
"Like a little prince," she answered. "Imagine a robe of piquè, trimmed
all over with lace, a pelisse of quilted satin, a cloak of white velvet,
and a little cap; the son of a king could not have more. Everything he
had was beautiful. But you can see for yourself, for I have kept them
all just as they were. You may be sure that we did not dress the baby in
them. Oh, no; I put Otto's little garments on him, which I had laid
away, and which also served, later on, for Vanda. But his outfit is
here, and I will show it to you."
While she was speaking, the worthy woman knelt down before a large oaken
chest, with an antique lock, and after lifting the lid, began searching
the compartments.
She drew out, one by one, all the garments of which she had spoken, and
displayed them with pride before the eyes of the doctor. She also showed
the linen, which was exquisitely fine, a little quilt of silk, and a
pair of white merino boots. All the articles were marked with the
initials "E.D.," elegantly embroidered, as the doctor saw at a glance.
"'E.D.;' is that why you named the child Erik?" he asked.
"Precisely," answered Katrina, who it was evident enjoyed this
exhibition, while her husband's face grew more gloomy. "See," she said,
"this is the most beautiful of all. He wore it around his neck."
And she drew from its box a rattle of coral and gold, suspended from a
little chain.
The initials "E.D." were here surrounded by a Latin motto, "Semper
idem."
"We thought at first it was the baby's name, but Mr. Malarius told us it
meant 'always the same,'" she continued, seeing that the doctor was
trying to decipher the motto.
"Mr. Malarius told you the truth," said the doctor. "It is evident the
child belonged to a rich and distinguished family," he added, while
Katrina replaced the babe's outfit in the oaken chest.
"Have you any idea what country he came from?"
"How could we know anything about it, since I found him on the sea?"
replied Hersebom.
"Yes, but the cradle was attached to a buoy, you said, and it is
customary on all vessels to write on the buoy the name of the ship to
which it belongs," answered the doctor, fixing his penetrating eyes upon
those of the fisherman.
"Doubtless," said the latter, hanging his head.
"Well, this buoy, what name did it bear?"
"Doctor, I am not a -savant-. I can read my own language a little, but
as for foreign tongues--and then it was so long ago."
"However, you ought to be able to remember something about it--and
doubtless you showed it to Mr. Malarius, with the rest of the
articles--make a little effort, Mr. Hersebom. Was not this name
inscribed on the buoy, 'Cynthia'?"
"I believe it was something like that," answered the fisherman vaguely.
"It is a strange name. To what country does it belong in your judgment,
Mr. Hersebom?"
"How should I know? Have I ever been beyond the shores of Noroe and
Bergen, except once or twice to fish off the coast of Greenland and
Iceland?" answered the good man, in a tone which grew more and more
morose.
"I think it is either an English or a German name," said the doctor,
taking no notice of his crossness. "It would be easy to decide on
account of the shape of the letters, if I could see the buoy. Have you
preserved it?"
"By my faith no. It was burnt up ages ago," answered Hersebom,
triumphantly.
"As near as Mr. Malarius could remember, the letters were Roman," said
the doctor, as if he were talking to himself--"and the letters on the
linen certainly are. It is therefore probable that the 'Cynthia' was not
a German vessel. I think it was an English one. Is not this your
opinion, Mr. Hersebom?"
"Well, I have thought little about it," replied the fisherman. "Whether
it was English, German, or Russian, makes no difference to me. For many
years according to all appearances, they have lain beneath the sea,
which alone could tell the secret."
"But you have doubtless made some effort to discover the family to whom
the child belonged?" said the doctor, whose glasses seemed to shine with
irony. "You doubtless wrote to the Governor of Bergen, and had him
insert an advertisement in the journals?"
"I!" cried the fisherman, "I did nothing of the kind. God knows where
the baby came from; why should I trouble myself about it? Can I afford
to spend money to find his people, who perhaps care little for him? Put
yourself in my place, doctor. I am not a millionaire, and you may be
sure if we had spent all we had, we should have discovered nothing. I
have done the best I could; we have raised the little one as our own
son, we have loved him and taken care of him."
"Even more than the two others, if it were possible," interrupted
Katrina, drying her eyes on the corner of her apron. "If we have
anything to reproach ourselves for, it is for bestowing upon him too
large a share of our tenderness."
"Dame Hersebom, you must not do me the injustice to suppose that your
kindness to the little shipwrecked child inspires me with any other
feeling than the greatest admiration," said the doctor.
"No, you must not think such a thing. But if you wish me to speak
frankly--I must say that this tenderness has blinded you to your duty.
You should have endeavored to discover the family of the infant, as far
as your means permitted."
There was perfect silence for a few minutes.
"It is possible that we have done wrong," said Mr. Hersebom, who had
hung his head under this reproach. "But what is done can not be altered.
Erik belongs to us now, and I do not wish any one to speak to him about
these old reminiscences."
"You need have no fear, I will not betray your confidence," answered the
doctor, rising.
"I must leave you, my good friends, and I wish you good-night--a night
free from remorse," he added, gravely.
Then he put on his fur cloak, and shook hands cordially with his hosts,
and being conducted to the door by Hersebom, he took the road toward his
factory.
The fisherman stood for a moment on the threshold, watching his
retreating figure in the moonlight.
"What a devil of a man!" he murmured, as at last he closed his door.
CHAPTER III.
MR. HERSEBOM'S REFLECTIONS.
The next morning Dr. Schwaryencrona had just finished breakfast with his
overseer, after having made a thorough inspection of his factory when he
saw a person enter whom he did not at first recognize as Mr. Hersebom.
He was clothed in his holiday suit: his embroidered waistcoat, his
furred riding coat, and his high hat, and the fisherman looked very
different to what he did in his working clothes. But what made the
change more apparent, was the deep sadness and humility portrayed in his
countenance. His eyes were red, and looked as if he had had no sleep all
the night.
This was in fact the case. Mr. Hersebom who up to this time had never
felt his conscience trouble him, had passed hours of sad remorse, on his
mattress of skins.
Toward morning he had exchanged confidences with Dame Katrina, who had
also been unable to close her eyes.
"Wife, I have been thinking of what the doctor said to us," he said,
after several hours of wakefulness.
"I have been thinking of it also, ever since he left us," answered his
worthy helpmate.
"It is my opinion that there is some truth in what he said, and that we
have perhaps acted more egotistically than we should have done. Who
knows but that the child may have a right to some great fortune, of
which he is deprived by our negligence? Who knows if his family have not
mourned for him these twelve years, and they could justly accuse us of
having made no attempt to restore him to them?"
"This is precisely what I have been saying to myself," answered Katrina,
sighing. "If his mother is living what frightful anguish the poor woman
must have endured, in believing that her infant was drowned. I put
myself in her place, and imagine that we had lost Otto in this manner.
We would never have been consoled."
"It is not thoughts of his mother that trouble me, for according to all
appearances, she is dead," said Hersebom, after a silence broken only by
their sighs.
"How can we suppose that an infant of that age would travel without her,
or that it would have been tied to a buoy and left to take its chances
on the ocean, if she had been living?"
"That is true; but what do we know about it, after all. Perhaps she also
has had a miraculous escape."
"Perhaps some one has taken her infant from her--this idea has often
occurred to me," answered Hersebom. "Some one might be interested in his
disappearance. To expose so young a child to such a hazardous proceeding
is so extraordinary that such conjectures are possible, and in this case
we have become accomplices of a crime--we have contributed to its
success. Is it not horrible to think of?"
"And we thought we were doing such a good and charitable work in
adopting the poor little one."
"Oh, it is evident that we had no malicious intentions. We nourished it,
and brought it up as well as we were able, but that does not prevent me
from seeing that we have acted rashly, and the little one will have a
right to reproach us some of these days."
"We need not be afraid of that, I am sure. But it is too bad that we
should feel at this late day that we have done anything for which we
must reproach ourselves."
"How strange it is that the same action regarded from a different point
of view, can be judged so differently. I never would have thought of
such a thing. And yet a few words from the doctor seems to have turned
my brain."
Thus these good people talked during the night.
The result of their nocturnal conversation was that Mr. Hersebom
resolved to call upon the doctor, and ask him what they could do to make
amends for the error of which they had been guilty.
Dr. Schwaryencrona did not revert to the conversation which had taken
place the previous evening. He appeared to regard the visit of the
fisherman as simply an act of politeness, and received him cordially,
and began talking about the weather and the price of fish.
Mr. Hersebom tried to lead the conversation toward the subject which
occupied his mind. He spoke of Mr. Malarius' school, and at last said
plainly: "Doctor, my wife and I have been thinking all night about what
you said to us last evening about the boy. We never thought that we were
doing him a wrong in educating him as our son. But you have changed our
opinion, and we want to know what you would advise us to do, in order to
repair our fault. Do you think that we still ought to seek to find
Erik's family?"
"It is never too late to do our duty," said the doctor, "although the
task is certainly much more difficult now than it would have been at
first."
"Will you interest yourself in the matter?"
"I will, with pleasure," answered the doctor; "and I promise you to use
every exertion to fulfill it, upon one condition: that is, that you let
me take the boy to Stockholm."
If Mr. Hersebom had been struck on the head with a club, he would not
have been more astonished than he was by this proposal.
"Intrust Erik to you! Send him to Stockholm! Why should I do this,
doctor?" he asked, in an altered voice.
"I will tell you. My attention was drawn to the child, not only on
account of his physical appearance, which was so different to that of
his companions, but by his great intelligence and his evident taste
for study. Before knowing the circumstances which had brought him to
Noroe, I said to myself that it was a shame to leave a boy so gifted
in a village school--even under such a master as Malarius; for here
there is nothing to assist in the development of his exceptionally
great faculties. There are no museums, nor scientific collections, nor
libraries, nor competitors who are worthy of him. I felt a strong
desire to give him the advantages of a complete education. You can
understand that, after the confidence which you have bestowed upon me,
I am more anxious to do so than before. You can see, Mr. Hersebom,
that your adopted son belongs to some rich and distinguished family.
If I succeed in finding them, would you wish to restore to them a
child educated in a village, and deprived of this education, without
which he will feel out of place among his kindred? It is not
reasonable; and you are too sensible not to understand it."
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