Short Fiction, Selma Lagerlöf [uplifting novels txt] 📗

brother and he has left me with a souvenir across the forehead to remember him by. I must hang now, and then you will be the only one who knows anything about the mine; therefore I wish to ask something of you.’

“ ‘Speak out!’ said the parson. ‘I’ll do what I can for you.’

“ ‘You know that l am leaving several little children behind me,’ began the soldier, but the parson interrupted him.

“ ‘As regards this, you can rest easy. That which comes to your share in the mine, they shall have, exactly as if you yourself were living.’

“ ‘No,’ said Olaf Svärd, ‘it was another thing I wanted to ask of you. Don’t let them have any portion of that which comes from the mine!’

“The parson staggered back a step. He stood there dumb and could not answer.

“ ‘If you do not promise me this, I cannot die in peace,’ said the prisoner.

“ ‘Yes,’ said the parson slowly and painfully. ‘I promise you what you ask of me.’

“Thereupon the murderer was taken away, and the parson stood on the highway thinking how he should keep the promise he had given him. On the way home he thought of the wealth which he had been so happy over. But if it really were true that the people in this community could not stand riches?⁠—Already four were ruined, who hitherto had been dignified and excellent men. He seemed to see the whole community before him, and he pictured to himself how this silver mine would destroy one after another. Was it befitting that he, who had been appointed to watch over these poor human beings’ souls, should let loose upon them that which would be their destruction?”

All of a sudden the King sat bolt upright in his chair. “I declare!” said he, “you’ll make me understand that a parson in this isolated settlement must be every inch a man.”

“Nor was it enough with what had already happened,” continued the parson, “for as soon as the news about the mine spread among the parishioners, they stopped working and went about in idleness, waiting for the time when great riches should pour in on them. All the ne’er-do-wells there were in this section streamed in, and drunkenness and fighting were what the parson heard talked of continually. A lot of people did nothing but tramp round in the forest searching for the mine, and the parson marked that as soon as he left the house people followed him stealthily to find out if he wasn’t going to the silver mountain and to steal the secret from him.

“When matters were come to this pass, the parson called the peasants together to vote. To start with, he reminded them of all the misfortunes which the discovery of the mountain had brought upon them, and he asked them if they were going to let themselves be ruined or if they would save themselves. Then he told them that they must not expect him, who was their spiritual adviser, to help on their destruction. Now he had decided not to reveal to anyone where the silver mine was, and never would he himself take riches from it. And then he asked the peasants how they would have it henceforth. If they wished to continue their search for the mine and wait upon riches, then he would go so far away that not a hearsay of their misery could reach him; but if they would give up thinking about the silver mine and be as heretofore, he would remain with them. ‘Whichever way you may choose,’ said the parson, ‘remember this, that from me no one shall ever know anything about the silver mountain!’ ”

“Well,” said the King, “how did they decide?”

“They did as their pastor wished,” said the parson. “They understood that he meant well by them when he wanted to remain poor for their sakes. And they commissioned him to go to the forest and conceal the vein of ore with evergreen and stone, so that no one would be able to find it⁠—neither they themselves nor their posterity.”

“And ever since the parson has been living here just as poor as the rest?”

“Yes,” answered the curate, “he has lived here just as poor as the rest.”

“He has married, of course, and built himself a new parsonage?” said the King.

“No, he couldn’t afford to marry, and he lives in the old cabin.”

“It’s a pretty story that you have told me,” said the King. After a few seconds he resumed: “Was it of the silver mountain that you were thinking when you said that the parson here would be able to procure for me as much money as I need?”

“Yes,” said the other.

“But I can’t put the thumbscrews on him,” said the King. “Or how would you that I should get such a man to show me the mountain⁠—a man who has renounced his sweetheart and all the allurements of life?”

“Oh, that’s a different matter,” said the parson. “But if it’s the Fatherland that is in need of the fortune, he will probably give in.”

“Will you answer for that?” asked the King.

“Yes, that I will answer for,” said the clergyman.

“Doesn’t he care, then, what becomes of his parishioners?”

“That can rest in God’s hand.”

The King rose from the chair and walked over to the window. He stood for a moment and looked upon the group of people outside. The longer he looked, the clearer his large eyes shone, and his figure seemed to grow. “You may greet the pastor of this congregation, and say that for Sweden’s King there is no sight more beautiful than to see a people such as this!”

Then the King turned from the window and looked at the clergyman. He began to smile. “Is it true that the pastor of this parish is so poor that he removes his black clothes as soon as the service is over and dresses himself like a peasant?” asked the King.

“Yes, so poor is he,” said the curate, and a crimson flush leaped into his rough-hewn