“I have often been told,” thought Cristiano, “that these severe northern nights reveal unheard-of splendors, both to the eye and imagination. If I should return to Naples and should tell them that their nights appeal only to the senses, and that he who has not seen winter upon his throne of frost cannot form the least idea of the wonders of the divine work, I should probably be insulted or stoned. What then? There is beauty everywhere under heaven, and he who feels that beauty keenly, will always perhaps find the last impression the most satisfactory and inspiring. Yes, this must really be sublime, for here I am forgetting the cold, which I thought I should never be able to endure, and finding a sort of pleasure even in breathing this air that goes through you like a knife. I must certainly go to Lapland, although Puffo forsakes me, and poor Jean perishes in the snow. I want to see a night twenty-four hours long, and the pale glimmer of noon in the month of January. I should have no success in that country, but my moderate earnings here will enable me travel like a great lord, that is to say, alone and on foot, with nothing to do but to see and enjoy the fine flower of life, novelty, the quality that distinguishes desire from lassitude, dream from memory.”
Eager and imaginative, the young man gazed far away into the circle of high mountains, in search of the invisible route that he would have to take in going to the north, or entering Norway. In fancy he already saw himself reclining upon the edge of fearful abysses, while, to the amazement of the old Scandinavian echoes, he sang some foolish tarantelle, when the music of a distant orchestra struck upon his ear, and he recognized the distant refrain of an old-fashioned French song, probably very new among the Dalecarlians. The music was at the new chateau, where Baron Olaus was giving a ball to his country neighbors in honor of the charming Margaret Elveda.
Cristiano recalled his wandering thoughts. A moment before he had been ready to fly to the North Cape; now his curiosity, thoughts, aspirations, were all directed to the brilliant chateau, glittering on the shore of the lake, and seeming to exhale whiffs of artificial heat into the atmosphere.
“One thing is certain,” he said, “I would not for five hundred crowns (and God only knows how much I need five hundred crowns) quit this strange country to-night, even to be transported by the walkyries to the sapphire palace of the great Odin. To-morrow I shall see this blond fairy again, this descendant of Harold the Fair-haired! To-morrow?—no, indeed, nothing of the kind! I shall not see her again to-morrow; I shall never see her again! To-morrow, the fortunate mortal who has a legitimate right to the sweet name of Goefle will go to the new chateau to confer with his client, and labor with her perhaps, like a genuine heartless business man, to bring about the marriage of the ferocious Olaus and sweet Margaret. To-morrow sweet Margaret will know she has been deceived, and by whom? With what anger, what scorn will she reward my good behavior and wise advice! But all that does not prevent me from feeling hungry, and from being obliged to acknowledge that this December night, between sixty-one and sixty-two degrees of latitude, is rather cool. It makes me think of the time when I used to complain about the winter in Rome!”
Cristiano was returning to the bear-room, when he thought he would give a charitable look at his ass. As he entered the stable, he noticed, for the first time, M. Goefle’s sleigh, which was standing in the coach-house. Why, at the sight of this sleigh, the mind of the adventurer, should have leaped suddenly to a mad resolution, we cannot explain; but, on regaining his comfortable lodging, instead of sitting down quietly to supper with his back to the stove, it is certain that he began to contemplate the full black suit which the doctor of laws had hung over the back of a chair.
Cristiano would have sworn that the grave individual whom he had ventured to imitate was old-fashioned, and perhaps rather shabby in his dress. Not at all. M. Goefle, who had been quite handsome in his youth, dressed remarkably well, was careful of his person, and made it a point of honor to appear in a simple but tasteful costume, doing full justice to his good leg, and still erect and well-formed figure. Cristiano put on the coat, which fitted him like a glove. He found the powder-box and puff, and threw a light cloud over his thick, black hair. The silk stockings were rather tight in the calf, and the shoes with buckles rather large; but what of that! were the Dalecarlians so very critical? In short, in ten minutes the young man was attired like a respectable member of society; a professor of some science, a student in some learned faculty, or member of a dignified profession! No matter what his standing, his figure, at all events, was charming, and his costume irreproachable.
The reader can guess that the adventurer led M. Goefle’s horse from the stable, after begging Jean not to feel lonely; that he harnessed the docile Loki to the sleigh, lighted the lantern, and darted like an arrow down the steep road of Stollborg.
In about ten minutes, he entered the brilliantly lighted court of the new chateau, threw the reins carelessly to the servants in livery, who hastened forward at the sound of the sleigh-bells, and ran up the great front steps of the elegant mansion four steps at a time.
[2] The Christmas festivities in Sweden and Norway last from the twenty-fourth of December to the sixth of January.