A Danish Parsonage

by John Fulford Vicary

"My dearest Mother,

"If I had anything to tell you, I should have told you long ago. I have described Pastor Lindal's family to you in my letters, and, I can only add, my respect for him grows daily. He does his duty with a simplicity that is difficult to be understood in England, and I have learnt to look forward to hearing his Sunday sermons, from their freshness such as single-mindedness alone gives. I feel more the earnestness of religion and the simplicity with which it should be invested from the influence of his character. I know you will say that this has nothing to do with Frøken Helga Lindal, his daughter, and you want to hear of her. All I can say is, that her character is what would attract you. She does her duty in the Pastor's household with simple exactness; she assists in visiting the parish, and is of material use to her father in this respect. She is spoken of everywhere and by all in praise and regard, and she is like her father—simple and true. I cannot say that I do not admire so perfect a nature, but I do not feel now a wish to ask her to be my wife, and if I did she would say 'no.' Her father is a widower, and his daughter is his right hand. His two boys, who are really good lads, have to be considered, and Frøken Helga's influence over them is complete. Her leaving her father would leave him unassisted, and his two sons without the influence she alone possesses. She knows and sees this, and would sacrifice her life to her sense of duty. If she cared for me, there would be no difference; that would be sacrificed too. I can assure you that I shall never bring any one to Hardy Place that my mother cannot receive as her daughter. The kind affection and care you have always shown me is dearer to me than houses and land and wealth or the strongest feelings of selfishness.

"I hope, dear mother, that this will set your mind at rest.

"If you wish me to come home, I will do so; but I wish to stay longer, and when you see there is no real cause for anxiety, you may have no objection. The days pass pleasantly here. I teach the two boys English every day. They fish with me for trout in the river, the Gudenaa, and we make excursions together, and occasionally we visit a Danish family in the neighbourhood; and the genuine kindness I receive everywhere interests me. In the evenings Pastor Lindal is conversational, and his conversation is like his sermons, always fresh. There is no one thought harped upon and torn to tatters. To say he is a man of original thought would not describe him—it is individuality and simplicity; there is nothing extraordinary or unusual, but a clearness of colour, like a diamond, which is the more valuable when it has no colour."

John Hardy wrote a little more on home affairs at Hardy Place, and closed his letter.

In the evening, when the Pastor's pipe was as usual lighted by his daughter, Hardy asked him as to the superstitions in Denmark, and if they then were prevalent and had any force.

"They are endless," said the Pastor, "and in every conceivable direction. There is no land so full of traditional superstition as Jutland."

"When in Norway," said Hardy, "the superstition that struck me most was that of the Huldr, who in different districts was differently described. Generally the Huldr was described as a tall fair woman, with a yellow bodice and a blue skirt, with long fair yellow hair loose over the shoulders; but she was as hollow as a kneading trough, and had a cow's tail. She was described as coming to the Sæter farms on the fjelds, after they were vacated by the Norwegian farmers, with a quantity of cattle and milking cans; and I have heard the cattle call sang by Norwegians that they have heard the Huldr sing. I have spoken with people who have seen the Huldr, and described her to me with a vividness as if it were a real personage. I have heard people say they have seen her knitting, sitting on a rock with a ball of worsted thrown out before her, to entice mortals to take it up, when they must follow where she would lead."

"We have not that superstition in Jutland," said the Pastor; "that is begotten of the lonely life in the isolated farms in the fields in Norway and their interminable woods and natural wildness of nature. Our superstitions are, as I said, endless. They consist of historical traditions of a supernatural character, of traditions attached to places, as old houses, churches, also of particular men, of hidden treasure, of robbers, and the like. Then there are the more supernatural superstitions, as of witches, ghosts, the devil, of Trolds, of mermen and mermaids, of Nissen, like your English pixey, of the three-legged horse that inhabits the churchyards, the were-wolf, the gnome that inhabits the elder tree, the nightmare, or, as we call it, Maren. There is also the tradition of gigantic dragons or serpents, called by us Lindorm, in which your story of St. George and the dragon prominently figures. There are also minor superstitions of the will-o'-the-wisp, the bird called in English the goatsucker, and the classical Basilisk."

"But surely all those superstitions cannot exist now?" inquired Hardy.