EVERYTHING IN THE RIGHT PLACE故事

　　 IT is more than a hundred years ago! At the border of the

　　 wood, near a large lake, stood the old mansion: deep ditches

　　 surrounded it on every side, in which reeds and bulrushes

　　 grew. Close by the drawbridge, near the gate, there was an old

　　 willow tree, which bent over the reeds.

　　 From the narrow pass came the sound of bugles and the

　　 trampling of horses' feet; therefore a little girl who was

　　 watching the geese hastened to drive them away from the

　　 bridge, before the whole hunting party came galloping up; they

　　 came, however, so quickly, that the girl, in order to avoid

　　 being run over, placed herself on one of the high

　　 corner-stones of the bridge. She was still half a child and

　　 very delicately built; she had bright blue eyes, and a gentle,

　　 sweet expression. But such things the baron did not notice;

　　 while he was riding past the little goose-girl, he reversed

　　 his hunting crop, and in rough play gave her such a push with

　　 it that she fell backward into the ditch.

　　 "Everything in the right place!" he cried. "Into the ditch

　　 with you."

　　 Then he burst out laughing, for that he called fun; the

　　 others joined in- the whole party shouted and cried, while the

　　 hounds barked.

　　 While the poor girl was falling she happily caught one of

　　 the branches of the willow tree, by the help of which she held

　　 herself over the water, and as soon as the baron with his

　　 company and the dogs had disappeared through the gate, the

　　 girl endeavoured to scramble up, but the branch broke off, and

　　 she would have fallen backward among the rushes, had not a

　　 strong hand from above seized her at this moment. It was the

　　 hand of a pedlar; he had witnessed what had happened from a

　　 short distance, and now hastened to assist her.

　　 "Everything in the right place," he said, imitating the

　　 noble baron, and pulling the little maid up to the dry ground.

　　 He wished to put the branch back in the place it had been

　　 broken off, but it is not possible to put everything in the

　　 right place;" therefore he stuck the branch into the soft

　　 ground.

　　 "Grow and thrive if you can, and produce a good flute for

　　 them yonder at the mansion," he said; it would have given him

　　 great pleasure to see the noble baron and his companions well

　　 thrashed. Then he entered the castle- but not the banqueting

　　 hall; he was too humble for that. No; he went to the servants'

　　 hall. The men-servants and maids looked over his stock of

　　 articles and bargained with him; loud crying and screaming

　　 were heard from the master's table above: they called it

　　 singing- indeed, they did their best. Laughter and the howls

　　 of dogs were heard through the open windows: there they were

　　 feasting and revelling; wine and strong old ale were foaming

　　 in the glasses and jugs; the favourite dogs ate with their

　　 masters; now and then the squires kissed one of these animals,

　　 after having wiped its mouth first with the tablecloth. They

　　 ordered the pedlar to come up, but only to make fun of him.

　　 The wine had got into their heads, and reason had left them.

　　 They poured beer into a stocking that he could drink with

　　 them, but quick. That's what they called fun, and it made them

　　 laugh. Then meadows, peasants, and farmyards were staked on

　　 one card and lost.

　　 "Everything in the right place!" the pedlar said when he

　　 had at last safely got out of Sodom and Gomorrah, as he called

　　 it. "The open high road is my right place; up there I did not

　　 feel at ease."

　　 The little maid, who was still watching the geese, nodded

　　 kindly to him as he passed through the gate.

　　 Days and weeks passed, and it was seen that the broken

　　 willow-branch which the peddlar had stuck

　　into the ground near

　　 the ditch remained fresh and green- nay, it even put forth

　　 fresh twigs; the little goose-girl saw that the branch had

　　 taken root, and was very pleased; the tree, so she said, was

　　 now her tree. While the tree was advancing, everything else at

　　 the castle was going backward, through feasting and gambling,

　　 for these are two rollers upon which nobody stands safely.

　　 Less than six years afterwards the baron passed out of his

　　 castle-gate a poor beggar, while the baronial seat had been

　　 bought by a rich tradesman. He was the very pedlar they had

　　 made fun of and poured beer into a stocking for him to drink;

　　 but honesty and industry bring one forward, and now the pedlar

　　 was the possessor of the baronial estate. From that time

　　 forward no card-playing was permitted there.

　　 "That's a bad pastime," he said; "when the devil saw the

　　 Bible for the first time he wanted to produce a caricature in

　　 opposition to it, and invented card-playing."

　　 The new proprietor of the estate took a wife, and whom did

　　 he take?- The little goose-girl, who had always remained good

　　 and kind, and who looked as beautiful in her new clothes as if

　　 she had been a lady of high birth. And how did all this come

　　 about? That would be too long a tale to tell in our busy time,

　　 but it really happened, and the most important events have yet

　　 to be told.

　　 It was pleasant and cheerful to live in the old place now:

　　 the mother superintended the household, and the father looked

　　 after things out-of-doors, and they were indeed very

　　 prosperous.

　　 Where honesty leads the way, prosperity is sure to follow.

　　 The old mansion was repaired and painted, the ditches were

　　 cleaned and fruit-trees planted; all was homely and pleasant,

　　 and the floors were as white and shining as a pasteboard. In

　　 the long winter evenings the mistress and her maids sat at the

　　 spinning-wheel in the large hall; every Sunday the counsellor-

　　 this title the pedlar had obtained, although only in his old

　　 days- read aloud a portion from the Bible. The children (for

　　 they had children) all received the best education, but they

　　 were not all equally clever, as is the case in all families.

　　 In the meantime the willow tree near the drawbridge had

　　 grown up into a splendid tree, and stood there, free, and was

　　 never clipped. "It is our genealogical tree," said the old

　　 people to their children, "and therefore it must be honoured."

　　 A hundred years had elapsed. It was in our own days; the

　　 lake had been transformed into marsh land; the whole baronial

　　 seat had, as it were, disappeared. A pool of water near some

　　 ruined walls was the only remainder of the deep ditches; and

　　 here stood a magnificent old tree with overhanging branches-

　　 that was the genealogical tree. Here it stood, and showed how

　　 beautiful a willow can look if one does not interfere with it.

　　 The trunk, it is true, was cleft in the middle from the root

　　 to the crown; the storms had bent it a little, but it still

　　 stood there, and out of every crevice and cleft, in which wind

　　 and weather had carried mould, blades of grass and flowers

　　 sprang forth. Especially above, where the large boughs parted,

　　 there was quite a hanging garden, in which wild raspberries

　　 and hart's-tongue ferns throve, and even a little mistletoe

　　 had taken root, and grew gracefully in the old willow

　　 branches, which were reflected in the dark water beneath when

　　 the wind blew the chickweed into the corner of the pool. A

　　 footpath which led across the fields passed close by the old

　　 tree. High up, on the woody hillside, stood the new mansion.

　　 It had a splendid view, and was large and magnificent; its

　　 window panes were so clear that one might have thought there

　　 were none there at all. The large flight of steps which led to

　　 the entrance looked like a bower covered with roses and

　　 broad-leaved plants. The lawn was as green as if each blade of

　　 grass was cleaned separately morning and evening. Inside, in

　　 the hall, valuable oil paintings were hanging on the walls.

　　 Here stood chairs and sofas covered with silk and velvet,

　　 which could be easily rolled about on castors; there were

　　 tables with polished marble tops, and books bound in morocco

　　 with gilt edges. Indeed, well-to-do and distinguished people

　　 lived here; it was the dwelling of the baron and his family.

　　 Each article was in keeping with its surroundings. "Everything

　　 in the right place" was the motto according to which they also

　　 acted here, and therefore all the paintings which had once

　　 been the honour and glory of the old mansion were now hung up

　　 in the passage which led to the servants' rooms. It was all

　　 old lumber, especially two portraits- one representing a man

　　 in a scarlet coat with a wig, and the other a lady with

　　 powdered and curled hair holding a rose in her hand, each of

　　 them being surrounded by a large wreath of willow branches.

　　 Both portraits had many holes in them, because the baron's

　　 sons used the two old people as targets for their crossbows.

　　 They represented the counsellor and his wife, from whom the

　　 whole family descended. "But they did not properly belong to

　　 our family," said one of the boys; "he was a pedlar and she

　　 kept the geese. They were not like papa and mamma." The

　　 portraits were old lumber, and "everything in its right

　　 place." That was why the great-grandparents had been hung up

　　 in the passage leading to the servants' rooms.

　　 The son of the village pastor was tutor at the mansion.

　　 One day he went for a walk across the fields with his young

　　 pupils and their elder sister, who had lately been confirmed.

　　 They walked along the road which passed by the old willow

　　 tree, and while they were on the road she picked a bunch of

　　 field-flowers. "Everything in the right place," and indeed the

　　 bunch looked very beautiful. At the same time she listened to

　　 all that was said, and she very much liked to hear the

　　 pastor's son speak about the elements and of the great men and

　　 women in history. She had a healthy mind, noble in thought and

　　 deed, and with a heart full of love for everything that God

　　 had created. They stopped at the old willow tree, as the

　　 youngest of the baron's sons wished very much to have a flute

　　 from it, such as had been cut for him from other willow trees;

　　 the pastor's son broke a branch off. "Oh, pray do not do it!"

　　 said the young lady; but it was already done. "That is our

　　 famous old tree. I love it very much. They often laugh at me

　　 at home about it, but that does not matter. There is a story

　　 attached to this tree." And now she told him all that we

　　 already know about the tree- the old mansion, the pedlar and

　　 the goose-girl who had met there for the first time, and had

　　 become the ancestors of the noble family to which the young

　　 lady belonged.

　　 "They did not like to be knighted, the good old people,"

　　 she said; "their motto was 'everything in the right place,'

　　 and it would not be right, they thought, to purchase a title

　　 for money. My grandfather, the first baron, was their son.

　　 They say he was a very learned man, a great favourite with the

　　 princes and princesses, and was invited to all court

　　 festivities. The others at home love him best; but, I do not

　　 know why, there seemed to me to be something about the old

　　 couple that attracts my heart! How homely, how patriarchal, it

　　 must have been in the old mansion, where the mistress sat at

　　 the spinning-wheel with her maids, while her husband read

　　 aloud out of the Bible!"

　　 "They must have been excellent, sensible people," said the

　　 pastor's son. And with this the conversation turned naturally

　　 to noblemen and commoners; from the manner in which the tutor

　　 spoke about the significance of being noble, it seemed almost

　　 as if he did not belong to a commoner's family.

　　 "It is good fortune to be of a family who have

　　 distinguished themselves, and to possess as it were a spur in

　　 oneself to advance to all that is good. It is a splendid thing

　　 to belong to a noble family, whose name serves as a card of

　　 admission to the highest circles. Nobility is a distinction;

　　 it is a gold coin that bears the stamp of its own value. It is

　　 the fallacy of the time, and many poets express it, to say

　　 that all that is noble is bad and stupid, and that, on the

　　 contrary, the lower one goes among the poor, the more

　　 brilliant virtues one finds. I do not share this opinion, for

　　 it is wrong. In the upper classes one sees many touchingly

　　 beautiful traits; my own mother has told me of such, and I

　　 could mention several. One day she was visiting a nobleman's

　　 house in town; my grandmother, I believe, had been the lady's

　　 nurse when she was a child. My mother and the nobleman were

　　 alone in the room, when he suddenly noticed an old woman on

　　 crutches come limping into the courtyard; she came every

　　 Sunday to carry a gift away with her.

　　 "'There is the poor old woman,' said the nobleman; 'it is

　　 so difficult for her to walk.'

　　 "My mother had hardly understood what he said before he

　　 disappeared from the room, and went downstairs, in order to

　　 save her the troublesome walk for the gift she came to fetch.

　　 Of course this is only a little incident, but it has its good

　　 sound like the poor widow's two mites in the Bible, the sound

　　 which echoes in the depth of every human heart; and this is

　　 what the poet ought to show and point out- more especially in

　　 our own time he ought to sing of this; it does good, it

　　 mitigates and reconciles! But when a man, simply because he is

　　 of noble birth and possesses a genealogy, stands on his hind

　　 legs and neighs in the street like an Arabian horse, and says

　　 when a commoner has been in a room: 'Some people from the

　　 street have been here,' there nobility is decaying; it has

　　 become a mask of the kind that Thespis created, and it is

　　 amusing when such a person is exposed in satire."

　　 Such was the tutor's speech; it was a little long, but

　　 while he delivered it he had finished cutting the flute.

　　 There was a large party at the mansion; many guests from

　　 the neighbourhood and from the capital had arrived. There were

　　 ladies with tasteful and with tasteless dresses; the big hall

　　 was quite crowded with people. The clergymen stood humbly

　　 together in a corner, and looked as if they were preparing for

　　 a funeral, but it was a festival- only the amusement had not

　　 yet begun. A great concert was to take place, and that is why

　　 the baron's young son had brought his willow flute with him;

　　 but he could not make it sound, nor could his father, and

　　 therefore the flute was good for nothing.

　　 There was music and songs of the kind which delight most

　　 those that perform them; otherwise quite charming!

　　 "Are you an artist?" said a cavalier, the son of his

　　 father; "you play on the flute, you have made it yourself; it

　　 is genius that rules- the place of honour is due to you."

　　 "Certainly not! I only advance with the time, and that of

　　 course one can't help."

　　 "I hope you will delight us all with the little

　　 instrument- will you not?" Thus saying he handed to the tutor

　　 the flute which had been cut from the willow tree by the pool;

　　 and then announced in a loud voice that the tutor wished to

　　 perform a solo on the flute. They wished to tease him- that

　　 was evident, and therefore the tutor declined to play,

　　 although he could do so very well. They urged and requested

　　 him, however, so long, that at last he took up the flute and

　　 placed it to his lips.

　　 That was a marvellous flute! Its sound was as thrilling as

　　 the whistle of a steam engine; in fact it was much stronger,

　　 for it sounded and was heard in the yard, in the garden, in

　　 the wood, and many miles round in the country; at the same

　　 time a storm rose and roared; "Everything in the right place."

　　 And with this the baron, as if carried by the wind, flew out

　　 of the hall straight into the shepherd's cottage, and the

　　 shepherd flew- not into the hall, thither he could not come-

　　 but into the servants' hall, among the smart footmen who were

　　 striding about in silk stockings; these haughty menials looked

　　 horror-struck that such a person ventured to sit at table with

　　 them. But in the hall the baron's daughter flew to the place

　　 of honour at the end of the table- she was worthy to sit

　　 there; the pastor's son had the seat next to her; the two sat

　　 there as if they were a bridal pair. An old Count, belonging

　　 to one of the oldest families of the country, remained

　　 untouched in his place of honour; the flute was just, and it

　　 is one's duty to be so. The sharp-tongued cavalier who had

　　 caused the flute to be played, and who was the child of his

　　 parents, flew headlong into the fowl-house, but not he alone.

　　 The flute was heard at the distance of a mile, and strange

　　 events took place. A rich banker's family, who were driving in

　　 a coach and four, were blown out of it, and could not even

　　 find room behind it with their footmen. Two rich farmers who

　　 had in our days shot up higher than their own corn-fields,

　　 were flung into the ditch; it was a dangerous flute.

　　 Fortunately it burst at the first sound, and that was a good

　　 thing, for then it was put back into its owner's pocket- "its

　　 right place."

　　 The next day, nobody spoke a word about what had taken

　　 place; thus originated the phrase, "to pocket the flute."

　　 Everything was again in its usual order, except that the two

　　 old pictures of the peddlar and the goose-girl were hanging in

　　 the banqueting-hall. There they were on the wall as if blown

　　 up there; and as a real expert said that they were painted by

　　 a master's hand, they remained there and were restored.

　　 "Everything in the right place," and to this it will come.

　　 Eternity is long, much longer indeed than this story.

　　 THE END