Southport Telegraph

The Peasant and his Daughter.

A NORWEGIAN TALE.

It was a cold winter's night towards the middle of the last century, that a gentle knock was heard at the door of a hut situated among the mountains of Christiana, in Norway.

The summons was answered by the master of the hovel, and a traveler asked shelter for the night. Hospitality is willingly exercised in those wild regions; the stranger was welcome to a seat on the bundle of chamois skins that lay before the hearth, where a few embers still smouldered, and to a share of the supper prepared for the family.

The only inmates of the hut were a peasant named Eric, and his daughter; the latter was remarkable for her beauty, and for a natural grace far superior to what might have been looked for in that cold region.

The traveler, after gazing at her for some moments, inquired of his host if the fair maiden were his daughter.

"She is," replied the old man. "She and my rifle are my only treasures; and one of them I would not have kept so long if Margaret would have listened to any of the suitors who would fain have robbed me of her; but though she is now four-and-twenty, she prefers staying with her father to whom her heart is devoted."

The traveler, drawing his cloak around him complained of cold, and at her father's request, Margaret threw some additional logs on the fire. As she fanned it, a bright blaze filled the little apartment, and threw its light on the person of the stranger.— He appeared to be young and handsome, and, as under the kindly influence of the warmth, he loosened his cloak and laid aside his slouching hat, Eric perceived that he was richly dressed. His surprise that a person of such apparent rank and opulence should be wandering alone in that inclement season prevented him from noticing the strong emotion evinced by his daughter as she caught sight of his features.— With clasped hands, and her eyes fixed on his face, she seemed uncertain whether to address him. The new comer made a sign to her, as if to enjoin caution. Whatever its import, she understood it, and, with tears rolling down her cheeks, seemed to be addressing a silent prayer to heaven.— The supper consisted of a platter of boiled potatoes, and a jug of cold water, was now placed on the table.

"My honored guest," said Eric, it is useless to apologize for our humble fare; throughout these mountains you will find little better."

"Your excuses are unnecessary, my good friend," returned the other. "Many a time would such a supper as this have been more welcome to me than gold. I have known poorer, and now that I may call myself rich my greatest pleasure is to relieve those who are as poor as I once was. Your supper shall bring you a price that will amply repay your hospitality."

Taking a potato from the dish, he dropped a pearl in its place. As it rolled into the coarse platter, Eric looked earnestly at his guest.

"Do you know what these are?" asked the latter, dropping another and another of the same jewels. "For these, men dive to the bottom of the ocean, where they remain till the gushing blood forces them to the surface for a moment's breath; to gain these, they are content to injure health. and risk life. They are pearls; and of such price that a few of them will make a poor peasant as rich as his lord. Take them, my good father, they are yours in requital for your kindness to a stranger."

"Dost thou hear, Margaret?" said the old man, whose eyes glistened with delight. "All these precious things are ours! We are rich, child!"

"I hear, father," replied she. "Praised be the Almighty, who has protected the traveler." A look of intelligence passed between her and the new comer: but Eric was too much occupied in the contemplation of his newly-acquired treasures to observe it.

"And who are you that thus deign to shower riches on a poor peasant?" said he to the stranger. "I fear that we have been too free." He made a movement to throw himself at his feet, but the other preventing him said:

"You mistake my rank, my good friend. Like yourself, I was born a peasant, and my early years were passed on the other side of these mountains. I was a goat-herd; but while keeping my flock my thoughts wandered to things beyond my sphere. Many a beating I got for suffering my flock to stray while I watched the sun and stars, or sat pondering over a bunch of field flowers. In time my love for plants became a passion; I noticed their seasons for blooming, and all the peculiarities of their formation; but at the age of eighteen, new ideas began to mingle with those that had already occupied me. In my wandering life I had become acquainted with the daughter of a peasant whose abode was at some distance from mine; her beauty as far surpassed that of her companions as my thoughts were elevated above those of the shepherd lads among whom my lot was cast. I loved her, and Margaret (she bore the same name as your daughter) returned my affection; but her youth and my poverty forbade the hope that her father would consent to our marriage. I proposed to seek my fortune elsewhere, and, with many tears and sad forebodings, she consented to my departure. At the time I fancied that dreams of enriching her alone prompted my wish to roam; but I have since known that ambition mingled with my zeal for her welfare.

Even in our remotest mountains, stories were related of those who, having visited other lands, had returned home enriched, and I believed I had only to try my fortune to be equally successful. Margaret promised to prove faithful to my return "And you may be sure she has kept her promise," interrupted the peasant's daughter.

The stranger looked tenderly at her as he continued. "I shall not dwell on the hardships that a poor lad without friends or money was likely to encounter. Yet I must not be ungrateful. I was not quite without money; for round my neck hung a small silver coin, of no great value, but sufficient to have helped me in my necessity. It had been placed there by my Margaret, and not for worlds would I have parted with it. It hangs there now.— Again he paused, overcome by some secret emotion, or interrupted by the noise of a violent storm, which had commenced since his arrival. The rain and sleet beat furiously against the windows, and the wind blew in gusts that shook the little tenement to its foundation, then died in howls and moans that sounded like voices of complaining spirits.

It is a fearful night," said he, at length: "and I ought to be doubly thankful that I am with you, my good friends."

Eric paid little attention to what was said; for avarice, a passion till then unknown to him, had taken possession of his mind. Seeing that while recounting his history his guest discontinued dropping the pearls, he said

"Surely you have not given me all your treasures?"

"You have the last, my friend," said the traveler. "This, indeed, I have still," added he, opening a small red case, and showing a string of the same costly materials; but it is a necklace for my betrothed.

The old peasant seemed each moment to become more uneasy. "It is hardly safe," he muttered. "to travel with such valuable property; but of course you are armed?"

"Not I," returned the other. "Against whom should I arm myself—against our good Norwegian peasants?"

"And yet those pearls," said the old man.

"Those pearls," returned the other, "are the least part of my riches; the contents of my pocket-book are a hundred times more valuable."

"A hundred times," said Eric, looking round, and he unconsciously grasped his long knife. He approached the casement, and in trying to open it, broke one of the small panes of glass. The wind rushed through the aperture with a shrill noise that startled the traveler and Margaret from their seats.

"It is the voice of the demon of the storm," said Eric, staring wildly about him.

'It is the wind rushing through the broken glass," replied the stranger, smiling "Be composed, my good friend; why do you handle your knife? Had it been the demon you feared it was, your weapon would no more have availed than against the wind itself." He hung his cloak before the broken window, and resumed his story

"Sometimes working, sometimes begging, it was many weeks before I arrived at Stockholm. The capital once reached. I fancied my difficulties over. Alas! they were but beginning It was there, father Eric, that on many a long night, when I lay sleepless from hunger, such a supper as yours would indeed have been precious to me.

At length my fortune changed.— A learned man of the name of Linnaeus, employed me to execute some commissions for him. My diligence pleased him, and he took me into his service. I found, that like myself he had a passion for flowers, and was then employed in classing those of the northern regions. Seeing the attention with which I observed him, he asked me some questions, and emboldened by his condescension, I showed a collection of dried plants I had brought with me from Norway. There were some among them that he had not been able to procure, and the circumstance gave him so much satisfaction, that he interested himself in my story. I told him my love for Margaret, and the hopes with which I had left home; and my kind master, forever honored be his name! from that moment became my friend. By his desire I remained for two years in his house, pursuing my studies. At the end of that time he recommended me to the captain of a vessel bound to the island of Ceylon We arrived on the very day that the pearl fishery commenced. It was a beautiful morning in the month of February, and the waters of Condatchy Bay sparkled in the sun as though millions of precious stones were floating on their surface. The shore was covered with huts crowded with inmates of every land and of every region. Goldsmiths, jewelers. and merchants, were driving their bargains at the very edge of the sea. The wives and daughters of the pearl fishers greeted with songs the return of the successful barks, which were gaily decked out with flags, and crowds press round the fortunate divers to barter for their precious freight— The dew of heaven,' as they term them.

Among the crowd an old Indian woman particularly attracted my attention. She was poorly clad, and I saw her weeping as she gazed on the animated scene around her. My interpreter informed me that a few months previously, she had lost both husband and son; who it was supposed had been devoured by some of the monsters of fish that are so often fatal to divers. Since that time the poor woman was thought to be deranged, for she wandered about, repeating continually—'Had they but returned that day, they would have been rich for life.

"As my interpreter concluded his tale. the subject of it approached us, and addressed him.

"She is quite mad," he continued, and insists that her husband had discovered a secret by which he could cause pearls to grow in the common oyster.

"My imagination had been greatly excited by the novelty of the scene, and all that night I dreamed of nothing else. The Indian woman's assertion that her husband could grow pearls recurred to my mind as a possibility, and as I formerly studied flowers, so I now studied pearls. For years I labored to discover the secret; at length, I succeeded; and here," he added. taking out a pocket book, "is what will purchase me lands and castles, and titles; but first I have returned to ask my Margaret if she will accompany me to the country where our riches may be grasped."
"He was again silent; the storm raged more furiously than before. The peasant's daughter had sunk on her knees, and with hands and eyes raised seemed to be lost in prayer.

"What are you doing, Margaret?" said Eric angrily. "Choose a better moment for your devotions. Our guest is tired; make your bed here while I conduct him to the sleeping room."

The traveler cast one look of tenderness at the maiden, and then followed his host into the next apartment.

Margaret remained by the fire till she fell asleep. Some time had elapsed, when starting from a disturbed dream, she saw her father, with a lantern in his hand, examining a paper packet, on which was a large seal; at the moment she heard a moan and her name repeated in a faint voice.— The old man turned, and met his daughter's eyes fixed on him. Springing from her seat, she exclaimed—

"Father! what means that knife? Gracious God! blood dropping from the blade! Where is the stranger?"

"Be silent!" he said. We are rich. Lands, castles, titles—all will now be ours!"

"Merciful Heaven!" cried she, "where is my betrothed? I am the Margaret of whom he spoke."

Without attending to her words, Eric tore open the packet. It contained nothing but a written paper! "Is this the treasure he talked of," said he—"was it for this that I killed him?"

"Killed him!" shrieked his daughter, as her lover, deathly pale, staggered into the room, and sank at her feet. Terror-struck at what he supposed to be the ghost of his victim, Eric dropped the paper, and rushed from the cottage. The dying man tried to speak, but the murderer's knife had struck too truly, and blood choked his utterance.

"Linnaeus!" was the only word she could make out as she supported him in her arms; with a last effort he took the red case from his bosom, and opening it, placed the pearl necklace in her hand, his head sunk on her shoulders, and in a few moments he ceased to breathe.

On the following morning the mangled body of Eric was found at the bottom of a precipice.

In accordance with the supposed wish of her deceased lover, Margaret resolved to go to Stockholm. As she performed the journey on foot, it was some time before Linnaeus learned the fate of his protege.— In taking possession of his papers, and among them, of the precious one containing the secret of making pearls, which Eric had dropped on the night of the murder, he was not unmindful of Margaret's interest. She was received into his house, and treated by him as a daughter.

In the year 1761, Linnaeus announced that he had discovered a method of breeding pearls in the common muscle; but seeing that the Swedish Government was not inclined to profit by his invention, he sold the secret to a private individual for a considerable sum of money. Many years afterwards, it was again offered for sale by the heirs of this person, but it does not appear to be known into whose hands it then passed.

It is said that Linnaeus had letters of nobility granted him in consequence of his discovery; and it is certain that he was in the habit of showing a number of pearls which he said had been created by his art.

We are not sure that the above is actually founded on fact, but the germ of the story undoubtedly had its origin in some true revelation. The same incident is embodied in the tragedy of Fatal Curiosity.

—[Editor Mirror.