kiss. I know you get roast meat and mead from the old--"

At that moment Marie came in with the cake and set it down before
Sören, but he threw it along the table.

"Turn those women out!" he shouted.

But the tallow would get cold.

He didn't care if it did.

The maids were sent away.

Sören flung the red cap from him, cursed and swore and was angry. He
didn't want her to go there and stuff him with food as if he was an
unfattened pig, and he wouldn't be made a fool of before people with
her making play-actor caps for him, and there'd have to be an end to
this. He'd have her know that he was the man, and didn't care to have
her coddle him, and he'd never meant it that way. He wanted to rule,
and she'd have to mind him; he wanted to give, and she should take. Of
course he knew he didn't have anything to give, but that was no reason
why she should make nothing of him by giving to him. If she wouldn't
go with him through fire and flood, they'd have to part. He couldn't
stand this. She'd have to give herself into his power and run away with
him, she shouldn't sit there and be your ladyship and make him always
look up to her. He needed to have her be a dog with him--be poor, so he
could be good to her and have her thank him, and she must be afraid of
him and not have any one to put her trust in but him.

A coach was heard driving in at the gate. They knew it must be Palle
Dyre, and Sören stole away to the menservants' quarters.

Three of the men were sitting there on their beds, besides the
gamekeeper, Sören Jensen, who stood up.

"Why, there's the baron!" said one of the men, as the coachman came in.

"Hush, don't let him hear you," exclaimed the other with mock anxiety.

"Ugh," said the first speaker, "I wouldn't be in his shoes fer's many
rosenobles as you could stuff in a mill-sack."

Sören looked around uneasily and sat down on a chest that was standing
against the wall.

"It must be an awful death," put in the man who had not yet spoken, and
shuddered.

Sören Gamekeeper nodded gravely to him and sighed.

"What're you talkin' about?" asked Sören with pretended indifference.

No one answered.

"Is't here?" said the first man, passing his fingers across his neck.

"Hush!" replied the gamekeeper, frowning at the questioner.

"Ef it's me you're talkin' about," said Sören, "don't set there an'
cackle, but say what you got to say."

"Ay," said the gamekeeper, laying great stress on the word and looking
at Sören with a serious air of making up his mind. "Ay, Sören, it _is_
you we're talkin' about. Good Lord!" he folded his hands and seemed
lost in dark musings. "Sören," he began, "it's a hangin' matter what
ye're doin', and I give you warnin'"--he spoke as if reading from
a book--"mend your ways, Sören! There stands the gallows and the
block"--he pointed to the manor-house--"and there a Christian life an'
a decent burial"--he waved his hand in the direction of the stable.
"For you must answer with your neck, that's the sacred word of the law,
ay, so it is, so it is, think o' that!"

"Huh!" said Sören defiantly. "Who'll have the law on me?"

"Ay," repeated the gamekeeper in a tone as if something had been
brought forward that made the situation very much worse. "Who'll
have the law on you? Sören, Sören, who'll have the law on you? But
devil split me, you're a fool," he went on in a voice from which the
solemnity had flown, "an' it's fool's play to be runnin' after an old
woman, when there's such a risk to it. If she'd been young! An' such
an ill-tempered satan, too--let Blue-face keep _her_ in peace, there's
other women in the world besides her, Heaven be praised."

Sören had neither courage nor inclination to explain to them that he
could no longer live without Marie Grubbe. In fact, he was almost
ashamed of his foolish passion, and he knew that if he confessed the
truth, it would only mean that the whole pack of men and maids would
hound him, so he lied and denied his love.

"'Tis a wise way you're pointin', but look 'ee here, folks, I've got
a rix-dollar when you haven't any, an' I've got a bit of clothes an'
another bit an' a whole wagon-load, my dear friends, and once I get my
purse full, I'll run away just as quiet, an' then one o' you can try
your luck."

"All well an' good," answered Sören Gamekeeper, "but it's stealin'
money with your neck in a noose, I say. It's all very fine to have
clothes and silver given you for a gift, an' most agreeable to lie in
bed here an' say you're sick an' get wine an' roasted meat an' all
kinds o' belly-cheer sent down, but it won't go long here with so many
people round. It'll get out some day, an' then you're sure o' the worst
that can befall any one."

"Oh, they won't let things come to such a pass," said Sören, a little
crestfallen.

"Well, they'd both like to get rid o' her, and her sisters and her
brothers-in-law are not the kind o' folks who'd stand between, if
there's a chance o' getting her disinherited."

"O jeminy, she'd help me."

"You think so? She may ha' all she can do helpin' herself; she's been
in trouble too often fer any one to help her wi' so much as a bucket o'
oats."

"Hey-day," said Sören, making for the inner chamber, "a threatened man
may live long."

From that day on, Sören was pursued by hints of the gallows and the
block and the red-hot pincers wherever he went. The consequence was
that he tried to drive away fear and keep up his courage with brandy,
and as Marie often gave him money, he was never forced to stay sober.
After a while, he grew indifferent to the threats, but he was much more
cautious than before, kept more to the other servants, and sought Marie
more rarely.

A little before Christmas, Palle Dyre came home and remained there,
which put a stop to the meetings between Sören and Marie. In order to
make the other servants believe that all was over, and so keep them
from telling tales to the master, Sören began to play sweethearts with
Anne Trinderup, and he deceived them all, even Marie, although he had
told her of his plan.

On the third day of Christmas, when most of the people were at church,
Sören was standing by the wing of the manor-house, playing with one of
the dogs, when suddenly he heard Marie's voice calling him, it seemed
to him under the ground.

He turned and saw Marie standing in the low trap-door leading to the
salt-cellar. She was pale and had been weeping, and her eyes looked
wild and haunted under eyebrows that were drawn with pain.

"Sören," she said, "what have I done, since you no longer love me?"

"But I do love you! Can't you see I must have a care, fer they're all
thinkin' o' nothin' but how they can make trouble fer me an' get me
killed. Don't speak to me, let me go, ef ye don't want to see me dead!"

"Tell me no lies, Sören; I can see what is in your heart, and I wish
you no evil, not for a single hour, for I am not your equal in youth,
and you have always had a kindness for Anne, but it's a sin to let me
see it, Sören, you shouldn't do that. Don't think I am begging you to
take me, for I know full well the danger 'twould put you in, and the
labor and wear and tear that would be needed if we were to become a
couple by ourselves, and 'tis a thing hardly to be wished either for
you or me, though I can't help it."

"But I don't want Anne now or ever, the country jade she is! I'm fond
o' you an' no one else in the world, let 'em call you old and wicked
an' what the devil they please."

"I can't believe you, Sören, much as I wish to."

"You don't believe me?"

"No, Sören, no. My only wish is that this might be my grave, the spot
where I stand. Would that I could close the door over me and sit down
to sleep forever in the darkness."

"I'll make you believe me!"

"Never, never! there is nothing in all the world you can do to make me
believe you, for there is no reason in it."

"You make me daft wi' your talk, and you'll live to be sorry; for I'm
goin' to make you believe me, even ef they burn me alive or do me to
death fer it."

Marie shook her head and looked at him sadly.

"Then it must be, come what may," said Sören and ran away.

He stopped at the kitchen door, asked for Anne Trinderup, and was told
that she was in the garden. Then he went over to the menservants'
quarters, took a loaded old gun of the gamekeeper's, and made for the
garden.

Anne was cutting kale when Sören caught sight of her. She had filled
her apron with the green stuff, and was holding the fingers of one hand
up to her mouth to warm them with her breath. Slowly Sören stole up to
her, his eyes fixed on the edge of her dress, for he did not want to
see her face.

Suddenly Anne turned and saw Sören. His dark looks, the gun, and his
stealthy approach alarmed her, and she called to him: "Oh, don't,
Sören, please don't!" He lifted the gun, and Anne rushed off through
the snow with a wild, shrill scream.

The shot fell; Anne went on running, then put her hand to her cheek and
sank down with a cry of horror.

Sören threw down the gun and ran to the side of the house. He found the
trap-door closed. Then on to the front door, in and through all the
rooms, till he found Marie.

"'Tis all over!" he whispered, pale as a corpse.

"Are they after you, Sören?"

"No, I've shot her."

"Anne? Oh, what will become of us! Run, Sören, run--take a horse and
get away, quick, quick! Take the gray one!"

Sören fled. A moment later he was galloping out of the gate. He was
scarcely halfway to Foulum, when people came back from church. Palle
Dyre at once asked where Sören was going.

"There is some one lying out in the garden, moaning," said Marie. She
trembled in every limb and could hardly stand on her feet.

Palle and one of the men carried Anne in. Her screams could be heard
far and wide, but the hurt was not really serious. The gun had only
been loaded with grapeshot, of which a few had gone through her cheek
and a few more had settled in her shoulder, but as she bled freely and
cried piteously, a coach was sent to Viborg for the barber-surgeon.

When she had gathered her wits together a little, Palle Dyre questioned
her about how it had happened, and was told not only that, but the
whole story of the affair between Sören and Marie.

As soon as he came out of the sick-room all the servants crowded
around him and tried to tell him the same tale, for they were afraid
that if they did not, they might be punished. Palle refused to listen
to them, saying it was all gossip and stupid slander. The fact was, the
whole thing was extremely inconvenient to him: divorce, journeys to
court, lawsuit, and various expenditures--he preferred to avoid them.
No doubt the story could be hushed up and smoothed over and all be as
before. Marie's unfaithfulness did not in itself affect him much; in
fact, he thought it might be turned to advantage, by giving him more
power over her and possibly also over Erik Grubbe, who would surely be
anxious to keep the marriage unbroken, even though it had been violated.

When he had talked with Erik Grubbe, however, he hardly knew what to
think, for he could not make out the old man. He seemed furious, and
had instantly sent off four mounted men with orders to take Sören dead
or alive, which was certainly not a good way of keeping matters dark;
for many other things might come up in a trial for attempted murder.

In the evening of the following day, three of the men returned. They
had caught Sören at Dallerup, where the gray horse had fallen under
him, and had brought him to Skanderborg, where he was now held for
trial. The fourth man had lost his way and did not return until a day
later.

In the middle of January, Palle Dyre and Marie moved to Nörbæk manor.
He thought the servants would more easily forget when their mistress
was out of their sight, but in the latter part of February they were
again reminded of the affair, when a clerk came from Skanderborg
to ask whether Sören had been seen in the neighborhood, for he had
broken out of the arrest. The clerk came too early, for not until a
fortnight later did Sören venture to visit Nörbæk one night, and to
rap on Marie's chamber window. His first question, when Marie opened
it, was whether Anne was dead, and it seemed to relieve his mind of a
heavy burden when he heard that she had quite recovered. He lived in a
deserted house on Gassum heath and often came again to get money and
food. The servants as well as Palle Dyre knew that he was in the habit
of visiting the house, but Palle took no notice, and the servants did
not trouble themselves in the matter, when they saw the master was
indifferent.

At haymaking time, the master and mistress moved back to Tjele, where
Sören did not dare to show himself. His absence, added to her father's
taunts and petty persecution, irritated and angered Marie, until she
gave her feelings vent by scolding Erik Grubbe, in private, two or
three times, as if he had been her foot-boy. The result was that, in
the middle of August, Erik Grubbe sent a letter of complaint to the
King. After recounting at great length all her misdeeds, which were a
sin against God, a scandal before men, and an offence to all womanhood,
he ended the epistle saying:

Whereas she hath thus grievously disobeyed and misconducted herself, I
am under the necessity of disinheriting her, and I do humbly beseech
Your Royal Majesty that You will graciously be pleased to ratify and
confirm this my action, and that Your Royal Majesty will furthermore
be pleased to issue Your most gracious command to Governor Mogens
Scheel, that he may make inquiry concerning her aforesaid behavior
toward me and toward her husband, and that because of her wickedness,
she be confined at Borringholm, the expense to be borne by me, in
order that the wrath and visitation of God may be upon her as a
disobedient creature, a warning unto others, and her own soul possibly
unto salvation. Had I not been hard pressed, I should not have made
so bold as to come before You with this supplication, but I live in
the most humble hope of Your Royal Majesty's most gracious answer,
acknowledgment, and aid, which God shall surely reward. I live and die

                      Your Royal Majesty's
                          Most humble and most devoted
                              true hereditary subject

                                                      ERIK GRUBBE.

  Tjele, August 14, 1690.

The King desired a statement in the matter from the Honorable Palle
Dyre, and this was to the effect that Marie did not conduct herself
toward him as befitted an honest wife, wherefore he petitioned the
King to have the marriage annulled without process of law. This was
not granted, and the couple were divorced by a decree of the court,
on March twenty-third, sixteen hundred and ninety-one. Erik Grubbe's
supplication that he might lock her up and disinherit her was also
refused, and he had to content himself with keeping her a captive at
Tjele, strictly guarded by peasants, while the trial lasted, and indeed
it must be admitted that he was the last person who had any right to
cast at her the stone of righteous retribution.

As soon as judgment had been pronounced, Marie left Tjele with a poor
bundle of clothes in her hand. She met Sören on the heath to the south,
and he became her third husband.

CHAPTER XVII

About a month later, on an April evening, there was a crowd gathered
outside of Ribe cathedral. The Church Council was in session, and it
was customary, while that lasted, to light the tapers in church three
times a week, at eight o'clock in the evening. The gentry and persons
of quality in town as well as the respectable citizens would assemble
and walk up and down in the nave, while a skilful musician would play
for them on the organ. The poorer people had to be content to listen
from the outside.

Among the latter were Marie Grubbe and Sören.

Their clothing was coarse and ragged, and they looked as if they had
not had enough to eat every day; and no wonder, for it was not a
profitable trade they plied. In an inn between Aarhus and Randers,
Sören had met a poor sick German, who for twenty marks had sold him a
small, badly battered hurdy-gurdy, a motley fool's suit, and an old
checked rug. With these he and Marie gained their livelihood, going
from market to market; she would turn the hurdy-gurdy, and he would
stand on the checked rug, dressed in the motley clothes, lifting and
doing tricks with some huge iron weights and long iron bars, which they
borrowed of the tradesmen.

It was the market that had brought them to Ribe.

They were standing near the door, where a faint, faded strip of light
shone on their pale faces and the dark mass of heads behind them.
People were coming singly or in pairs or small groups, talking and
laughing in well-bred manner to the very threshold of the church, but
there they suddenly became silent, gazed gravely straight before them,
and changed their gait.

Sören was seized with a desire to see more of the show, and whispered
to Marie that they ought to go in; there was no harm in trying, nothing
worse could happen to them than to be turned out. Marie shuddered
inwardly at the thought that _she_ should be turned out from a place
where common artisans could freely go, and she held back Sören, who
was trying to draw her on; but suddenly she changed her mind, pressed
eagerly forward, pulling Sören after her, and walked in without the
slightest trace of shrinking timidity or stealthy caution; indeed, she
seemed determined to be noticed and turned out. At first no one stopped
them, but just as she was about to step into the well-lit, crowded
nave, a church warden, who was stationed there, caught sight of them.
After casting one horrified glance up through the church, he advanced
quickly upon them with lifted and outstretched hands, as if pushing
them before him to the very threshold, and over it. He stood there for
a moment, looking reproachfully at the crowd, as if he blamed it for
what had occurred, then returned with measured tread, and took up his
post, shuddering.

The crowd met the ejected ones with a burst of jeering laughter and a
shower of mocking questions, which made Sören growl and look around
savagely, but Marie was content; she had bent to receive the blow which
the respectable part of society always has ready for such as he, and
the blow had fallen.

On the night before St. Oluf's market, four men were sitting in one of
the poorest inns at Aarhus, playing cards.

One of the players was Sören. His partner, a handsome man with
coal-black hair and a dark skin, was known as Jens Bottom, and was a
juggler. The other two members of the party were joint owners of a
mangy bear. Both were unusually hideous: one had a horrible harelip,
while the other was one-eyed, heavy jowled, and pock-marked, and was
known as Rasmus Squint, plainly because the skin around the injured
eye was drawn together in such a manner as to give him the appearance
of being always ready to peer through a key-hole or some such small
aperture.

The players were sitting at one end of the long table which ran under
the window and held a candle and an earless cruse. Opposite them was a
folding-table, fastened up against the wall with an iron hook. A bar
ran across the other end of the room, and a thin, long-wicked candle,
stuck into an old inverted funnel, threw a sleepy light over the shelf
above, where some large, square flasks of brandy and bitters, some
quart and pint measures, and half-a-dozen glasses had plenty of room
beside a basket full of mustard seed and a large lantern with panes
of broken glass. In one corner outside of the bar sat Marie Grubbe,
knitting and drowsing, and in the other sat a man with body bent
forward and elbows resting on his knees. He seemed intent on pulling
his black felt hat as far down over his head as possible, and when that
was accomplished, he would clutch the wide brim, slowly work the hat
up from his head again, his eyes pinched together and the corners of
his mouth twitching, probably with the pain of pulling his hair, then
presently begin all over again.

"Then this is the last game to play," said Jens Bottom, whose lead it
was.

Rasmus Squint pounded the table with his knuckles as a sign to his
partner, Salmand, to cover.

Salmand played two of trumps.

"A two!" cried Rasmus; "have you nothing but twos and threes in your
hand?"

"Lord," growled Salmand, "there's always been poor folks and a few
beggars."

Sören trumped with a six.

"Oh, oh," Rasmus moaned, "are you goin' to let him have it for a six?
What the devil are you so stingy with your old cards for, Salmand?"

He played, and Sören won the trick.

"Kerstie Meek," said Sören, playing four of hearts.

"And her half-crazy sister," continued Rasmus, putting on four of
diamonds.

"Maybe an ace is good enough," said Sören, covering with ace of trumps.

"Play, man, play, if you never played before!" cried Rasmus.

"That's too costly," whimpered Salmand, taking his turn.

"Then I'll put on my seven and another seven," said Jens.

Sören turned the trick.

"And then nine of trumps," Jens went on, leading.

"Then I'll have to bring on my yellow nag," cried Salmand, playing two
of hearts.

"You'll never stable it," laughed Sören, covering with four of spades.

"Forfeit!" roared Rasmus Squint, throwing down his cards. "Forfeit with
two of hearts, that's a good day's work! Nay, nay, 'tis a good thing
we're not goin' to play any more. Now let them kiss the cards that have
won."

They began to count the tricks, and while they were busy with this,
a stout, opulently dressed man came in. He went at once to the
folding-table, let it down, and took a seat nearest the wall. As he
passed the players, he touched his hat with his silver-knobbed cane,
and said: "Good even to the house!"

"Thanks," they replied, and all four spat.

The newcomer took out a paper full of tobacco and a long clay pipe,
filled it, and pounded the table with his cane.

A barefoot girl brought him a brazier full of hot coals and a large
earthenware cruse with a pewter cover. He took out from his vest-pocket
a pair of small copper pincers, which he used to pick up bits of coal
and put them in his pipe, drew the cruse to him, leaned back, and made
himself as comfortable as the small space would allow.

"How much do you have to pay for a paper o' tobacco like the one you've
got there, master?" asked Salmand, as he began to fill his little pipe
from a sealskin pouch held together with a red string.

"Sixpence," said the man, adding, as if to apologize for such
extravagance, "it's very good for the lungs, as you might say."

"How's business?" Salmand went on, striking fire to light his pipe.

"Well enough, and thank you kindly for asking, well enough, but I'm
getting old, as you might say."

"Well," said Rasmus Squint, "but then you've no need to run after
customers, since they're all brought to you."

"Ay," laughed the man, "in respect of that, it's a good business, and,
moreover, you don't have to talk yourself hoarse persuading folks to
buy your wares; they have to take 'em as they come, they can't pick and
choose."

"And they don't want anything thrown in," Rasmus went on, "and don't
ask for more than what's rightly comin' to 'em."

"Master, do they scream much?" asked Sören in a half whisper.

"Well, they don't often laugh."

"Faugh, what an ugly business!"

"Then there's no use my counting on one of you for help, I suppose."

"Are you countin' on us to help you?" asked Rasmus, and rose angrily.

"I'm not counting on anything, but I'm looking for a young man to help
me and to take the business after me, that's what I'm looking for, as
you might say."

"And what wages might a man get for that?" asked Jens Bottom, earnestly.

"Fifteen dollars per annum in ready money, one-third of the clothing,
and one mark out of every dollar earned according to the fixed rate."

"And what might that be?"

"The rate is this, that I get five dollars for whipping at the post,
seven dollars for whipping from town, four dollars for turning out of
the county, and the same for branding with hot iron."

"And for the bigger work?"

"Alack, that does not come so often, but it's eight dollars for cutting
off a man's head, that is with an axe: with a sword it's ten, but that
may not occur once in seven years. Hanging is fourteen rix-dollars, ten
for the job itself and four for taking the body down from the gallows.
Breaking on the wheel is seven dollars, that is for a whole body, but
I must find the stake and put it up too. And now, is there anything
more? Ay, crushing arms and legs according to the new German fashion
and breaking on the wheel, that's fourteen--that's fourteen, and for
quartering and breaking on the wheel I get twelve, and then there's
pinching with red-hot pincers, that's two dollars for every pinch, and
that's all; there's nothing more except such extras as may come up."

"It can't be very hard to learn, is it?"

"The business? Well, any one can do it, but how--that's another matter.
There's a certain knack about it that one gets with practice, just
like any other handicraft. There's whipping at the post, that's not so
easy, if 'tis to be done right,--three flicks with each whip, quick and
light like waving a bit of cloth, and yet biting the flesh with due
chastisement, as the rigor of the law and the betterment of the sinner
require."

"I think I might do it," said Jens, sighing as he spoke.

"Here's the earnest-penny," tempted the man at the folding-table,
putting a few bright silver coins out before him.

"Think well!" begged Sören.

"Think and starve, wait and freeze--that's two pair of birds that are
well mated," answered Jens, rising. "Farewell as an honest and true
guild-man," he went on, giving Sören his hand.

"Farewell, guild-mate, and godspeed," replied Sören.

He went round the table with the same farewell and got the same answer.
Then he shook hands with Marie and with the man in the corner, who had
to let go his hat for the moment.

Jens proceeded to the man at the folding-table, who settled his face
in solemn folds and said: "I, Master Herman Köppen, executioner in
the town of Aarhus, take you in the presence of these honest men, a
journeyman to be and a journeyman's work to perform, to the glory of
God, your own preferment, and the benefit of myself and the honorable
office of executioner," and as he made this unnecessarily pompous
speech, which seemed to give him immense satisfaction, he pressed the
bright earnest-penny into Jens's hand. Then he rose, took off his hat,
bowed, and asked whether he might not have the honor of offering the
honest men who had acted as witnesses a drink of half and half.

The three men at the long table looked inquiringly at one another, then
nodded as with one accord.

The barefoot girl brought a clumsy earthenware cruse, and three green
glasses on which splotches of red and yellow stars were still visible.
She set the cruse down before Jens and the glasses before Sören and
the bear-baiters, and fetched a large wooden mug from which she filled
first the glasses of the three honest men, then the earthenware cruse,
and finally Master Herman's private goblet.

Rasmus drew his glass toward him and spat, the two others followed
suit, and they sat a while looking at one another, as if none of them
liked to begin drinking. Meanwhile Marie Grubbe came up to Sören and
whispered something in his ear, to which he replied by shaking his
head. She tried to whisper again, but Sören would not listen. For a
moment she stood uncertain, then caught up the glass and emptied the
contents on the floor, saying that he mustn't drink the hangman's
liquor. Sören sprang up, seized her arm in a hard grip, and pushed her
out of the door, gruffly ordering her to go upstairs. Then he called
for a half pint of brandy and resumed his place.

"I'd like to ha' seen my Abelone--God rest her soul--try a thing like
that on me," said Rasmus, drinking.

"Ay," said Salmand, "she can thank the Lord she isn't my woman, I'd
ha' given her somethin' else to think o' besides throwin' the gifts o'
God in the dirt."

"But look 'ee, Salmand," said Rasmus, with a sly glance in Master
Herman's direction, "your wife she isn't a fine lady of the gentry,
she's only a poor common thing like the rest of us, and so she gets
her trouncin' when she needs it, as the custom is among common people;
but if instead she'd been one of the quality, you'd never ha' dared to
flick her noble back, you'd ha' let her spit you in the face, if she
pleased."

"No, by the Lord Harry, I wouldn't," swore Salmand, "I'd ha' dressed
her down till she couldn't talk or see, and I'd ha' picked the maggots
out o' her. You just ask mine if she knows the thin strap bruin's tied
up in--you'll see it'll make her back ache just to think of it. But
if she'd tried to come as I'm sitting here and pour my liquor on the
floor, I'd ha' trounced her, if she was the emperor's own daughter, as
long's I could move a hand, or there was breath in my body. What is
she thinking about,--the fine doll,--does she think she's better than
anybody else's wife, since she's got the impudence to come here and
put shame on her husband in the company of honest men? Does she s'pose
it 'ud hurt her if you came near her after drinkin' the liquor of this
honorable man? Mind what I say, Sören, and"--he made a motion as if he
were beating some one--"or else you'll never in the wide world get any
good out of her."

"If he only dared," teased Rasmus, looking at Sören.

"Careful, Squint, or I'll tickle your hide."

With that he left them. When he came into the room where Marie was, he
closed the door after him with a kick, and began to untie the rope that
held their little bundle of clothing.

Marie was sitting on the edge of the rough board frame that served as
a bed. "Are you angry, Sören?" she said.

"I'll show you," said Sören.

"Have a care, Sören! No one yet has offered me blows since I came of
age, and I will not bear it."

He replied that she could do as she pleased, he meant to beat her.

"Sören, for God's sake, for God's sake, don't lay violent hands on me,
you will repent it!"

But Sören caught her by the hair, and beat her with the rope. She did
not cry out, but merely moaned under the blows.

"There!" said Sören, and threw himself on the bed.

Marie lay still on the floor. She was utterly amazed at herself. She
expected to feel a furious hatred against Sören rising in her soul,
an implacable, relentless hatred, but no such thing happened. Instead
she felt a deep, gentle sorrow, a quiet regret at a hope that had
burst--how could he?

CHAPTER XVIII

In May of sixteen hundred and ninety-five Erik Grubbe died at the age
of eighty-seven. The inheritance was promptly divided among his three
daughters, but Marie did not get much, as the old man, before his
death, had issued various letters of credit in favor of the other two,
thus withdrawing from the estate the greater part of his property to
the disadvantage of Marie.

Even so, her portion was sufficient to make her and her husband
respectable folk instead of beggars, and with a little common sense,
they might have secured a fair income to the end of their days.
Unluckily Sören made up his mind to become a horse-dealer, and it was
not long before he had squandered most of the money. Still there was
enough left so they could buy the Burdock House at the Falster ferry.

In the early days they had a hard time, and Marie often had to lend a
hand at the oars, but later on her chief task was to mind the ale-house
which was a part of the ferry privileges. On the whole, they were very
happy, for Marie still loved her husband above everything else in the
world, and though he would sometimes get drunk and beat her, she did
not take it much to heart. She realized that she had enrolled in a
class where such things were an every-day matter, and though she would
sometimes feel irritated, she would soon get over it by telling herself
that this man who could be so rough and hard was the same Sören who had
once shot a human being for her sake.

The people they ferried over were generally peasants and cattle-men,
but occasionally there would come some one who was a little higher up
in the world. One day Sti Högh passed that way. Marie and her husband
rowed him across, and he sat in the stern of the boat, where he could
talk with Marie, who had the oar nearest him. He recognized her at
once, but showed no signs of surprise; perhaps he had known that he
would find her there. Marie had to look twice before she knew him, for
he was very much changed. His face was red and bloated, his eyes were
watery; his lower jaw dropped, as if the corners of his mouth were
paralyzed, his legs were thin, and his stomach hung down,--in short, he
bore every mark of a life spent in stupefying debauchery of every kind,
and this had, as a matter of fact, been his chief pursuit ever since he
left Marie. As far as the external events went, he had for a time been
_gentilhomme_ and _maître d'hôtel_ in the house of a royal cardinal in
Rome, had gone over to the Catholic Church, had joined his brother,
Just Högh, then ambassador to Nimeguen, had been converted back to the
Lutheran religion again, and returned to Denmark, where he was living
on the bounty of his brother.

"Is this," he asked, nodding in the direction of Sören,--"is this the
one I foretold was to come after me?"

"Ay, he is the one," said Marie, hesitating a little, for she would
have preferred not to reply.

"And he is greater than I--was?" he went on, straightening himself in
his seat.

"Nay, you can't be likened to him, your lordship," she answered,
affecting the speech of a peasant woman.

"Oh, ay, so it goes--you and I have indeed cheapened ourselves--we've
sold ourselves to life for less pay than we had thought to, you in one
manner, I in another."

"But your lordship is surely well enough off?" asked Marie, in the same
simple tone.

"Well enough," he laughed, "well enough is more than half ill; I am
indeed well enough off. And you, Marie?"

"Thank you kindly for asking; we've got our health, and when we keep
tugging at the oars every day, we've got bread and brandy too."

They had reached land, and Sti stepped out and said good-by.

"Lord," said Marie, looking after him pityingly, "he's certainly been
shorn of crest and wings too."

Peacefully and quietly the days passed at the Burdock House, with
daily work and daily gain. Little by little, the pair improved their
condition, hired boatmen to do the ferrying, carried on a little trade,
and built a wing on their old house. They lived to the end of the old
century and ten years into the new. Marie turned sixty, and she turned
sixty-five, and still she was as brisk and merry at her work as if
she had been on the sunny side of sixty. But then it happened, on her
sixty-eighth birthday, in the spring of seventeen hundred and eleven,
that Sören accidentally shot and killed a skipper from Dragör under
very suspicious circumstances, and in consequence was arrested.

This was a hard blow to Marie. She had to endure a long suspense, for
judgment was not pronounced until midsummer of the following year, and
this, together with her anxiety lest the old affair of his attempt on
the life of Anne Trinderup should be taken up again, aged her very much.

One day, in the beginning of this period of waiting, Marie went down
to meet the ferry just as it was landing. There were two passengers
on board, and one of these, a journeyman, absorbed her attention by
refusing to show his passport, declaring that he had shown it to the
boatmen, when he went on board, which they, however, denied. When
she threatened to charge him full fare, unless he would produce his
passport as proof of his right as a journeyman to travel for half
price, he had to give in. This matter being settled, Marie turned to
the other passenger, a little slender man who stood, pale and shivering
after the seasickness he had just endured, wrapped in his mantle of
coarse, greenish-black stuff, and leaning against the side of a boat
that had been dragged up on the beach. He asked in a peevish voice
whether he could get lodgings in the Burdock House, and Marie replied
that he might look at their spare room.

She showed him a little chamber which, besides bed and chair, contained
a barrel of brandy with funnel and waste-cup, some large kegs of
molasses and vinegar, and a table with legs painted in pearl-color and
a top of square tiles, on which scenes from the Old and New Testament
were drawn in purplish black. The stranger at once noticed that three
of the tiles represented Jonah being thrown on land from the mouth of
the whale, and when he put his hand on them, he shuddered, declaring
he was sure to catch a cold, if he should be so careless as to sit and
read with his elbows on the table.

When Marie questioned him, he explained that he had left Copenhagen on
account of the plague, and meant to stay until it was over. He ate only
three times a day, and he could not stand salt meat or fresh bread. As
for the rest, he was a master of arts, at present fellow at Borch's
Collegium, and his name was Holberg, Ludvig Holberg.

Master Holberg was a very quiet man of remarkably youthful appearance.
At first glance, he appeared to be about eighteen or nineteen years
old, but upon closer examination, his mouth, his hands, and the
inflection of his voice showed that he must be a good deal older. He
kept to himself, spoke but little, and that little--so it seemed--with
reluctance. Not that he avoided other people, but he simply wanted
them to leave him in peace and not draw him into conversation. When
the ferry came and went with passengers, or when the fishermen brought
in their catch, he liked to watch the busy life from a distance and
to listen to the discussions. He seemed to enjoy the sight of people
at work, whether it was ploughing or stacking or launching the boats,
and whenever any one put forth an effort that showed more than common
strength, he would smile with pleasure and lift his shoulders in quiet
delight. When he had been at the Burdock House for a month, he began to
approach Marie Grubbe, or rather he allowed her to approach him, and
they would often sit talking, in the warm summer evenings, for an hour
or two at a time, in the common room, where they could look out through
the open door, over the bright surface of the water, to the blue, hazy
outlines of Möen.

One evening, after their friendship had been well established, Marie
told him her story, and ended with a sigh, because they had taken Sören
away from her.

"I must own," said Holberg, "that I am utterly unable to comprehend how
you could prefer an ordinary groom and country oaf to such a polished
gentleman as his Excellency the Viceroy, who is praised by everybody
as a past master in all the graces of fashion, nay as the model of
everything that is elegant and pleasing."

"Even though he had been as full of it as the book they call the
_Alamodische Sittenbuch_, it would not have mattered a rush, since I
had once for all conceived such an aversion and loathing for him that I
could scarce bear to have him come into my presence; and you know how
impossible it is to overcome such an aversion, so that if one had the
virtue and principles of an angel, yet this natural aversion would be
stronger. On the other hand, my poor present husband woke in me such
instant and unlooked-for inclination that I could ascribe it to nothing
but a natural attraction, which it would be vain to resist."

"Ha! That were surely well reasoned! Then we have but to pack all
morality into a strong chest and send it to Hekkenfell, and live on
according to the desires of our hearts, for then there is no lewdness
to be named but we can dress it up as a natural and irresistible
attraction, and in the same manner there is not one of all the virtues
but we can easily escape from the exercise of it; for one may have
an aversion for sobriety, one for honesty, one for modesty, and such
a natural aversion, he would say, is quite irresistible, so one who
feels it is quite innocent. But you have altogether too clear an
understanding, goodwife, not to know that all this is naught but wicked
conceits and bedlam talk."

Marie made no answer.

"But do you not believe in God, goodwife," Master Holberg went on, "and
in the life everlasting?"

"Ay, God be praised, I do. I believe in our Lord."

"But eternal punishment and eternal reward, goodwife?"

"I believe every human being lives his own life and dies his own death,
that is what I believe."

"But that is no faith; do you believe we shall rise again from the dead?"

"How shall I rise? As the young innocent child I was when I first came
out among people, or as the honored and envied favorite of the King and
the ornament of the court, or as poor old hopeless Ferryman's Marie?
And shall I answer for what the others, the child and the woman in the
fullness of life, have sinned, or shall one of them answer for me? Can
you tell me that, Master Holberg?"

"Yet you have had but one soul, goodwife!"

"Have I indeed?" asked Marie, and sat musing for a while. "Let me speak
to you plainly, and answer me truly as you think. Do you believe that
one who his whole life has sinned grievously against God in heaven, and
who in his last moment, when he is struggling with death, confesses his
sin from a true heart, repents, and gives himself over to the mercy
of God, without fear and without doubt, do you think such a one is
more pleasing to God than another who has likewise sinned and offended
against Him, but then for many years of her life has striven to do her
duty, has borne every burden without a murmur, but never in prayer or
open repentance has wept over her former life, do you think that she
who has lived as she thought was rightly lived, but without hope of any
reward hereafter and without prayer, do you think God will thrust her
from Him and cast her out, even though she has never uttered a word of
prayer to Him?"

"That is more than any man may dare to say," replied Master Holberg and
left her.

Shortly afterwards he went away.

In August of the following year, judgment was pronounced against Sören
Ferryman, and he was sentenced to three years of hard labor in irons at
Bremerholm.

It was a long time to suffer, longer to wait, yet at last it was over.
Sören came home, but the confinement and harsh treatment had undermined
his health, and before Marie had nursed him for a year, they bore him
to the grave.

For yet another long, long year Marie had to endure this life. Then she
suddenly fell ill and died. Her mind was wandering during her illness,
and the pastor could neither pray with her nor give her the sacrament.

On a sunny day in summer they buried her at Sören's side, and over the
bright waters and the golden grainfields sounded the hymn, as the poor
little group of mourners, dulled by the heat, sang without sorrow and
without thought:

    "Lord God, in mercy hear our cry before Thee,
    Thy bloody scourge lift from us, we implore Thee;
    Turn Thou from us Thy wrath all men pursuing
            For their wrongdoing.

    "If Thou regard alone our vile offending,
    If upon us true justice were descending,
    Then must the earth and all upon it crumble,
            Yea, proud and humble."

THE END

  Transcriber's Note: The cover image was created for this e-book and
  is granted to the public domain.


[1146] R. Berenger, _Hist. and Art of Horsemanship_, 1771, p. 322. [I
have not seen the original drawing by Father B. De Montfaucon, but
have read his remarks on horseshoes, in _L’Antiquité expliquée_, tr.
D. Humphreys, 1722, IV. pp. 50-1.] J. Beckmann, _op.
cit._ I. pp. 451-2, gives several reasons against the
genuineness of the Childeric shoe.

[1147] Tozer, _op. cit._ p. 83. Gen. A. Pitt-Rivers, _Excavations
in Cranborne Chase_, I. pp. 83-4, 97, 247;
II. p. 139; III. pp. 84, 138, 141. The
hippo-sandal is discussed in I. pp. 77-9. C. Roach
Smith, _Collectanea Antiqua_, III. pp. 128-9; also his
_Illustrations of Roman London_, 1859, pp. 145-6. F. Keller, _Lake
Dwellings of Switzerland_, I. pp. 592, 595. G. Payne,
in _Archaeologia Cantiana_, 1897, XXII. p. 73. Cf. W.
Youatt, _The Horse_, 1888, pp. 440-1. For the Northumberland horseshoe
see H. M. Neville, _A Corner in the North_, 1909, pp. 110-11. For the
merits of shoeing horses see _Encyclopaedia of Agriculture_, ed. C.
E. Green and D. Young, 1908, Art. “Horse shoeing.” A somewhat popular
account of the horse’s foot is given in Sir Charles Bell’s _The Hand_,
8th edition, 1885, pp. 61-64.

[1148] Ridgeway, _op. cit._ p. 503. Mr L. Jewitt, _Grave-Mounds
and their Contents_, 1870, asserts (p. 201) that horseshoes are
occasionally met with in burials of the Roman-British period and (p.
264) that they have been recorded from Anglo-Saxon graves in Berkshire.
The conclusions reached by Prof. T. McKenny Hughes, in _Proc. Camb.
Antiq. Soc._, X. 1904, pp. 249-58, should be consulted;
they vary somewhat from those given in the text. On the general
question, see _Jour. Brit. Archaeol. Assoc._, VI. pp.
406-18; _Antiquary_, 1911, N.S., VII. p. 275.

[1149] This form was also formerly used around Cerne Abbas, Dorsetshire.

[1150] See list of references, p. 424 _supra_.

[1151] J. G. Keysler, _Antiquitates Selectae Septentrionales et
Celticae_, 1720, pp. 115, 168-9, 518.

[1152] Virgil, _Aeneid_, l. VI. ll. 885-7.

[1153] J. R. Allen, _Celtic Art in Pagan and Christian Times_, 1904,
pp. 64-5, 94-5, R. A. Smith, _Guide to Early Iron Age_ (Brit. Mus.),
1905, pp. 50, 73, 90 etc. L. Jewitt, _op. cit._ pp. 201, 264-5. J.
R. Mortimer, _Forty Years’ Researches_, pp. 358, 359. Ridgeway, _op.
cit._, deals fully with the subject. The _Naturalist_, 1905, pp.
264-5, also gives a list of chariot-burials. _Archaeologia_, 1906,
LX. pp. 281 et seqq., pp. 311-2. R. Munro, _Prehistoric
Scotland_, 1899, pp. 247-50.

[1154] _British Barrows_, pp. 454, 455.

[1155] _Ibid._ p. 456.

[1156] B. C. A. Windle, _Remains of the Prehistoric Age in England_,
1904, p. 287.

[1157] J. J. A. Worsaae, _Pre-history of the North_, tr. H. F. M.
Simpson, 1886, p. 192; also (by the same writer), _Industrial Arts of
Denmark_, 1882, pp. 190-2.

[1158] Baron J. de Baye, _Indus. Arts of the Anglo-Saxons_, p. 18.
Prof. É. Metchnikoff, who cites the case of Duguesclin, gives an
additional instance from Treves, A.D. 1781. See _Nature
of Man_, tr. P. Chambers Mitchell, 1906, p. 141. See also _Prim.
Culture_, I. p. 474.

[1159] _Notes and Queries_, 8th Ser., XII. p. 158. See,
especially, E. P. Squarey, _The “Moot” and its Traditions_, 1906, pp.
34-5.

[1160] R. Southey, _Letters of Espriella_, 1st edition, 1807,
I. pp. 52-3.

[1161] _Notes and Queries_, 7th Ser., VI. p. 73.

[1162] G. Rawlinson, in his edition of Herodotus, 1880,
III. p. 63 n.

[1163] Pliny, _Nat. Hist._, l. VIII. c. 64.

[1164] E. Howlett, in _Curious Church Customs_, ed. W. Andrews, 1898,
p. 129.

[1165] G. S. Tyack, _Lore and Legend of the Eng. Church_, 1899, p. 245.
M. H. Bloxam, _Monumental Architecture of Great Britain_, 1834, pp. 96,
102.

[1166] Tacitus, _De Moribus Germaniae_, c. 10.

[1167] J. Grimm, _Teutonic Mythology_, trans. J. G. Stallybrass, 1883,
II. p. 655.

[1168] Herodotus, _Hist._, l. I. c. 189; l.
VII. c. 55. Grimm, _op. cit._ IV. p.
1483, concerning sacred horses alluded to by Plutarch.

[1169] Herodotus, _Hist._, l. IV. c. 52.

[1170] Rev. vi. 2, and xix. 11.

[1171] See the authorities cited by J. Timbs, _Curiosities of Science_,
6th edition, 1862, p. 191.

[1172] See the details collected in _Folk-Memory_, 1908, pp. 323, 325.

[1173] _Folk-Memory_, pp. 323-6; _Archaeologia_, XXI.
289-98; _Vict. Hist. of Berks._, 1906, pp. 188-92.

[1174] _Guide to Early Iron Age_, p. 29.

[1175] _Ibid._ pp. 115-6.

[1176] J. Stevens, in _Jour. Archaeol. Assoc._, XL.
1884, pp. 64-6.

[1177] Concerning the development of the interlacing ornament from
animal forms, and the further question of the supposed Scandinavian
origin of some of these animal figures, see J. Romilly Allen, _Celtic
Art in Pagan and Christian Times_, 1904, pp. 249-50.

[1178] Grimm, _Teut. Myth._, I. p. 49.

[1179] _Ibid._ II. p. 664.

[1180] J. M. Kemble, _The Saxons in England_, 1876, II.
p. 429.

[1181] Keysler, _op. cit._ p. 326. Dufour’s French translation gives
the number of each kind of victim as 89, but this is evidently an error.

[1182] Kemble, _op. cit._ II. p. 429.

[1183] Bede, _Eccles. Hist._, l. II. c. 13.

[1184] _Ibid._

[1185] Grimm, _Teut. Myth._, II. p. 665.

[1186] Grant Allen, _Evolution of the Idea of God_, R.P.A. edition,
1903, p. 122. J. G. Frazer, _Golden Bough_, 1890, II.
pp. 24-5; Frazer, _Totemism and Exogamy_, 1910, III. p.
391. Cf. _Folk-Lore_, XI. pp. 257-8.

[1187] Keysler, _op. cit._ pp. 322-48.

[1188] _Ibid._ pp. 322-3.

[1189] _Ibid._ p. 348.

[1190] W. Boyd Dawkins, _Cave Hunting_, 1874, p. 132.

[1191] Keysler, _op. cit._ p. 339.

[1192] _Ibid._ p. 340.

[1193] W. Boyd Dawkins, _op. cit._ p. 132.

[1194] _Ibid._ pp. 132, 133.

[1195] Grimm, _Teut. Myth._, III. p. 1049;
IV. pp. 1302, 1304, 1619.

[1196] Grimm, _op. cit._ IV. p. 1050.

[1197] _Ibid._ p. 1619.

[1198] L’Abbé V. Dufour, _Une Question Historique_, 1868, translated
from Keysler’s _Antiquitates_, p. 65.

[1199] Dufour, _op. cit._ p. 66.

[1200] _Ibid._ p. 67.

[1201] _Notes and Queries_, 10th Ser., X. 1908, p. 245.

[1202] A. de Gubernatis, _Zoological Mythology_, 1872,
I. pp. 283-357.

[1203] Doigneau, _Nos Ancêtres Primitifs_, p. 127. Dr J. G. Frazer,
_Golden Bough_, II. pp. 64-5, refers to the Roman
custom, at the October chariot-race, of cutting off the tail of the
right-hand horse of the victorious team, and states that this was done
to ensure a good crop: the horse represented the corn spirit.

[1204] Herodotus, _Hist._, l. II. c. 39. For
superstitions respecting the sanctity of the human head, see _Golden
Bough_, I. pp. 187-93.

[1205] _Teut. Myth._, IV. p. 1483.

[1206] _Ibid._ II. p. 661.

[1207] _Zool. Myth._, I. p. 303.

[1208] _Teut. Myth._, II. p. 661.

[1209] _Ibid._ p. 660.

[1210] _Ibid._ p. 660.

[1211] M. Braitmaier, in _Folk-Lore_, XI. pp. 322-3, and
plates II-VI.

[1212] _Notes and Queries_, 3rd Ser., VII. p. 10.

[1213] _Notes and Queries_, 10th Ser., XI. pp. 71-2, 395.

[1214] P. Maylam, _“The Hooden Horse,” an East Kent Christmas Custom_,
1909, pp. 72-91, 110-20. _Athenaeum_, Feb. 19, 1910, p. 214. In
_Folk-Lore_, XXI. 1910, pp. 248-9, it is argued that the
“hoodening horse” dates, at least, earlier than the Robin Hood period.
Cf. W. Henderson, _Folk-Lore of the N. Counties_, 2nd edition, 1879,
pp. 70-1.

[1215] _Daily Chronicle_, Jan. 2, 1908. Much horse lore of a
similar kind may be found in the volumes of _Folk-Lore_, especially
XI. and XIII.

[1216] Virgil, _Aeneid_, lib. I. ll. 144 et seqq.

[1217] J. Conington, in a note in _Works of Virgil_, ed. G. Long, 1884,
II. p. 52 n.

[1218] _Zool. Myth._, I. p. 333.

[1219] At Burpham, Sussex, the paws of a fox were nailed on the door of
the blacksmith’s shop “for luck” (1911).

[1220] Sir G. L. Gomme, _Ethnology in Folk-Lore_, 1892, pp. 35-6.
(Many instances cited.) Mr Baring-Gould’s experience is related in
_Folk-Lore_, IV. p. 6.

[1221] _Notes and Queries_, 1st Ser., V. p. 274.

[1222] _Jour. Brit. Archaeol. Assoc._, N.S. III. 1897,
pp. 89-103, 192-206.

[1223] _Notes and Queries_, 8th Ser., VIII. p. 248.

[1224] _Ibid._ Additional instances are given in _Folk-Lore_,
XII. 1901, pp. 348-9.

[1225] _Notes and Queries_, 4th Ser., III. p. 564.

[1226] Sir G. L. Gomme, _Folk-Lore Relics in Early Village Life_, 1883,
pp. 34-7. (Other examples given.)

[1227] _Notes and Queries_, 4th Ser., IV. p. 66.

[1228] _Ibid._ 4th Ser., III. p. 500.

[1229] _Ibid._ 6th Ser., I. p. 424.

[1230] Grant Allen, _Evol. of the Idea of God_, p. 122.

[1231] Sir E. Beckett, _Book on Building_, 2nd edition, 1880, p. 281.

[1232] G. M. Hills, in _Jour. Archaeol. Assoc._, XXXV.
p. 97.

[1233] L’Abbé Cochet, in _Gentleman’s Magazine_, N.S.,
XV. pp. 540-3.

[1234] For confirmatory evidence, see E. E. Viollet-le-Duc,
_Dictionnaire raisonné de l’Architecture française du xie au xvie
siècle_, 1865, s.v. “Pot” (t. VI. pp. 471-2).

[1235] É. Didron, _Annales archéologiques_, 1862, t.
XXI. p. 297.

[1236] Didron, _loc. cit._

[1237] _Notes and Queries_, 6th Ser., III. p. 168.

[1238] _Bygone Hertfordshire_, ed. W. Andrews, 1898, p. 157.

[1239] _Papers read at the Royal Institute of British Architects_,
1853-4, pp. 133-4.

[1240] _Jour. Archaeol. Assoc._, 1873, XXIX. p. 306;
1879, XXXV. p. 95.

[1241] _Notes and Queries_, 6th Ser., III. pp. 412-3.
_Rept. Norfolk and Norwich Archaeol. Soc._ 1861, p. iii.

[1242] _Jour. Archaeol. Assoc._, XXXV. pp. 95 et seqq.;
cf. XXXVIII. pp. 218-21; see also XVI.
pp. 359-63. There is an interesting article on “Acoustic jars,” by
G. C. Yates, in _Antiquities and Curiosities of the Church_, ed. W.
Andrews, 1897, pp. 34-43.

[1243] _Jour. Archaeol. Assoc._, 1882, XXXVIII. pp.
218-21.

[1244] Quoted from the 1770 edition of A. Young’s _Six Months’ Tour
through the North of England_, I. pp. 162-3, in _Notes
and Queries_, 7th Ser., II. p. 266.

[1245] W. Marshall, _Rural Econ. of Yorkshire_, 1788, I.
p. 261.

[1246] _Notes and Queries_, 7th Ser., II. p. 266.

[1247] _Ibid._, 7th Ser., II. p. 354.

[1248] _Ibid._, 8th Ser., VII. p. 470.

[1249] _Ibid._, 7th Ser., II. p. 318.

[1250] _Ibid._, 8th Ser., VII. p. 396.

[1251] _Ibid._, 8th Ser., VII. p. 469.

[1252] A. Young, _Six Weeks’ Tour through the Southern Counties_, 1769,
pp. 73-4.

[1253] _Notes and Queries_, 7th Ser., II. pp. 372-3.

[1254] _Ibid._, 7th Ser., II. p. 317. A good description
of Sussex oxen is given by W. H. Hudson, in _Nature in Downland_, 1900,
Chap. III.

[1255] W. de Gray Birch, _Domesday Book_, 1887, p. 222; P. H. Newman,
in _Social England_, ed. H. D. Traill, 1894, I. p. 214.

[1256] Another probable mode was to employ four yoke of two each.

[1257] Bartholomew Anglicus, _Mediaeval Lore_, ed. R. Steele, 1905, p.
143. For “langhaldes,” see _Cent. Dict._; for “spanells,” _Eng. Dial.
Dict._ and Funk’s _Standard Dict._ (1906), s.v.

[1258] _Social England_, ed. H. D. Traill, 1894, I. p.
128.

[1259] _Seneschaucie_, reprinted with Walter de Henley’s _Le Dite de
Hosebondrie_, tr. E. Lamond, 1890, p. 113.

[1260] _King Henry IV._, 2nd Pt, Act iii. Sc. 2.

[1261] R. Burns, _My ain Kind Dearie O_, v. 2.

[1262] R. Carew, _Survey of Cornwall_, 1769, p. 23.

[1263] Fitzstephen’s _Descrip. of the City of London_, ed. by “An
Antiquary” [S. Pegge], 1772, pp. 39, 70. Cf. Translation by H. Morley,
in his edition of Stow’s _Survey of London_, 1890, p. 27. See also P.
Vinogradoff, _Eng. Society in the Eleventh Century_, 1908, p. 154.

[1264] _Notes and Queries_, 2nd Ser., II. p. 195. Cf.
_Piers the Plowman_, VI. 289-90: “and a cart-mare to
drawe a-fielde my donge.”

[1265] _Le Dite de Hosebondrie_, p. 11.

[1266] W. J. Corbett, in _Social England_, II. p.
545. Note, however, that towards the end of the sixteenth century
(A.D. 1577) William Harrison, in Holinshed’s
_Chronicle_, speaks of “our cart or plough horses (for we use them
indifferently),” Bk. III. c. 1 (edition 1807, 1. p. 370).

[1267] W. L. Rham, _Dict. of the Farm_, new edition, 1858, p. 202.

[1268] On this theory, a bovate represents one-eighth of a carucate.

[1269] Birch, _Domesday Book_, pp. 225-6. For contrary view, see J. H.
Round, _Feudal England_, 1909, pp. 35-36. Dr Round argues that not only
was the _caruca_ a plough team of eight oxen, but that the number was
fixed. Also P. Vinogradoff, _Villainage in England_, 1892, pp. 252-3.
The number of oxen was perhaps partly dependent upon the practice
of co-aration, or co-operative ploughing. See G. Slater, in _Geogr.
Jour._, 1907, XXIX. p. 39. P. Vinogradoff, _Eng. Society
in the Eleventh Century_, 1908, pp. 154, 164-5. See also F. Seebohm,
_Eng. Vill. Community_, 1896, pp. 62-5, 74, 85, 123.

[1270] Publications of Surtees Society, No. 83, p. 65.

[1271] _Ibid._, No. 87 (_Life of St Cuthbert in Eng. Verse_), p. 170.

[1272] _Ibid._, p. 176.

[1273] G. Roberts, _Social Hist. of the People of the Southern Counties
of England_, 1856, p. 487. Cf. D. Defoe, _Tour thro’ the whole Island
of Great Britain_, 1724, I. pp. 59-60. Timber taken
by road from Sussex to Maidstone, and thence by river to Chatham,
sometimes required three years for the journey.

[1274] R. E. Prothero, in _Social England_, V. p. 455.
Cf. N. J. Hone, _The Manor and Manorial Records_, 1906, pp. 41-3. See
Addenda, p. 497 _infra_.

[1275] Birch, _Domesday Book_, p. 225.

[1276] Rham, _Dict. Farm_, p. 202.

[1277] W. Youatt, _Cattle, their Breeds, Management, and Diseases_, new
edition, 1876, p. 42.

[1278] _Notes and Queries_, 8th Ser., VII. p. 470.

[1279] _Reliquary_, 1905, XI. p. 223.

[1280] Rham, _Dict. Farm_, p. 385.

[1281] _Reliquary_, XI. p. 223.

[1282] Youatt, _Cattle_, p. 42.

[1283] Marshall, _Rural Econ. Yorks._, I. pp. 266-7.

[1284] Rham, _Dict. Farm_, p. 250.

[1285] Cf. _Country Life_, 1911, XXX. pp. 719-20.

[1286] J. E. Thorold Rogers, _Six Centuries of Work and Wages_, 1889,
p. 77. Rham, _Dict. Farm_, p. 203.

[1287] A. Fitzherbert, _Boke of Husbandry_ (1534), ed. Skeat, 1882, p.
16. Concerning the academic question whether the _Boke of Husbandry_
is the work of Anthony or of John Fitzherbert, see the _Dict. of Nat.
Biog._, under “Fitzherbert, Sir Anthony”--decision in favour of Sir
Anthony.

[1288] Rham, _Dict. Farm_, p. 385. Rogers, _Six Centuries_, p. 76. N.
J. Hone, _The Manor and Manorial Records_, 1906, p. 81.

[1289] Rogers, _Six Centuries_, p. 76.

[1290] Youatt, _Cattle_, p. 42.

[1291] _Le Dite de Hosebondrie_, pp. 10-13.

[1292] A. Young, _Six Months Tour, N. of England_, 1771,
IV. pp. 116-137.

[1293] _Ibid._, p. 144.

[1294] _Boke of Husbandry_, p. 15.

[1295] _Ibid._, p. 15.

[1296] _Notes and Queries_, 7th Ser., II. p. 317.

[1297] W. J. Corbett, in _Social England_, II. p. 545.

[1298] Gen. A. L. Pitt-Rivers, _Excavations in Cranborne Chase_, 1887,
etc., I. p. 84. Figure given on Plate XXVII.

[1299] E. Conybeare, _Rom. Brit._ 1903, p. 177 n. (authorities given).
W. Ridgeway, _The Origin and Influence of the Thoroughbred Horse_,
1905, p. 504. Cf. T. McKenny Hughes, in _Proc. Camb. Antiq. Soc._,
X. 1904, pp. 256-7.

[1300] J. Beckmann, _Hist. of Inventions, Discoveries, and Origins_,
tr. W. Johnston, 4th edition, 1846, I. p. 443. Cf.
Pliny, _Nat. Hist._, l. XI. c. 105.

[1301] Beckmann, _l.c._ This writer, and the authorities whom
he quotes, deserve careful study. On the whole, Beckmann sums
up somewhat against the theory that horses were usually shod in
classical times. This conclusion is in practical agreement with that
of Professor Hughes, _loc. cit._ See Aristotle, _Hist. Animal._ l.
II. c. 2, § 6.

[1302] Catullus, _Carm._ xvii. ll. 25-6. Cf. Beckmann,
I. p. 445.

[1303] P. Vinogradoff, _Villainage in England_, 1892, p. 15.

[1304] Rogers, _Six Centuries_, p. 76.

[1305] _Le Dite de Hosebondrie_, p. 13.

[1306] _Boke of Husbandry_, p. 16.

[1307] _Ibid._, p. 16.

[1308] Pub. Surtees Soc., No. 65, p. 250 n.

[1309] _Ibid._, No. 65, p. 250 n.

[1310] Isa. v. 28. Cf. Smith, _Dict. of the Bible_, Art. “Horse.”

[1311] T. McKenny Hughes, in _Proc. Camb. Antiq. Soc._,
X. 1904, pp. 256-7. J. J. Hissey, _Over Fen and Wold_,
1898, p. 127.

[1312] The number of nails required for an ox-shoe varied locally. See,
e.g., the illustration in Youatt’s _Cattle_, p. 569, where three nails
only are shown.

[1313] Youatt, _Cattle_, pp. 569-70. On the general question, see also
T. McKenny Hughes, _loc. cit._

[1314] Marshall, _Rural Econ. Yorks._, II. p. 182.
Arthur Beckett, in _The Spirit of the Downs_, 1909, pp. 285-290, has
a good description of a South Down ploughing match, in which oxen
competed.

[1315] _Rural Econ. Yorks._, I. pp. 262-3. Cf. H. M.
Neville, _A Corner in the North_, 1909, pp. 247-50.

[1316] H. E. Forrest, in _Naturalist_, 1908, p. 330.

[1317] Caesar, _De Bell. Gall._, l. VI. c. 28. The value
of this passage is seriously questioned by Professor J. Wilson, in
_Evolution of British Cattle_, 1909, Ch. I.

[1318] _Naturalist_, 1908, p. 330. Chambers’s _Cyclopaedia_, Art.
“Cattle.” Lord Avebury, _Pre-hist. Times_, 6th edition, 1900, p. 286,
says that the urus survived in Germany until the sixteenth century.

[1319] Lord Avebury, _l.c._

[1320] _Naturalist_, 1908, p. 361.

[1321] W. Boyd Dawkins, _Early Man in Britain_, 1880, p. 261.

[1322] R. Hedger Wallace, “White Cattle,” in _Trans. Nat. Hist. Soc.
Glasgow_, v., N.S. Pt 2 (1897-8), pp. 220-273. Mr Wallace gives
twenty-one pages of bibliography. This excellent paper may be referred
to on many points. J. Wilson, _Evol. of Brit. Cattle_, especially pp.
22-3, 38-40, 61-9, and the whole of Chap. iii. See also R. Lydekker,
in _Knowledge_, XXV. pp. 101-2; H. Woodward, _Guide
to Fossil Mammals and Birds_ (S. Kensington), 8th edition, 1904,
pp. 43-4. An article on Park Cattle appeared in _Nature Notes_,
IX. 1898, pp. 46-9.

[1323] Chambers’s _Cyclopaedia_, Art. “Cattle.” Cf. J. Wilson, _Evol.
of Brit. Cattle_, p. 17. (The view taken is in harmony with that of
Professor T. McKenny Hughes.)

[1324] H. A. Nicholson, _Manual of Palaeontology_, 3rd edition, 1889,
II. p. 1352.

[1325] _Ibid._, 3rd edition, 1889, II. p. 1352.

[1326] H. A. Nicholson, _Manual of Palaeontology_, 3rd edition, 1889,
II. p. 1352. _Naturalist_ 1908, p. 332.

[1327] N. Joly, _Man before Metals_, 4th edition, 1887, p. 268.

[1328] T. Rice Holmes, _Anc. Brit. and the Invas. of Jul. Caesar_,
1907, p. 152 n.

[1329] J. Grimm, _Teutonic Mythology_, tr. J. S. Stallybrass, 1883,
IV. p. 1302.

[1330] _Ibid._, l.c.

[1331] 1 Sam. vi. _vv._ 7 et seqq.

[1332] _Teut. Myth._, IV. p. 1302.

[1333] _Ibid._, I. p. 49.

[1334] Bede, _Ecclesiastical Hist._, l. I. c. 30.

[1335] _Teut. Myth._, II. p. 665.

[1336] S. Baring-Gould, _A Book of Brittany_, 1901, pp. 231-3.

[1337] _Teut. Myth._, II. p. 664.

[1338] A. de Gubernatis, _Zoological Mythology_, 1872,
I. p. 258. The whole of Chap. 1, Section 5, will repay
attention.

[1339] _Zool. Myth._, I. p. 247.

[1340] J. M. Kemble, _The Saxons in England_, 1876, II.
p. 429.

[1341] Greenwell, _British Barrows_, pp. 168, 230. References are also
given to Bateman’s discoveries of ox skulls in Derbyshire barrows.
J. R. Mortimer, _Forty Years’ Researches_, pp. 9, 10, 18, 22, etc. A
barrow near Bridlington yielded a dagger-knife of bronze, with two
plates of ox-horn, of which the hilt had been composed (Evans, _Anc.
Stone Impts_, p. 265).

[1342] R. Colt Hoare, _Anc. Hist. of South Wilts_, 1812,
I. p. 199.

[1343] Pliny, _Nat. Hist._, l. VIII. c. 70.

[1344] Virgil, _Georg._, l. II. line 537. Pliny, _Nat.
Hist._, l. VIII. c. 70. For parallel practices see
Westermarck, _Origin and Devel. of the Moral Ideas_, II.
pp. 330-1, 493, 494.

[1345] W. Smith, _Dict. Greek and Roman Antiq._, Art. “Nummus.” For
the Athenian sacrifice of the ox, see J. G. Frazer, _Golden Bough_,
II. pp. 38, 39, 41; and for the sacred cattle of Egypt,
see II. pp. 59-61.

[1346] Grimm, _Teut. Myth._, II. p. 665.

[1347] _Ibid._, II. p. 664.

[1348] D. Defoe, _A Tour thro’ the whole Island of Great Britain_,
1724, I. p. 60. It will be well to note the reference,
since the passage is incorrectly ascribed to other writers. G. Roberts,
_Soc. Hist. of the S. Counties of England_, 1856, p. 487, cites Fuller
as the author; and Lord Avebury, _Scenery of England_, 1902, pp.
440-7, attributes the statement to Arthur Young. About the close of
the seventeenth century, carriage-teams of oxen were popular among
Roman Catholics, who were prevented by the Penal Laws from possessing a
horse (Tozer, _The Horse in History_, p. 264). Such a carriage-team was
used by Lord Sheffield so late as the close of the eighteenth century
(_Notes and Queries_, 10th Ser., XI. p. 136). See also
L. V. Lucas, _Highways and Byways in Sussex_, 3rd edition, 1907, p.
286, where another instance is recorded from Sussex.

[1349] _Notes and Queries_, 7th Ser., II. p. 317.

[1350] E. C. Brewer, _Dict. of Phrase and Fable_, under “Ox.”

[1351] T. Percy, _Reliques of Anc. Eng. Poetry_, ed. H. B. Wheatley,
1891, III. p. 112.

[1352] _Zoological Mythology_, I. p. 258.

[1353] _Survey of Cornwall_, p. 24.

[1354] _Notes and Queries_, 7th Ser., XI. p. 62.
R. Southey, _Commonplace Book_, ed. J. W. Warter, 1876, Ser.
IV. p. 388.

[1355] _Notes and Queries_, 7th Ser., XI. p. 236.

[1356] J. Ingelow, _High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire_, vv. 5, 23.
Sir W. Scott, _Heart of Midlothian_, chs. xxxix., xlv. See also _Notes
and Queries_, 11th Ser., IV. p. 466.

[1357] E. Thomas, _The South Country_, 1909, p. 129.

[1358] Deut. xxv. 4.

End of Project Gutenberg's Byways in British Archaeology, by Walter Johnson