POULTRY MEG was the only human occupant in the handsome new house which was built for the fowls and ducks on the estate．It stood where the old baronial man-sion had stood，with its tower， crow-step gable，moat，and drawbridge． Close by was a wilderness of trees andbushes ；the garden had been here and had stretched downto a big lake， which was now a bog. Rooks，crows， andjackdaws flew screaming and cawing over the old trees， aperfect swarm of birds． They did not seem to decrease，but rather to increase， although one shot amongst them．One could hear them inside the poultry-house， where Poultry Meg sat with the ducklings running about over herwooden shoes．She knew every fowl，and every duck，from the time it crept out of the egg； she was proud of herfowls and ducks， and proud of the splendid house which had been built for them．
Her own little room was clean and neat， that was thewish of the lady to whom the poultry-house belonged； sheoften came there with distinguished guests and showed them the "barracks of the hens and ducks"，as she called it. Here was both a wardrobe and an easy-chair，and even a chest of drawers，and on it was a brightly polishedbrass plate on which was engraved the word "Grubbe"， which was the name of the old，noble family who had lived here in the mansion. The brass plate was found when they were digging here， and the parish clerk hadsaid that it had no other value except as an old relic． Theclerk knew all about the place and the old time， for hehad knowledge from books；there were so many manuscripts in his table-drawer ．He had great knowledgeof the old times； but the oldest of the crows knew moreperhaps，and screamed aboaut it in his own language，butit was crow-language， which the clerk did not under-stand，clever as he might be．
The bog could steam after a warm summer day so that it seemed as if a lake lay behind the old trees，where thecrows， rooks， and jackdaws flew； so it had appeared whenthe Knight Grubbe had lived here， and the old manor- house stood with its thick，red walls．The dog's chain usedto reach quite past the gateway in those days；through thetower， one went into a stone-paved passage which led to the rooms； the windows were narrow and the panes small，even in the great hall，where the dancing took place，but in the time of the last Grubbe there was no dancing as farback as one could remember，and yet there lay there an old kettledrum which had served as part of the music．Here stood a curions carved cupboard， in which rare flower bulbswere kept， for Lady Grubbe was fond of gardening， and cultivated tress and plants ； her husband preferred ridingout to shoot wolves and wild boars， and his little daughterMarie always went with him ．When she was only five years old， she sat proudly on her horse， and looked round brave-ly with her big black eyes． It was her delight to hit outwith her whip amongst the hounds； her father would havepreferred to see her hit out amongst the peasant boys who came to look at the company．
The peassant in the clay house close to the manor had a son called S ren， the same age as the little noble lady．He knew how to climb；and had always to go up and getthe bird's nests for her． The birds screamed as loud as they could scream， and one of the biggest of them cut himover the eye， so that the blood poured out． It was thoughtat first that the eye had been destroyed； but it was very little damaged after all．
Marie Grubbe called him her Sren—that was a great favour，and it was a good thing for his father， poor John；he had committed a fault one day，and was to be punishedby riding the wooden horse．It stood in the yard， with fourpoles for legs， and a single narrow plank for a back ； onthis John had to ride astride， and have some heavy bricks fastened to his legs， so that he might not sit too comfort-ably；he made horrible grimaces， and Sren wept and im- plored little Marie to interfere； immediately she orderedthat Sren's father should be taken down， and when they did not obey her she stamped on the stone pavement，andpulled her father's coat sleeve till it was torn. She would have her way， and she got it， and Sren's father was tak-en down．
The Lady Grubbe，who now came up，stroked her little daughter's hair， and looked at her affectionately ；Maire did not understand why ．She would go to the hounds， and not with her mother ， who went into the gar- den， down to the lake， where the white and yellow water- lilies bloomed ， and the bulrushes nodded amongst the reeds． She looked at all this luxuriance and freshness．
"How pleasant！" said she． There stood in the garden a rare tree which she herself had planted； it was called a"copper-beech"， a kind of black a mooor amongst the oth- er trees， so dark brown were the leaves； it must havestrong sunshine， otherwise in continual shade it would be- come green like the other trees and so lose its distinctive character．In the high chestnut-trees were many birds'
nests， as well as in the bushes and the grassy meadows．
It seemed as if the birds knew that they were protected here， for here no one dared to fire a gun．
The little Marie came here with Sren； he could climb， as we know， and he fetched both eggs and young downy birds． The birds flew about in terror and anguish，little ones and big ones！Peewits from the field， rooks， crows， and jackdaws from the high trees， screamed andshrieked； it was a shriek exactly the same as their descendants shriek in our own day．
" What are you doing， children？" cried the gentle lady．"This is ungodly work！"
Sren stood ashamed， and even the high-born littlegirl looked a little abashed， but then she said， shortly and sulkily，"My father lets me do it！"
"Afar！ afar！" screamed the great blackbirds， and flew off， but they came again next day， for their home was here．
But the quiet， gentle lady did not stay long at home here；our Lord called her to Himself， with Him she was more at home than in the mansion，and the church bellstolled solemnly when her body was carried to the church．
Poor men's eyes were wet，for she had been good to them．When she was gone，no one cared for her plants， and the garden ran to waste．
Sir Grubbe was a bard man， they said， but his daugh- ter，although she was so young，could manage him；he had to laugh， and she got her way．She was now twelve yearsold， and strongly built；she looked through and throughpeople， with her big black eyes， rode her horse like a man， and shot her gun like a practised hunter．
One day there came great visitors to the neighbour- hood， the very greatest， the young king and his half-broth- er and comrade Lord Ulrik Frederick Gyldenlwe； theywanted to hunt the wild boar there， and would stay somedays at Sir Grubbe's castle．
Gyldenlwe sat next Marie at table； he took her roundthe neck and gave her a kiss， as if they had been rela- tions，but she gave him a slap on the mouth and said thatshe could not bear him． At that there was great laughter，as if it was an amusing thing ．
And it mag have been amusing too， for five years af-ter，when Marie had completed her seventeenth year，a messenger came with a letter；Lord Gyldenlwe proposed for the hand of the noble lady； that was something！
"He is the grandest and most gallant gentleman in thekingdom！" said Sir Grubbe．"That is not to be despised．"
" I don't care much about him！" said Marie Grubbe，but she did not reject the grandest man in the country，whosat by the king's side．
Silver plate， woollen and linen went with a ship toCopenhagen ； she travelled overland in ten days． The outfithad contrary winds， or no wind at all； four months passedbefore it arrived，and when it did come Lady Gyldenlwehad departed．
"I would rather lie on coarse sacking， than in his silken bed！"said she；" I'd rather walk on my bare feetthan drive with him in a carriage！"
Late one evening in November， two women came rid- ing into the town of Aarhus；it was Lady Gyldenlwe andher maid： they came from Veile， where they had arrived from Copenhagen by ship． They rode up to Sir Grubbe's stone mansion． He was not delighted with the visit． She gothard words， but she got a bedroom as well； got nice foodfor breakfast， but not nice words， for the evil in her fatherwas roused against her，and she was not accustomed to that．She was not of a gentle temper，and as one is spoken to， so one answers． She certainly did answer， and spoke with bitterness and hate about her husband，with whom she would not live； she was too honourable for that．
So a year went past， but it did not pass pleasantly．
There were evil words between father and daughter， and that there should never be． Evil words have evil fruit．What could be the end of this？
"We two cannot remain under the same roof ，"said the father one day．" Go away from here to our old manor- house，but rather bite your tongue out than set liesgoing！"
So these two separated， she went with her maid to the old manor-house， where she had been born andbrought up，and where the gentle pious lady， her mother， lay in the church vault； an old cowherd lived in the house， and that was the whole establishment．Cobwebshung in the rooms，dark and heavy with dust ； in the gardween the trees and bushes； and hemlock and nettlesgrew larger and stronger．The copper beech was overgrown by the others and now stood in shade， its leaves were now as green as the other common trees，and its glory had de- parted．Rooks，crows，and daws flew in thick swarms over the high chestnut-trees， and there was a cawing and screaming， as if they had some important news to tell each other： now she is here again， the little one who had caused their eggs and their young ones to be stolen from them． The thief himself， who had fetched them， now climbed on a leafless tree， sat on the high mast，and got good blows from the rope's end if he did not behave him- self．
The clerk told all this in our own time； he had col-lected it and put it together from books and manuscripts；it lay with many more manuscripts in the table-drawer．
" Up and down is the way of the world！" said he，" it is strange to hear！ " And we shall hear how it went with Marie Grubbe， but we will not forget Poultry Meg， who sits in her grand hen-house in our time ； Marie Grubbe sat there in her time，but not with the same spirit as old Poultry Meg．
The winter passed， spring and summer passed， andthen again came the stormy autumn-time ， with the cold， wet sea-fogs．It was a lonely life， a wearisome life there in the old manor-house．So Marie Grubbe took her gun and went out on the moors， and shot hares and foxes，andwhatever birds she came across． Out there she met oftenerthan once noble Sir Palle Dyre from Nrrebaek， who was al- so wandering about with his gun and his dogs． He was bigand strong， and boasted about it when they talked together．He could have dared to measure himself with the late Mr．
Brockenhus of Egeskov， of whose strength there were still stories． Palle Dyre had， following his example， caused an iron chain with a hunting-horn to be hung at his gate， andwhen he rode home he caught the chain， and lifted himself with the horse from the ground， and blew the horn．
" Come yourself and see it， Dame Marie！" said he，"there is fresh air blowing at Nrrebaek！"
When she went to his house is not recorded， but onthe candlesticks in Nrrebaek Church one can read that they were given by Palle Dyre and Marie Grubbe of Nrrebaek Castle．
Bodily strength had Palle Dyre： he drank like a sponge ； he was like a tub that could never be filled； hesnored like a whole pig-sty， and he looked red and bloat- ed. "He is Piggish and rude！" said Dame Palle Dyre，Grubbe's daughter．Soon she was tired of the life， but thatdid not make it any better．One day the table was laid，and the food was getting cold；Palle Dyre was fox-hunting and the lady was not to be found．Palle Dyre home at midnight ，Dame Dyre came neither at midnight nor in the morning ， she had turned her back on Nrrebaek had ridden away without greeting or farewell．
It was grey wet weather； the wind blew cold， and a flock of black screaming birds flew over her， they were not so homeless as she．
First she went south，quite up to Germany； a couple of gold ring with precious stones were turned into money ；
then she went east， and then turned again to the west； shehad no goal before her eyes， and was angry with every one，even with the good God Himself， so wretched was hermind；soon her whole body became wretched too， and she could scarcely put one foot before another．The peewit flew up from its tussock when she fell over it：the bird screamed as it always dose ，"You thief！You thief！ "Shehad never stolen her neighbour's goods， but birds'eggsand young birds she had had brought to her when she was a little girl； she thought of that now. From where she lay she cluld see the sand-hills by the shore； fishermen lived there， but she could not get sofar，she was so ill．The great white sea-mews came flyingabove her and screamed as the rooks and crows screamed over the garden at home. The birds flew very near her， and at last she imagined that they were coal-black， butthen it became night before her eyes．
When she again opened her eyes was being car- ried； a big， strong fellow had taken her in his arms．Shelooked straight into his bearded face； he had a scar overhis eye， so that the eyebrow appeared to be divided in two． He carried her， miserable as she was， to the ship，where he got a rating from the captain for it．
The day following，the ship sailed；Marie Grubbe was not put ashore， so she went with it． But she came back again， no doubt？ Yes， but when and where？
The clerk could also tell about this， and it was not astory which he himself had put together． He had the whole strange story from a trustworthy old book；we our- selves can take it out and read it．
The Danish historian， Ludwig Holberg， who has written so many useful books and the amusing comedies from which we can get to know his time and people， tells in his letters of Marie Grubbe， where and how he mether；it is well worth hearing about，but we will not forgetPoultry Meg，who sits so glad and comfortable in her grand hen-house．
The ship sailed away with Marie Grubbe；it was there we left off．
Years and years went past．
The plague was raging in Copenhagen；it was in theyear 1711．The Queen of Denmark went away to her Ger- man home ，the king quitted the capital， every one who could， hastened away．The students， even if they had board and lodging free， left the city． One of them， the last whostill remained at the so-called Borch's College， close byRegensen， also went away． It was two o' clock in the morning； he came with his knapsack， which was filledmore with books and manuscripts than with clothes．
A damp， clammy mist hung over the town； not acreature was to be seen in the whole street； round about onthe doors and gates crosses were marked to show that theplague was inside，or that the people were dead． No onewas to be seen either in the broader， winding Butcher'sRow， as the street was called which led from the Round Tower to the King's Castle． A big ammunition wagon rum-bled past； the driver swung his whip and the horses wentoff at a gallop， the wagon was full of dead bodies． The young student held his hand before his face， and smelt atsome strong spirits which he had on a sponge in a brass box．
From a tavern in one of the streets came the sound of singing and unpleasant laughter， from people who drank thenight through， to forget that the plague stood before thedoor and would have them to accompany him in the wagon with the other corpses． The student turned his steps to- wards the castle bridge， where one or two small ships lay；one of them was weighing anchor to get away from the plague-stricken city. "Ludwig Holberg ，" said the student， and the name；sounded like any other name now the sound is one of the proudest names in Denmark；at that time he was only ayoung，unknown student．
The ship glided past the castle．It was not yet clear morning when they came out into the open water． A light breeze came along， and the sails swelled， the young stu-dent set himself with his face to the wind， and fell asleep，and that was not quite the wisest thing to do．Already onthe third morning the ship lay off Falster．
" Do you know any one in this place， with whom I could live cheaply？" Holberg asked the captain．
"I believe that you would do well to go to the ferry－woman in Borrehouse,"said he."If you want to be verypolie,her name is Mother Sren Sorensen Mller!yet itmay happen that she will fly into a rage if you are too po－lite to her!Her husband is in custody for a crime;sheherself manages the ferry－boat,she has fists of her own!" The student took his knapsack and went to theferry-house.The door was not locked,he lifted thelatch,and went into a room with a brick－laid floor,where a bench with a big leather coverlet was the chiefarticle of furniture.A white hen with chickens was fas－tened to the bench,and had upset the water－dish,andthe water had run across the floor.No one was here,orin the next room,only a cradle with a child in it.Theferry-boat came back with only one person in it,whether man or woman was not easy to say.The personwas wrapped in a great cloak,and wore a fur cap like ahood on the head.The boat lay to. It was a woman who got out and came into theroom.She looked very imposing when she straightenedher back;two proud eyes sat under the black eye－brows.It was Mother Sren,the ferry-woman;rooks,crows,and daws would scream out another name whichwe know better. She looked morose,and did not seem to care totalk,but so much was said and settled,that the stu－dent arranged for board and lodging for an indefinitetime,whilst things were so bad in Copenhagen. One or other honest citizen from the neighbouringtown came regularly out to the ferry-house.Frank thecutler and Sivert the excise－man came there;theydrank a glass of ale and talked with the student.Hewas a clever young man,who knew his"Practica",asthey called it;he read Greek and Latin,and was wellup in learned subjects. "The less one knows,the less one is burdenedwith it,"said Mother Sren. "You have to work hard!"said Holberg,one daywhen she soaked her clothes in the sharp lye,and her－self chopped the tree－roots for firewood. "That's my affair!"said she. "Have you always from childhood been obliged towork and toil?"
"You can see that in my hands!"said she,and showed him two small but strong,hard hands with bittennails."You have learning and can read." At Christmas it began to snow heavily.The cold cameon,the wind blew sharply,as if it had vitriol to wash peo－ple's faces with.Mother Sren did not let that disturb her.She drew her cloak around her,and pulled her hood downover her head.It was dark in the house,early in the after－noon.She laid wood and turf on the fire,and set herselfdown to darn her stockings,there was no one else to do it.Towards evening she talked more to the student than washer custom.She spoke about her husband. "He has by accident killed a skipper of Dragr,andfor that he must work three years in irons.He is only acommon sailor,and so the law must take its course." "The law applies also to people of higher position,"said Holberg. "De you think so?"said Mother Sren,and lookedinto the fire,but then she began again,"Have you heardof Kai Lykke,who caused one of his churches to be pulleddown,and when the priest thundered red from the pulpit aboutit,he caused the priest to be laid in irons,appointed acourt,and adjudged him to have forfeited his head,whichwas accordingly struck off;that was not an accident,andyet Kai Lykke went free that time!" "He was in the right according to the times!"saidHolberg,"now we are past that!" "You can try to make fools believe that,"said MotherSren as she rose and went into the room where the childlay,eased it and laid it down again,and then arranged thestudent's bed;he had the leather covering,for he felt thecold more than she did,and yet he had been born in Nor－way. On New Year's morning it was a real bright sunshinyday;the frost had been and still was so strong that thedrifted snow lay frozen hard,so that one could walk uponit.The bells in the town rang for church,and the studentHolberg took his woollen cloak about him and would go tothe town. Over the ferry-house the crows and rooks were flyingwith loud cries,one could scarcely hear the church bells fortheir noise.Mother Sren stood outside,filling a brasskettle with snow,which she was going to put on the fireto get drinking-water.She looked up to the swarm ofbirds,and had her own thoughts about it. The student Holberg went to church;on the waythere and back he passed Sivert the tax-collector's house,by the town gate;there he was invited in for a glass ofwarm ale with syrup and ginger.The conversation turnedon Mother Sren,but the tax－collector did not know muchabout her—indeed,few people did.She did not belong toFalster,he said;she had possessed a little property atone time;her husband was a common sailor with a violenttemper,who had murdered a skipper of Dragor."Hebeats his wife,and yet she takes his part." "I could not stand such treatment!"said the tax col－lector's wife."I am also come of better people;my fatherwas stocking－weaver to the Court!" "Consequently you have married a Government offi－cial,"said Holberg,and made a bow to her and the tax－collector. It was Twelfth Night,the evening of the festival ofthe Three Kings.Mother Soren lighted for Holberg athree-king candle—that is to say,a tallow－candle withthree branches,which she herself had dipped. "A candle for each man!"said Holberg. "Each man?"said the woman,and looked sharply athim. "Each of the wise men from the east!"said Hol-berg. "That way!"said she,and was silent for a longtime. But on the evening of the Three Kings he learnedmore about her than he did before. "You have an affectionate mind to your husband,"said Holberg,"and yet people say that he treats youbadly." "That is no one's business but mine!"she an－swered."The blows could have done me good as a child;now I get them for my sin's sake!I know what good hehas done me,"and she rose up."When I lay ill on theopen heath,and no one cared to come in contact with me,except perhaps the crows and the rooks to peck at me,hecarried me in his arms and got hard words for the catch hebrought on board.I am not used to be ill,and so I recov-ered.Every one has his own way,Sren has his,and oneshould not judge a horse by the halter!With him I havelived more comfortably than with the one they called themost gallant and noble of all the king's subjects.I havebeen married to the Stadtholder Gyldenlwe,the half-brother of the king;later on I took Palle Dyre!Right orwrong,each has his own way,and I have mine.That wasa long story,but now you know it!"And she went out ofthe room. It was Marie Grubbe!so strange had been the rollingball of her fortune.She did not live to see many more an－niversaries of the festival of the Three Kings;Holberg hasrecorded that she died in 1716,but he has not recorded,for he did not know it,that when Mother Sren,as she wascalled,lay a corpse in the ferry－house,a number of bigblackbirds flew over the place.They did not scream,as ifthey knew that silence belonged to a burial.As soon as shewas laid in the earth the birds disappeared,but the sameevening over at the old manor in Jutland an enormous num－ber of crows and rooks were seen;they all screamed asloud as they could,as if they had something to announce,perhaps about him who as a little boy took their eggs andyoung ones,the farmer's son who had to wear a garter ofiron,and the noble lady who ended her life as a ferry－woman at Grnsund. "Brave!brave!"they screamed. And the whole family screamed"Brave!brave!"when the old manor-house was pulled down. "They still cry,and there is no more to cry about!"said the clerk,when he told the story."The family is ex－tinct,the house pulled down,and where it stood,nowstands the grand hen-house with the gilded weathercock andwith old Poultry Meg.She is so delighted with her charm-ing dwelling;if she had not come here,she would havebeen in the workhouse."
The pigeons cooed over her.the turkeys gobbledround about her,and the ducks quacked. "No one knew her!"they said."She has no rela-tions.It is an act of grace that she is here.She has nei-ther a drake father nor a hen mother,and no descendants!" Still she had relations,although she did not knowit,nor the clerk either,however much manuscript hehad in the table－drawer,but one of the old crows knewabout it,and told about it.From its mother and grand－mother it had heard about Poultry Meg's mother andher grandmother,whom we also know from the time shewas a child and rode over the bridge looking about herproudly,as if the whole world and its birds'nests be－longed to her;we saw her out on the heath by thesand－dunes,and last of all in the ferry－house. The grandchild,the last of the race,had comehome again where the old house had stood,where thewild birds screamed,but she sat among the tamebirds,known by them and known along with them.Poultry Meg had no more to wish for,she was glad todie,and old enough to die. "Grave!grave!"screamed the crows. And Poultry Meg got a good grave,which no oneknew except the old crow,if he is not dead also. And now we know the story of the old manor,theold race,and the whole of Poultry Meg's family.
家禽麦格的一家
家禽麦格是住在那座漂亮的新房子里的唯一的人。这是田庄上专门为鸡鸭而建筑的一座房子。它位于一个古老的骑士堡寨旁边。堡寨有塔、阶梯式山墙、壕沟和吊桥。邻近是一片荒凉的树林和灌木林。这儿曾经有一个花园。它一直伸展到一个大湖旁边——这湖现在已经变成了一块沼泽地。白嘴鸦、乌鸦和穴乌在这些老树上飞翔和狂叫——简直可以说是一群乌合之众。它们的数目从不减少；虽然常常有人在打它们，它们倒老是在增多。住在鸡屋里的人都能够听到它们的声音。家禽麦格就坐在鸡屋里；许多小鸭在她的木鞋上跑来跑去。每只鸡，每只鸭子，从蛋壳里爬出来的那天起，她统统都认识。她对于这些鸡和鸭都感到骄傲，对于专为它们建造的这座房子也感到骄傲。
她自己的那个小房间也是清洁整齐的。这个房子的女主人也希望它是这样。她常常带些贵客到这儿来，把这座她所谓的“鸡鸭的营房”指给他们看。
这儿有一个衣橱和安乐椅，甚至还有一个碗柜。柜子上有一个擦得很亮的黄铜盘子，上面刻着“格鲁布”这几个字。这是一位曾经在这儿住过的老贵族的族名，这个黄铜盘子是人们在这儿掘土时发现的。乡里的牧师说，它除了作为古时的一个纪念物以外，没有什么别的价值。这块地方及其历史，牧师知道得清清楚楚，因为他从书本子上学到许多东西，而且他的抽屉里还存有一大堆手稿呢。因此他对于古时的知识非常丰富。不过最老的乌鸦可能比他知道得还多，而且还能用它们自己的语言讲出来。当然这是乌鸦的语言；不管牧师怎样聪明，他是听不懂的。
每当一个炎热的夏日过去以后，沼泽地就会冒出许多蒸汽，因此在那些有许多白嘴鸦、乌鸦和穴鸟飞翔的地方——在那些古树后面——就好像有一个湖出现，这种情形，在骑士格鲁布还住在这儿的时候，当那座有很厚的红墙围着的公馆还存在的时候，就一直没有改变过。在那个时候，狗的链子很长，可以一直拖到大门口。要走进通到各个房间的石铺走廊，人们得先从塔上走下去，窗子是很小的，窗玻璃很窄，即使那些经常开舞会的大厅也是这样。不过在人们的记忆中，当格鲁布的最后一代还活着的时候，这里没有举行过舞会。然而这儿却留下一个铜鼓；人们曾把它当作乐器使过。这儿还有一个刻有许多精致花纹的碗柜；它里面藏有许多稀有的花根——因为格鲁布夫人喜欢弄园艺，栽种树木和植物。她的丈夫喜欢骑着马到外面去射狼和野猪，而且他的小女儿玛莉总是跟着他一道去的，当她还不过只有五岁的时候，她就骄傲地骑在马上，用她的一对又黑又大的眼睛勇敢地向四面望。她最喜欢在猎犬群中挥响鞭子。但是爸爸却希望她能在那些跑来参观主人的农奴孩子的头上挥响鞭子。
在这座公馆近邻的一个土屋里住着一个农夫；他有一个名叫苏伦的儿子。这孩子的年龄跟这位小贵族姑娘差不多。他会爬树；他常常爬上去为她取下雀窝。鸟儿拼命地大叫；有一只最大的鸟儿还啄了他的一只眼睛，弄得血流满脸。大家都以为这只眼睛会瞎的，事实上它并没有受到很大的损伤。
玛莉·格鲁布把他称为她的苏伦。这是一件极大的恩宠；对于他可怜的父亲约恩说来，这要算是一件幸事。有一天他犯了一个错误，应该受到骑木马的惩罚。木马就在院子里，它有四根柱子作为腿，一条狭窄的木板作为背。约恩得张开双腿骑着，脚上还绑着几块重砖，使他骑得并不太舒服。他的脸上露出痛苦的表情。苏伦哭起来，哀求小玛莉帮助一下。她马上就叫人把苏伦的父亲解下来。当人们不听她话的时候，她就在石铺地上跺脚，扯着爸爸上衣的袖子，一直到把它扯破为止。她要怎样就怎样，而且总是达到目的。苏伦的父亲被解下来了。
格鲁布夫人走过来，把小女儿的头发抚摸了一下，同时还温和地望了她一眼。玛莉不懂得这是什么意思。她愿意跟猎犬在一道，而不愿意跟妈妈到花园里去。妈妈一直走到湖边；这儿盛开着白色和黄色的睡莲。香蒲和灯心草在芦苇丛中摇动。她望着这一片丰茂新鲜的植物，不禁说：“多么可爱啊！”花园里有一棵珍贵的树，是她亲手栽的。它名叫“红山毛榉”。它是树中的“黑人”，因为它的叶子是深棕色的。它必须有强烈的太阳光照着，否则在常荫的地方它会像别的树一样变成绿色，而失去它的特点。在那些高大的栗树里面，正如在那些灌木林和草地上一样，许多雀子做了窝。这些雀子似乎知道，它们在这儿可以得到保护，因为谁也不能在这儿放一枪。
小小的玛莉跟苏伦一块到这儿来。我们已经知道，他会爬树，他会取下鸟蛋和捉下刚刚长毛的小鸟。鸟儿在惊惶和恐怖中飞着，大大小小的鸟儿都在飞！田畈上的田凫，大树上的白嘴鸦、乌鸦和穴乌，都在尖叫。这种叫声跟它们现代子孙的叫声完全没有两样。
“孩子，你们在做什么呀？”这位贤淑的太太说。“干这种事是罪过呀！”
苏伦感到非常难为情，甚至这位高贵的小姑娘也感到不好意思。不过她简单而阴沉地说：“爸爸叫我这样做的！”
“离开吧！离开吧！”那些大黑鸟儿说，同时也离开了。但是第二天它们又回来了，因为这儿就是它们的家。
但是那位安静温柔的太太在这儿没有住多久。我们的上帝把她召去了；和他在一起，要比住在这个公馆里舒服得多。当她的尸体被运进教堂里去的时候，教堂的钟就庄严地鸣起来了。许多穷人的眼睛都湿润了，因为她待他们非常好。自从她去世以后，就再也没有谁管她种的那些植物了。这个花园变得荒凉了。
人们说格鲁布老爷是一个厉害的人，但是他的女儿虽然年轻，却能够驾御他。他见了她只有笑，满足她的一切要求。她现在已经有12岁了，身体很结实。她那双大黑眼睛老是盯着人。她骑在马上像一个男人，她放起枪来像一个有经验的射手。
有一天，附近来了两个了不起的客人——非常高贵的客人：年轻的国王和他的异父兄弟兼密友乌尔里克·佛列得里克·古尔登罗夫。他们要在这儿猎取野猪，还要在格鲁布老爷的公馆里住几天。
古尔登罗夫吃饭的时候坐在玛莉·格鲁布的旁边。他搂着她的脖子，吻了她一下，好像他们是一家人似的。但是她却在他嘴上打了一巴掌，同时说她不能饶恕他。这使得大家哄堂大笑，好像这是一件很有趣的事情似的。
事情也可能是如此，因为5年以后，当玛莉满了17岁的时候，有一个信使送一封信来。古尔登罗夫向这位年轻的小姐求婚。这可不是一件小事情！
“他是王国里一个最华贵和潇洒的人！”格鲁布说。“可不要瞧不起这件事情啊。”
“我对他不感兴趣！”玛莉·格鲁布说，不过她并不拒绝这国家的一位最华贵的经常坐在国王旁边的人。
她把银器、毛织品和棉织品装上了船，向哥本哈根运去。她自己则在陆地上旅行了10天。装着这些嫁妆的船不是遇着逆风，就完全遇不见一点儿风。四个月过去了，东西还没有到。当东西到来的时候，古尔登罗夫夫人已经不在那儿了。
“我宁愿睡在麻袋上，而不愿躺在他铺着绸缎的床上！”她说。“我宁愿打着赤脚走路而不愿跟他一起坐着马车！”
在11月一个很晚的夜里，有两个女人骑着马到奥湖斯镇上来了。这就是古尔登罗夫的夫人玛莉·格鲁布和她的使女。她们是从维勒来的——她们乘船从哥本哈根到那儿去的。她坐车子到格鲁布老爷的石建的邸宅里去。他对客人的来访并不感到高兴。她听到了一些不客气的话语，但是她却得到了一个睡觉的房间。她的早餐吃得很好，但是所听到的话却不可爱。父亲对她发了怪脾气；她对这一点也不习惯。她并不是一个性情温和的人。既然有人有意见，当然她也应该做出回答。她的确也做了回答；她谈起她的丈夫，语气中充满了痛苦和怨恨的情绪。她不能和他生活在一起；对这种人说来，她是太纯洁和正当了。
一年过去了，但是这一年过得并不愉快。父女之间经常恶言相向——这本是不应该有的事情。恶毒的话语结出恶毒的果实。这情形最后会有一个什么结局呢？
“我们两人不能在同一个屋顶下面生活下去，”有一天父亲说。“请你离开此地，到我们的老农庄里去吧。不过我希望你最好把你的舌头咬掉，而不要散布谎言！”
两人就这样分开了。她带着她的使女到那个老农庄里来——她就是在这儿出生和长大起来的，那位温存而虔诚的太太——她的母亲——就躺在这儿教堂的墓窖里。屋子里住着一个老牧人，除此以外再没有第二个人了。房间里挂着蜘蛛网，灰尘使它们显得阴沉。花园里长着一片荒草。在树和灌木林之间，蛇麻和爬藤密密层层地交织在一起。毒胡萝卜和荨麻长得又大又粗。“红山毛榉”被别的植物盖住了，见不到一点阳光。它的叶子像一般的树一样，也是绿的；它的光荣已经都消逝了。白嘴鸦、乌鸦和穴乌密密麻麻地在那些高大的栗树上飞。它们叫着号着，好像它们有重要的消息要互相报告似的：现在她又来了——曾经叫人偷它们的蛋和孩子的那个小女孩又来了。至于那个亲自下手偷东西的贼子，他现在则爬着一株没有叶子的树——坐在高大的船桅上。如果他不老实的话，船索就会结结实实地打到他的身上。
牧师在我们的这个时代里，把这整个的故事叙述了出来。他从书籍和信札中把这些事情收集起来。它们现在和一大堆手稿一道藏在桌子的抽屉里。
“世事就是这样起伏不平的！”他说，“听听是蛮好玩的！”
我们现在就要听听玛莉·格鲁布的事情，但我们也不要忘记坐在那个漂亮鸡屋里的、现代的家禽麦格。玛莉·格鲁布是过去时代的人，她跟我们的老家禽麦格在精神上是不同的。
冬天过去了，春天和夏天过去了；秋天带着风暴和又冷又潮的海雾到来了。这个农庄里的生活是寂寞和单调的。因此玛莉·格鲁布拿起她的枪，跑到荒地上去打野兔和狐狸以及她所遇见的任何雀鸟。她不止一次遇见诺列贝克的贵族巴列·杜尔。他也是带着枪和猎犬在打猎。他是一个身材魁梧的人；当他们在一起的时候，他常常夸耀这一点。他很可以跟富恩岛上爱格斯柯夫的已故的布洛根胡斯大爷比一比，因为这人的气力也是远近驰名的。巴列·杜尔也模仿他，在自己的大门上挂一条系着打猎号角的铁链子。他一回家来就拉着铁链子，连人带马从地上立起来，吹起这个号角。
“玛莉夫人，请您自己去看看吧！”他说。“诺列贝克现在吹起了新鲜的风呀！”
她究竟什么时候到他的公馆里来的，没有人把这记载下来。不过人们在诺列贝克教堂的蜡烛台上可以读到，这东西是诺列贝克公馆的巴列·杜尔和玛莉·格鲁布赠送的。
巴列·杜尔有结实的身材。他喝起酒来像一块吸水的海绵，是一个永远盛不满的桶。他打起鼾来像一窝猪。他的脸是又红又肿。
“他像猪一样粗笨！”巴列·杜尔夫人——格鲁布的女儿——说。
她很快就对这种生活厌烦起来，但这在实际上并没有什么好处。有一天餐桌已经铺好了，菜也凉了。巴列·杜尔正在猎取狐狸，而夫人也不见了。巴列·杜尔到了半夜才回来，但杜尔夫人半夜既没有回来，天明时也没有回来。她不喜欢诺列贝克，因此她既不招呼，也不告辞，就骑着马走了。
天气是阴沉而潮湿的。风吹得很冷。一群惊叫的黑鸟从她头上飞过去——它们并不是像她那样无家可归的。
她先向南方走去，接近德国的边界。她拿几个金戒指和几颗宝石换了一点钱。于是她又向东走，接着她又回转到西边来。她没有一个什么目的地。她的心情非常坏，对什么人都生气，连对善良的上帝都是这样。不久她的身体也坏下来，她几乎连脚都移不动了。当她倒在草丛上，田凫从那里飞出来。这鸟儿像平时一样尖声地叫着：“你这个贼子！你这个贼子！”她从来没有偷过邻人的东西，但是她小时候曾经叫人为她取过树上和草丛里的鸟蛋和小雀子。她现在想起了这件事情。
她从她躺着的地方可以看到海滩上的沙丘。那儿有渔人住着。但是她却没有气力走过去，因为她已经病了。白色的大海鸥在她头上飞，并且在尖叫，像在她家里花园上空飞的白嘴鸦、乌鸦和穴乌一样，鸟儿在她上面飞得很低，后来她把它们想象成为漆黑的东西，但这时她面前也已经是一片黑夜了。
当她再把眼睛睁开的时候，她已经被人扶起来了。一个粗壮的男子已经把她托在怀中。她向他满脸胡子的面上望去：他有一只眼上长了一个疤，因此他的眉毛好像是分成了两半。可怜的她——他把她抱到船上去。船长对他这种行为结结实实地责备了一番。
第二天船就开了。玛莉·格鲁布并没有上岸：她跟船一起走了。但是她会不会一定回来呢？会的，但是在什么时候呢，怎样回来呢？
牧师也可以把这件事的前后经过讲出来，而且这也不是他编造的一个故事。这整个奇怪的故事，他是从一本可靠的旧书里得来的。我们可以把它取出来亲自读一下。
丹麦的历史学家路得维格·荷尔堡写了许多值得读的书和有趣的剧本；从这些书中我们可以知道他的时代和人民。他在他的信件中提到过玛莉·格鲁布和他在什么地方和怎样遇见她。这是值得一听的，但是我们不要忘记家禽麦格。她坐在那个漂亮的鸡屋里，感到那么愉快和舒服。
船带着玛莉·格鲁布开走了。我们讲到这里为止。
许多年、许多年过去了。
鼠疫在哥本哈根流行着。这是1711年的事情。丹麦的皇后回到她德国的娘家去；国王离开这王国的首都。任何人，只要有机会，都赶快走开。甚至那些得到膳宿免费的学生，也在想办法离开这个城市。他们之中有一位——最后的一位——还住在勒根生附近的所谓波尔其专科学校里。他现在也要走了。这是清晨两点钟的事情。他背着一个背包动身——里面装的书籍和稿纸要比衣服多得多。
城上覆着一层粘湿的浓雾。他所走过的街上没有一个人。许多门上都画着十字，表明屋里不是有鼠疫，就是人死光了。在那条弯弯曲曲的、比较宽阔的屠夫街上——那时从圆塔通到王宫的那条街就叫这个名字——也看不见一个人，一辆货车正在旁边经过。车夫挥着鞭子，马儿连奔带跳地驰着。车上装着的全是尸体。这位年轻的学生把双手蒙在脸上，闻着他放在一个铜匣子里吸有强烈酒精的一块海绵。
从街上一个酒馆里飘来一阵嘈杂的歌声和不愉快的笑声。这是通夜喝酒的那些人发出来的。他们想要忘记这种现实：鼠疫就站在他们的门口，而且还想要送他们到货车上去陪伴那些尸体呢。这位学生向御河桥那个方向走去。这儿停着一两条小船。其中有一条正要起锚，打算离开这个鼠疫流行的城市。
“假如上帝要保留我们的生命，而我们又遇见顺风的话，我们就向法尔斯特附近的格龙松得开去，”船长说，同时问这位想一同去的学生叫什么名字。
“路得维格·荷尔堡，”学生说。那时这个名字跟别的名字没有一点特殊的地方；现在它却是丹麦的一个最骄傲的名字。那时他不过是一个不知名的青年学生罢了。
船在王宫旁边开过去了。当它来到大海的时候，天还没有亮。一阵轻微的风吹起来了。帆鼓了起来，这位青年学生面对着风坐着，同时也慢慢地睡过去了，而这并不是一件太聪明的事情。
第三天早晨，船已经停在法尔斯特面前了。
“你能不能介绍这里一个什么人给我，使我可以住得经济一点？”荷尔堡问船长。
“我想你最好跟波尔胡斯的那个摆渡的女人住在一起，”他说。“如果你想客气一点，你可以把她称为苏伦·苏伦生·莫勒尔妈妈！不过，如果你对她太客气了，她很可能变得非常粗暴的！她的丈夫因为犯罪已经被关起来了，她亲自撑那条渡船。她的拳头可不小呢！”
学生提起背包，径直向摆渡人的屋子走去。门并没有锁。他把门闩一掀，就走进一个铺有方砖地的房间里去。这里最主要的家具是一条包了皮的板凳。凳子上系着一只白母鸡，旁边围着一群小鸡。它们把一碗水踩翻了，弄得水流了一地。这里什么人也没有，隔壁房子里也没有人，只有一个躺在摇篮里的婴孩。渡船开回的时候，里面只装着一个人——是男是女还不大容易说。这人穿着一件宽大的斗篷，头上还戴着一顶像兜帽的皮帽子。渡船靠岸了。
从船上下来的是一个女人；她走进这房间里来。当她直起腰来的时候，外表显得很不凡，在她乌黑的眉毛下面有一对骄傲的眼睛。这就是那个摆渡的女人苏伦妈妈。白嘴鸦、乌鸦和穴乌愿意为她取另外一个名字，使我们可以更好地认识她。
她老是显出一种不快的神情，而且似乎不大喜欢讲话。不过她总算讲了足够的话语，得出一个结论：她答应在哥本哈根的情况没有好转以前，让这学生和她长期住下去，并且可以搭伙食。
经常有一两个正直的公民从附近村镇里来拜访这个渡口的房子。刀具制造匠佛兰克和收税人西魏尔特常常来。他们在这渡口的房子里喝一杯啤酒，同时和这学生聊聊闲天。学生是一个聪明的年轻人，他懂得他的所谓“本行”——他能读希腊文和拉丁文，同时懂得许多深奥的东西。
“一个人懂得的东西越少，他的负担就越小，”苏伦妈妈说。
“你的生活真够辛苦！”荷尔堡有一天说。这时她正用碱水洗衣服，同时她还要把一个树根劈碎，当做柴烧。
“这不关你的事！”她回答说。
“你从小就要这样辛苦劳作吗？”
“你可以从我的手上看出来！”她说，同时把她一双细小而坚硬的、指甲都磨光了的手伸出来。“你有学问，可以看得出来。”
在圣诞节的时候，雪花开始狂暴地飞舞起来。寒气袭来了；风吹得很厉害，好像它带有硫酸，要把人的脸孔洗一番似的。苏伦妈妈一点也不在乎。她把她的大衣裹在身上，把帽子拉得很低。一到下午，屋子里很早就黑了。她在火上加了些木柴和泥炭，于是她就坐下来补她的袜子——这件工作没有别人可做。在晚上她和这个学生讲的话比白天要多一些：她谈论着关于她丈夫的事情。
“他在无意中打死了得拉格尔的个船主；因了这件事他得带着链子在霍尔门做3年苦工。他是一个普通的水手，因此法律对他必须执行它的任务。”
“法律对于位置高的人也同样发生效力，”荷尔堡说。
“你以为是这样吗？”苏伦妈妈说，她的眼睛死死地盯着火炉里的火。不过她马上又开始了：“你听到过开·路克的故事吗？他叫人拆毁了一个教堂。牧师马德斯在讲台上对于这件事大为不满，于是他就叫人用链子把马德斯套起来，同时组织一个法庭，判了他砍头的罪——而且马上就执行了。这并不是意外，但开·路克却逍遥法外！”
“在当时的时代条件下，他有权这样办！”荷尔堡说。“现在我们已经离开了那个时代了！”
“你只有叫*相信这话！”苏伦妈妈说。她站起来，向里屋走去。她的孩子“小丫头”就睡在里面。她拍了她几下，又把她盖好，然后她就替这位学生铺好床。他有皮褥子，因为他比她还怕冷，虽然他是在挪威出生的。
新年的早晨真是阳光灿烂。冰冻一直没有融解，而且仍然冻得很厉害；积雪都冻硬了，人们可以在它上面走路。镇上做礼拜的钟敲起来了。学生荷尔堡穿上他的毛大衣，向城里走去。
白嘴鸦、乌鸦和穴乌在摆渡人的房子上乱飞乱叫；它们的声音弄得人几乎听不见钟声。苏伦妈妈站在门外，用她的黄铜壶盛满了雪，因为她要在火上融化出一点饮水来。她抬头把这群鸟儿望了一下，她有她自己的想法。
学生荷尔堡走进教堂里去。他去的时候和回来的时候要经过城门旁边收税人西魏尔特的房子。他被请进去喝了一杯带糖浆和姜汁的热啤酒。他们在谈话中提到了苏伦妈妈，不过收税人所知道的关于她的事情并不太多；的确也没有很多人知道。他说，她并不是法尔斯特的人；她有个时候曾经拥有一点财产；她的男人是一个普通水手，脾气很坏，曾经把得拉格尔的船长打死了。
“他喜欢打自己的老婆，但是她仍然卫护他！”
“这种待遇我可受不了！”收税人的妻子说。“我也是出身于上流人家的呀：我的父亲是皇家的织袜人！”
“因此你才跟一个*的官吏结婚，”荷尔堡说，同时对她和收税人行了一个礼。
这是第13夜，“神圣三王节”之夜。苏伦妈妈为荷尔堡点起一根“三王烛”——这也就是说，她自己做的三根牛油烛。
“每个人敬一根蜡烛！”荷尔堡说。
“每个人？”这女人说，同时把眼睛死死地盯着他。
“东方的每一个圣者！”荷尔堡说。
“原来是这个意思！”她说。于是她就沉默了很久。不过在这“神圣三王节”的晚上，关于她的事情，他知道得比以前多一点。
“你对于你所嫁的这个人怀着一颗感情浓厚的心，”荷尔堡说；“但是人们却说，他没有一天对你好过。”
“这是我自己的事，跟谁也没有关系！”她回答说。“在我小的时候，他的拳头可能对我有好处。现在我无疑地是因为有罪才挨打！我知道，他曾经是对我多么好过。”于是她站起来。“当我躺在荒地上病倒的时候，谁也不愿意来理我——大概只有白嘴鸦和乌鸦来啄我，他把我抱在怀里。他因为带着像我这样一件东西到船上去，还受到了责骂呢。我是不大生病的，因此我很快就好了。每个人有自己的脾气，苏伦也有他自己的脾气；一个人不能凭头络来判断一匹马呀！比起国王的那个所谓最豪华和最高贵的臣民来，我跟他生活在一起要舒服得多。我曾经和国王的异父兄弟古尔登罗夫总督结过婚。后来我又嫁给巴列·杜尔！都是半斤八两，各人有各人的一套，我也有我的一套。说来话长，不过你现在已经知道了！”
于是她走出了这个房间。
她就是玛莉·格鲁布！她的命运之球沿着那么一条奇怪的路在滚动。她没有能活下去再看更多的“神圣三王节。”荷尔堡曾经记载过，她死于1716年7月。但有一件事情他却没有记载，因为他不知道：当苏伦妈妈——大家这样叫她——的尸体躺在摆渡人的屋里的时候，有许多庞大的黑鸟在这地方的上空盘旋。它们都没有叫，好像它们知道葬礼应该是在沉寂中举行似的。
等她被埋到地底下去了以后，这些鸟儿就不见了。不过在这同一天晚上，在尤兰的那个老农庄的上空，有一大堆白嘴鸦、乌鸦和穴乌出现。它们在一起大叫，好像它们有什么事情要宣布似的：也许就是关于那个常常取它们的蛋和小鸟的农家孩子——他得到了王岛铁勋章——和那位高贵的妇人吧。这个妇人作为一个摆渡的女人在格龙松得结束了她的一生。
“呱！呱！”它们叫着。
当那座老公馆被拆掉了的时候，它们整个家族也都是这样叫着。
“它们仍然在叫，虽然已经再没有什么东西值得叫了！”牧师在叙述这段历史的时候说。“这个家族已经灭亡了，公馆已经拆除了。在它的原址上现在是那座漂亮的鸡屋——它有镀金的风信鸡和老家禽麦格。她对于这座漂亮的住屋感到非常满意，如果她没有到这儿来，她一定就会到济贫院里去了。”
鸽子在她头上咕咕地叫，吐绶鸡在她周围咯咯地叫，鸭子在嘎嘎地叫。
“谁也不认识她！”它们说，“她没有什么亲戚。因为人家可怜她，她才能住在这儿。她既没有鸭父亲，也没有鸡母亲，更没有后代！”
但是她仍然有亲族，虽然她自己不知道。
牧师虽然在抽屉里保存着许多稿件，他也不知道。不过有一只老乌鸦却知道，而且也讲出来了。它从它的妈妈和祖母那里听到关于家禽麦格的母亲和祖母的故事——她的祖母我们也知道。我们知道，她小时候在吊桥上走过的时候， 总是骄傲地向周围望一眼，好像整个的世界和所有的雀窝都是属于她的。我们在沙丘的荒地上看到过她，最后一次是在摆渡人的屋里看到过她。这家族的最后一人——孙女回来了，回到了那个老公馆原来的所在地。野鸟在这儿狂叫，但是她却安然地坐在这些驯良的家禽中间——她认识它们，它们也认识她。家禽麦格再也没有什么要求。她很愿意死去，而且是那么老，也可以死去。
“坟墓啊！坟墓啊！”乌鸦叫着。
家禽麦格也得到了一座很好的坟墓，而这座坟墓除了这只老乌鸦——如果它还没有死的话——以外，谁也不知道。
现在我们知道这个古老的公馆，这个老家族和整个家禽麦格一家的故事了。
这篇故事最初发表在纽约1869年11月和12月号的《青少年河边杂志》第3卷上，不久又在1869年12月17日发表在丹麦出版的《三篇新的童话和故事集》里。“家禽麦格”是对一个看守家禽的年老妇女的昵称。看完了这个故事后，就知道她是谁：一个贵族女儿的后代。这位贵族显赫一时，富甲天下。为了“门当户对”，这位女儿也就两次嫁给同样显赫的人家。但与安徒生过去写的这类故事不同，她的最后归宿却是与她小时候在一起玩过的出身寒微的、住在她家公馆近郊的一个土屋里的农夫的儿子，后来成为水手，并且因为打死了船长而被判过罪的苏伦结为夫妻。“每个人都有自己的脾气，苏伦也有他自己的脾气；一个人不能凭头络来判断一匹马呀！比起国王的那个所谓最豪华和最高贵的臣民来，我跟他生活在一起要舒服得多。”但这位贵族的女儿却因此成为了平（贫）民。“这个家族已经灭亡了，公馆已经拆除了。在它的原址上现在是那座漂亮的鸡屋——它有镀金的风信鸡和老家禽麦格。”旧时王榭堂前燕，飞入寻常百姓家。家禽麦格不是燕子，而是这个豪富家族最后的直系亲属，她却飞到鸡屋里来了。“如果她没有到这儿来，她一定就会到济贫院里去了。”这段哀愁的故事，闪烁着某种豪迈的光辉。
