Falcon part 3

Afterwards he did not fly again that day; when Renaud threw him aloft and ran with an enticing call, he beat his wings a few times and settled on his shoulder again in proud coldness against the laughing face of the boy. He seemed to despise all trifling, and Renaud soon ceased, while his look acquired the far-gazing seriousness of the falcon’s. He became more devoted to him than to anything he had possessed. It seemed to him that the falcon was his own soul, his longing with broad wings and victorious glance.

But there was pain in his love, gloomy foreboding of misfortune, and at times he feared lest the bird should fly from him in indifference, disappear with a mocking sound of bells, and it would be like death, so void. Or it seemed to him that the falcon was honor, resplendent with sunshine in the azure air, which now rested on his shoulder for fresh journeys. In the midst of his joy he was oppressed by his insignificance; he scarcely dared to look at the bird, and

Falcon part 2

And the falcon became his. He bent his head forward to listen, his eyes calm and watchful, when the frosty twigs cracked under Renaud’s step in the silence of the morning. He sprang lightly down from his cage and stretched himself toward his hand and flapped his wings as if to fly—this was merely a reminder—and so they hastened out to the expanses of the moors, which were gradually becoming light.

Their eyes gazed sharply at the dark red sky. Black lay the hills and the sparse thickets, and the trees slept on, their boughs heavy with silent birds. But the sky became brighter, flaming with gold and red, and the lines of the fields became blue, and the owl flew low over the ground seeking her hiding-place, and the day-birds stretched their wings and chirped gently on account of the cold, and their flight stood black against the glimmering air. But Reriaud and his falcon hastened past, for these were sparrows and thrushes—no prey for them.

Grew smaller aga

Falcon part 1

Per Hallstrom (1866—1960)

Per Hallstrom travelled widely. He was for some time an ana-lytical chemist in Chicago, and his work shows traces of foreign influence. He brought the art of writing stories to a high point of perfection and is one of the few Scandinavian masters of that form.

The Falcon is translated by Herbert G. Wright. It first appeared in the American-Scandinavian Review, October, 1920, and is reprinted by permission of the editor.

The Falcon

Sir Enguerrand rode out hunting every day, and generally with his red, gold-embroidered glove on, for only the( flight of the Iceland falcon with his tinkling bells could awaken music within him and make him breathe the keen, light morning air with joy, as he were drinking an animating wine. One day the falcon had driven a heron bleeding into a marsh behind a copse, where the huntsman found it and broke its neck, but the falcon himself was gone.

Whether he had been attracted

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At the Well Part 7

On
the threshold, through the faint light of the early dawn, he noticed a human
figure.

“Who
are you, there?”

“It
is me, grandpa, Anoka! I want to die. Forgive me, if you can.’ Grandpa stopped,
swayed, and almost fell.

“My
child, it is sinful to talk like that. Look at my hair, not even the sheep’s
wool is whiter.”

Anoka
grasped the hem of his cloak which hung down from his shoulders, and kissed it.

“I
have sinned awfully. I destroyed the harmony of your home. For-give me, for
God’s sake!”

Nothing
easier than to make an old man cry. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He took her
head in both his hands and kissed her.

“Come
in.”

She
followed him into the room.

“Sit
down there.”

She
sat on a stool, and grandpa on the edge of the bed. 

“Shell
some of these beans.”

Remained silent

She did so. Grandpa looked at her with joy. Bo

At the Well Part 6

Slumber
over there. Do you want to be punished by God? She said to Petriya.

The
moon was overhead. Everything was so quiet. Anoka’s heart was breaking and
something was slowly dying within her.

She
couldn`t go on like this any longer, but what was to be done? Should she return
to her father—what could she tell him?—“Grandpa has ordered everybody to obey
my will.” No, she couldn’t say anything like this. And then, this terrible
night will also have its end, and soon the dawn will break and the sun will
shine on all God’s creatures But she, disgraceful person, what shall she do?
Could she be more furious than she is? To be quiet—but how? To surrender? No!

The
thoughts played a wild dance in her head, crossing, mingling and intermingling.      

She
felt very tired. Passions, love, hatred, hunger and thirst all disappeared. Her
eyelids were heavy like lead, and still they would not close. She felt so

At the Well Part 5

The
same evening all the men were sitting around the table, for it was supper time.
Radoyka was the only woman among them. The other women had their supper in the
kitchen. Two or three women were serving at the table.

It
was Anoka’s turn to serve.

Two
other women walked in and out with dishes and food. Anoka leaned against the
door and made faces.

Grandpa
gave her a terrific look. All were speechless. Radoyka felt all the blood
rushing to her head. Anoka did not even notice it!

After
supper everybody made a sign of the cross, waiting for grand-pa’s sign for
leaving the room.

Crust of bread

But the old man pushed aside a crust of bread, the spoon, the knife, and the wooden dish. He rested his head on his palm, looked around and fixed his eyes on Anoka.

She
was on pins and needles, dropped her arms, stretched her strong and beautiful
body, and moved to leave the room.

“Wait,
my daughter,” said

At the Well Part 4

Anoka’s
fury grew day by day and she invented all kinds of tricks with which to tease
the people in the house. She would chase the dogs into the kitchen, and would
allow them to eat up the meat in the pot. She would open the faucets of the
kegs in the cellar, so the wine would flow out. The bread in the oven always
burned if she was to watch it. On working days, for instance, she would put on
holiday attire. It became worse and worse. The women couldn’t stand it any
longer. Once, when it was Anoka’s turn to be the redara (housekeeper) she left
home and went to the fair. Then the sisters-in-law gathered secretly.

“I
don’t know, dear sisters, what great wrong we have committed that we should
have to suffer so much.”

“Neither
do I know.”

“That’s
a great punishment and a great misfortune.”

“God
alone can help us.”

“No,
it cannot go on like this any more.”

“Let
us talk to grandma, and she will tak

At the Well Part 3

Grandfather’s
oldest son, Blagoye, Arsen’s father, is the third member of the home council.
The rest of the family listens and obeys. The three elders sometimes leave the
house intentionally, to give the children a chance to play to their heart’s
desire, the women to talk as much as they might please and the men to smoke
freely. The moment, however, one of the “big three” steps into the house, every
one becomes quiet and busy.

Grandpa,
being an old man, would frequently behave like a child. At times he would lose
his temper for the least trifle, then he would rage, scold, and, in his
excitement, strike at the nearest one. Again, he would be gentle, generous,
play with the youngsters, give them coppers. Then again, for no reason in the
world, he would begin to cry: “I am left alone in this world like a withered
tree on a mountain.”

Youth
has its frivolity, old age its senility.

The
day following Arsen’s adventure, Blagoye came to Radoyka