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"There is nothing else."

Thord went out.

Eight years more rolled by, and then one day a noise was heard outside
of the priest's study, for many men were approaching, and at their
head was Thord, who entered first.

The priest looked up and recognized him.

"You come well attended this evening, Thord," said he.

"I am here to request that the banns may be published for my son: he
is about to marry Karen Storliden, daughter of Gudmund, who stands
here beside me."

"Why, that is the richest girl in the parish."

"So they say," replied the peasant, stroking back his hair with one
hand.

The priest sat a while as if in deep thought, then entered the names
in his book, without making any comments, and the men wrote their
signatures underneath. Thord laid three dollars on the table.

"One is all I am to have," said the priest.

"I know that very well; but he is my only child; I want to do it
handsomely."

The priest took the money.

"This is now the third time, Thord, that you have come here on your
son's account."

"But now I am through with him," said Thord, and folding up his
pocket-book he said farewell and walked away.

The men slowly followed him.

A fortnight later, the father and son were rowing across the lake, one
calm, still day, to Storliden to make arrangements for the wedding.

"This thwart[2] is not secure," said the son, and stood up to
straighten the seat on which he was sitting.

At the same moment the board he was standing on slipped from under
him; he threw out his arms, uttered a shriek, and fell overboard.

"Take hold-of the oar!" shouted the father, springing to his feet, and
holding out the oar.

But when the son had made a couple of efforts he grew stiff.

"Wait a moment!" cried the father, and began to row toward his son.

Then the son rolled over on his back, gave his father one long look,
and sank.

Thord could scarcely believe it; he held the boat still, and stared at
the spot where his son had gone down, as though he must surely come to
the surface again. There rose some bubbles, then some more, and
finally one large one that burst; and the lake lay there as smooth and
bright as a mirror again.

For three days and three nights people saw the father rowing round and
round the spot, without taking either food or sleep; he was dragging
the lake for the body of his son. And toward morning of the third day
he found it, and carried it in his arms up over the hills to his
gard[3].

It might have been about a year from that day, when the priest, late
one autumn evening, heard some one in the passage outside of the door,
carefully trying to find the latch. The priest opened the door, and in
walked a tall, thin man, with bowed form and white hair. The priest
looked long at him before he recognized him. It was Thord.

"Are you out walking so late?" said the priest, and stood still in
front of him.

"Ah, yes! it is late," said Thord, and took a seat.

The priest sat down also, as though waiting. A long, long silence
followed. At last Thord said,--

"I have something with me that I should like to give to the poor; I
want it to be invested as a legacy in my son's name."

He rose, laid some money on the table, and sat down again. The priest
counted it.

"It is a great deal of money," said he.

"It is half the price of my gard. I sold it to-day."

The priest sat long in silence. At last he asked, but gently,--

"What do you propose to do now, Thord?"

"Something better."

They sat there for a while, Thord with downcast eyes, the priest with
his eyes fixed on Thord. Presently the priest said, slowly and
softly,--

"I think your son has at last brought you a true blessing."

"Yes, I think so myself," said Thord, looking up, while two big tears
coursed slowly down his cheeks.


NOTES

[1] This story was written in 1860. Translated from the Norwegian by
Professor Rasmus B. Anderson. It is printed by permission of and
special arrangement with _Houghton Mifflin Co._, publishers.

[2] 3:28 thwart. A seat, across a boat, on which the oarsman, sits.

[3] 4:21 gard. A Norwegian farm.


BIOGRAPHY

Bjoernstjerne Bjoernson, Norse poet, novelist, dramatist, orator, and
political leader, was born December 8, 1832, and died in Paris, April
26, 1910. From his strenuous father, a Lutheran priest who preached
with tongue and fist, he inherited the physique of a Norse god. He
possessed the mind of a poet and the arm of a warrior. At the age of
twelve he was sent to the Molde grammar school, where he proved
himself a very dull student. In 1852 ho entered the university in
Christiana. Here he neglected his studies to write poetry and
journalistic articles.

In politics Bjoernson was a tremendous force. Dr. Brandes has said; "To
speak the name of Bjoernson is like hoisting the colors of Norway." He
was honored as a king in his native land. He won this recognition by
no party affiliation, but by his natural gifts as a poet. His magnetic
eloquence, great message, and sterling character compelled his
countrymen to follow and honor him. He says of his success in this
field: "The secret with me is that in success as in failure, in the
consciousness of my doing as in my habits, I am myself. There are a
great many who dare not, or lack the ability, to be themselves." For
his views on political issues the following references may well be
used: _Independent_. January 31, 1901, pp. 253-257; _Current
Literature_, November, 1906, p. 581; and _Independent_, July 13, 1905,
pp. 92-94.

Bjoernson and Ibsen, the two foremost men of Norway, were very closely
associated throughout life. They were schoolmates, and both were
interested in writing and producing plays. Ibsen's son, Dr. Sigurd
Ibsen, married Bjoernson's daughter, Bergilot. These two great writers
were direct contrasts in nearly everything: Bjoernson lived among his
people, Ibsen was reserved; Bjoernson played the role of an optimistic
prophet, Ibsen, that of a pessimistic judge; the former was always a
conciliatory spirit, the latter a revolutionist; and Bjoernson proved
himself a patriotic Norwegian, Ibsen, a man of the entire world.

Lack of space forbids the inclusion of a list of Bjoernson's writing's.
High school teachers will find suitable selections in the list of
collateral readings that follows. Those who wish a complete
bibliography of his works will find it in _Bookman_, Volume II, p. 65.
Translations of his works by Rasmus B. Anderson, Houghton Mifflin Co.,
and Edmund Gosse, the Macmillan Co., will furnish students extensive
and standard readings of this master story-teller.


CRITICISMS

Bjoernson, in his masterly character delineations, seldom produces
portraits. He gives the reader suggestive glimpses often enough and of
the right quality and arrangement to produce a full and vigorous
conception of his characters. His female parts are especially well
done. His characters present themselves to the reader by unique
thinking and choice expressions. Students should analyze _The Father_
for this phase of character building. Note also the simplicity of the
words, sentences, paragraphs, and complete story arrangement, the
author's originality of story conception and expression, his short,
passionate, panting sentences, the poetic atmosphere that sweetens and
enriches his virile writing, and the correct, religious pictures he
paints of his beloved northland.

After having read a number of selections from Bjoernson, students will
see that he has a wonderful breadth of treatment for every imaginable
subject. He is so universal in his choice of subjects that Lemaitre in
his _Impressions of the Theatre_ half-humorously and half-ironically
puts these words in Bjoernson's mouth, "I am king in the spiritual
kingdom," and "there are two men in Europe who have genius, I and
Ibsen, granting that Ibsen has it."


GENERAL REFERENCES

_Adventures in Criticism_, A.T.Q. Couch.

_Essays on Modern Novelists_, William Lyon Phelps.

"Bjoernsoniana," _Dial_, January 16, 1903, pp. 37-38.

"Prophet-Poet of Norway," _Cosmopolitan_, April, 1903, pp. 621-631.

"Three Score and Ten," _Dial_, December, 1902, pp. 383-385.


COLLATERAL READINGS

_Lectures_, Volume I, John L. Stoddard.

_The Making of an American_, Chapters 1, 7, and Jacob Riis.

_Myths of Northern Lands_. Guerber.

_Synnove Solbakken_, Bjoernson.

_A Happy Boy_, Bjoernson.

_The Fisher Maiden_, Bjoernson.

_The Bridal March_, Bjoernson.

_Magnhild_, Bjoernson.

_A Dangerous Wooing_, Bjoernson.

_The Eagle's Nest_, Bjoernson.

_The Bear Hunter_, Bjoernson.

_Master and Man_, Leo Tolstoi.

_The Doll's House_, Henrik Ibsen.

_The Minister's Black Veil_, Nathaniel Hawthorne.

_The Ambitious Guest_, Nathaniel Hawthorne.

_The Beeman of Orn_, Frank R. Stockton.

_A Branch Road_, Hamlin Garland.

_Mateo Falcone_, Prosper Merimee.

_The Death of the Dauphin_, Alphonse Dadoed.

_The Birds' Christmas Carol_, Kate Douglas Wiggin.

_Tennessee's Partner_, Bret Harte.



THE GRIFFIN AND THE MINOR CANAAN[1]

_By Frank R. Stockton (1834-1902)_


Over the great door of an old, old church which stood in a quiet town
of a far-away land there was carved in stone the figure of a large
griffin. The old-time sculptor had done his work with great care, but
the image he had made was not a pleasant one to look at. It had a
large head, with enormous open mouth and savage teeth; from its back
arose great wings, armed with sharp hooks and prongs; it had stout
legs in front, with projecting claws; but there were no legs
behind,--the body running out into a long and powerful tail, finished
off at the end with a barbed point. This tail was coiled up under him,
the end sticking up just back of his wings.

The sculptor, or the people who had ordered this stone figure, had
evidently been very much pleased with it, for little copies of it,
also in stone, had been placed here and there along the sides of the
church, not very far from the ground, so that people could easily look
at them, and ponder on their curious forms. There were a great many
other sculptures on the outside of this church,--saints, martyrs,
grotesque heads of men, beasts, and birds, as well as those of other
creatures which cannot be named, because nobody knows exactly what
they were; but none were so curious and interesting as the great
griffin over the door, and the little griffins on the sides of the
church.

A long, long distance from the town, in the midst of dreadful wilds
scarcely known to man, there dwelt the Griffin whose image had been
put up over the churchgoer. In some way or other, the old-time
sculptor had seen him, and afterward, to the best of his memory, had
copied his figure in stone. The Griffin had never known this, until,
hundreds of years afterward, he heard from a bird, from a wild animal,
or in some manner which it is not now easy to find out, that there was
a likeness of him on the old church in the distant town. Now this
Griffin had no idea how he looked. He had never seen a mirror, and the
streams where he lived were so turbulent and violent that a quiet
piece of water, which would reflect the image of anything looking into
it, could not be found. Being, as far as could be ascertained, the
very last of his race, he had never seen another griffin. Therefore it
was, that, when he heard of this stone image of himself, he became
very anxious to know what he looked like, and at last he determined to
go to the old church, and see for himself what manner of being he was.
So he started off from the dreadful wilds, and flew on and on until he
came to the countries inhabited by men, where his appearance in the
air created great consternation; but he alighted nowhere, keeping up a
steady flight until he reached the suburbs of the town which had his
image on its church. Here, late in the afternoon, he alighted in a
green meadow by the side of a brook, and stretched himself on the
grass to rest. His great wings were tired, for he had not made such a
long flight in a century, or more.

The news of his coming spread quickly over the town, and the people,
frightened nearly out of their wits by the arrival of so extraordinary
a visitor, fled into their houses, and shut themselves up. The Griffin
called loudly for some one to come to him, but the more he called, the
more afraid the people were to show themselves. At length he saw two
laborers hurrying to their homes through the fields, and in a terrible
voice he commanded them to stop. Not daring to disobey, the men stood,
trembling.

"What is the matter with you all?" cried the Griffin. "Is there not a
man in your town who is brave enough to speak to me?"

"I think," said one of the laborers, his voice shaking so that his
words could hardly be understood, "that--perhaps--the Minor
Canon--would come."

"Go, call him, then!" said the Griffin; "I want to see him."

The Minor Canon, who filled a subordinate position in the church, had
just finished the afternoon services, and was coming out of a side
door, with three aged women who had formed the week-day congregation.
He was a young man of a kind disposition, and very anxious to do good
to the people of the town. Apart from his duties in the church, where
he conducted services every week-day, he visited the sick and the
poor, counseled and assisted persons who were in trouble, and taught a
school composed entirely of the bad children in the town with whom
nobody else would have anything to do. Whenever the people wanted
something difficult done for them, they always went to the Minor
Canon. Thus it was that the laborer thought of the young priest when
he found that some one must come and speak to the Griffin.

The Minor Canon had not heard of the strange event, which was known to
the whole town except himself and the three old women, and when he was
informed of it, and was told that the Griffin had asked to see him, he
was greatly amazed, and frightened.

"Me!" he exclaimed. "He has never heard of me! What should he want
with _me?_"

"Oh! you must go instantly!" cried the two men.

"He is very angry now because he has been kept waiting so long; and
nobody knows what may happen if you don't hurry to him."

The poor Minor Canon would rather have had his hand cut off than go
out to meet an angry griffin; but he felt that it was his duty to go,
or it would be a woeful thing if injury should come to the people of
the town because he was not brave enough to obey the summons of the
Griffin.

So, pale and frightened, he started off.

"Well," said the Griffin, as soon as the young man came near, "I am
glad to see that there is some one who has the courage to come to me."

The Minor Canon did not feel very courageous, but he bowed his head.

"Is this the town," said the Griffin, "where there is a church with a
likeness of myself over one of the doors?"

The Minor Canon looked at the frightful creature before him and saw
that it was, without doubt, exactly like the stone image on the
church. "Yes," he said, "you are right."

"Well, then," said the Griffin, "will you take me to it? I wish very
much to see it."

The Minor Canon instantly thought that if the Griffin entered the town
without the people knowing what he came for, some of them would
probably be frightened to death, and so he sought to gain time to
prepare their minds.

"It is growing dark, now," he said, very much afraid, as he spoke,
that his words might enrage the Griffin, "and objects on the front of
the church cannot be seen clearly. It will be better to wait until
morning, if you wish to get a good view of the stone image of
yourself."

"That will suit me very well," said the Griffin. "I see you are a man
of good sense. I am tired, and I will take a nap here on this soft
grass, while I cool my tail in the little stream that runs near me.
The end of my tail gets red-hot when I am angry or excited, and it is
quite warm now. So you may go, but be sure and come early to-morrow
morning, and show me the way to the church."

The Minor Canon was glad enough to take his leave, and hurried into
the town. In front of the church he found a great many people
assembled to hear his report of his interview with the Griffin. When
they found that he had not come to spread ruin and devastation, but
simply to see his stony likeness on the church, they showed neither
relief nor gratification, but began to upbraid the Minor Canon for
consenting to conduct the creature into the town.

"What could I do?" cried the young man, "If I should not bring him he
would come himself and, perhaps, end by setting fire to the town with
his red-hot tail."

Still the people were not satisfied, and a great many plans were
proposed to prevent the Griffin from coming into the town. Some
elderly persons urged that the young men should go out and kill him;
but the young men scoffed at such a ridiculous idea. Then some one
said that it would be a good thing to destroy the stone image so that
the Griffin would have no excuse for entering the town; and this
proposal was received with such favor that many of the people ran for
hammers, chisels, and crowbars, with which to tear down and break up
the stone griffin. But the Minor Canon resisted this plan with all the
strength of his mind and body. He assured the people that this action
would enrage the Griffin beyond measure, for it would be impossible to
conceal from him that his image had been destroyed during the night.
But the people were so determined to break up the stone griffin that
the Minor Canon saw that there was nothing for him to do but to stay
there and protect it. All night he walked up and down in front of the
church-door, keeping away the men who brought ladders, by which they
might mount to the great stone griffin, and knock it to pieces with
their hammers and crowbars. After many hours the people were obliged
to give up their attempts, and went home to sleep; but the Minor Canon
remained at his post till early morning, and then he hurried away to
the field where he had left the Griffin.

The monster had just awakened, and rising to his fore-legs and shaking
himself, he said that he was ready to go into the town. The Minor
Canon, therefore, walked back, the Griffin flying slowly through the
air, at a short distance above the head of his guide. Not a person was
to be seen in the streets, and they proceeded directly to the front of
the church, where the Minor Canon pointed out the stone griffin.

The real Griffin settled down in the little square before the church
and gazed earnestly at his sculptured likeness. For a long time he
looked at it. First he put his head on one side, and then he put it on
the other; then he shut his right eye and gazed with his left, after
which he shut his left eye and gazed with his right. Then he moved a
little to one side and looked at the image, then he moved the other
way. After a while he said to the Minor Canon, who had been standing
by all this time:

"It is, it must be, an excellent likeness! That breadth between the
eyes, that expansive forehead, those massive jaws! I feel that it must
resemble me. If there is any fault to find with it, it is that the
neck seems a little stiff. But that is nothing. It is an admirable
likeness,--admirable!"

The Griffin sat looking at his image all the morning and all the
afternoon. The Minor Canon had been afraid to go away and leave him,
and had hoped all through the day that he would soon be satisfied with
his inspection and fly away home. But by evening the poor young man
was utterly exhausted, and felt that he must eat and sleep. He frankly
admitted this fact to the Griffin, and asked him if he would not like
something to eat. He said this because he felt obliged in politeness
to do so, but as soon as he had spoken the words, he was seized with
dread lest the monster should demand half a dozen babies, or some
tempting repast of that kind.

"Oh, no," said the Griffin, "I never eat between the equinoxes. At the
vernal and at the autumnal equinox I take a good meal, and that lasts
me for half a year. I am extremely regular in my habits, and do not
think it healthful to eat at odd times. But if you need food, go and
get it, and I will return to the soft grass where I slept last night
and take another nap."

The next day the Griffin came again to the little square before the
church, and remained there until evening, steadfastly regarding the
stone griffin over the door. The Minor Canon came once or twice to
look at him, and the Griffin seemed very glad to see him; but the
young clergyman could not stay as he had done before, for he had many
duties to perform. Nobody went to the church, but the people came to
the Minor Canon's house, and anxiously asked him how long the Griffin
was going to stay.

"I do not know," he answered, "but I think he will soon be satisfied
with regarding his stone likeness, and then he will go away."

But the Griffin did not go away. Morning after morning he came to the
church, but after a time he did not stay there all day. He seemed to
have taken a great fancy to the Minor Canon, and followed him about as
he pursued his various avocations. He would wait for him at the side
door of the church, for the Minor Canon held services every day,
morning and evening, though nobody came now. "If any one should come,"
he said to himself, "I must be found at my post." When the young man
came out, the Griffin would accompany him in his visits to the sick
and the poor, and would often look into the windows of the schoolhouse
where the Minor Canon was teaching his unruly scholars. All the other
schools were closed, but the parents of the Minor Canon's scholars
forced them to go to school, because they were so bad they could not
endure them all day at home,--griffin or no griffin. But it must be
said they generally behaved very well when that great monster sat up
on his tail and looked in at the schoolroom window.

When it was perceived that the Griffin showed no signs of going away,
all the people who were able to do so left the town. The canons and
the higher officers of the church had fled away during the first day
of the Griffin's visit, leaving behind only the Minor Canon and some
of the men who opened the doors and swept the church. All the citizens
who could afford it shut up their houses and travelled to distant
parts, and only the working people and the poor were left behind.
After some days these ventured to go about and attend to their
business, for if they did not work they would starve. They were
getting a little used to seeing the Griffin, and having been told that
he did not eat between equinoxes, they did not feel so much afraid of
him as before. Day by day the Griffin became more and more attached to
the Minor Canon, He kept near him a great part of the time, and often
spent the night in front of the little house where the young clergyman
lived alone. This strange companionship was often burdensome to the
Minor Canon; but, on the other hand, he could not deny that he derived
a great deal of benefit and instruction from it. The Griffin had lived
for hundreds of years, and had seen much; and he told the Minor Canon
many wonderful things.

"It is like reading an old book," said the young clergyman to himself;
"but how many books I would have had to read before I would have found
out what the Griffin has told me about the earth, the air, the water,
about minerals, and metals, and growing things, and all the wonders of
the world!"

Thus the summer went on, and drew toward its close. And now the people
of the town began to be very much troubled again.

"It will not be long," they said, "before the autumnal equinox is
here, and then that monster will want to eat. He will be dreadfully
hungry, for he has taken so much exercise since his last meal. He will
devour our children. Without doubt, he will eat them all. What is to
be done?"

To this question no one could give an answer, but all agreed that the
Griffin must not be allowed to remain until the approaching equinox.
After talking over the matter a great deal, a crowd of the people went
to the Minor Canon, at a time when the Griffin was not with him.

"It is all your fault," they said, "that that monster is among us. You
brought him here, and you ought to see that he goes away. It is only
on your account that he stays here at all, for, although he visits his
image every day, he is with you the greater part of the time. If you
were not here, he would not stay. It is your duty to go away and then
he will follow you, and we shall be free from the dreadful danger
which hangs over us."

"Go away!" cried the Minor Canon, greatly grieved at being spoken to
in such a way. "Where shall I go? If I go to some other town, shall I
not take this trouble there? Have I a right to do that?"

"No," said the people, "you must not go to any other town. There is no
town far enough away. You must go to the dreadful wilds where the
Griffin lives; and then he will follow you and stay there."

They did not say whether or not they expected the Minor Canon to stay
there also, and he did not ask them any thing about it. He bowed his
head, and went into his house, to think. The more he thought, the more
clear it became to his mind that it was his duty to go away, and thus
free the town from the presence of the Griffin.

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