Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Dovre Witch
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the wonderful thoughts of her aged heart!
Coming from the darkness of the forests and from the
mighty hills, what did she think of the people in
the valleys? Believing in Thor, the great giant-killer,
and the great Finnish gods, the Christians were, in
her eyes, like tame house-dogs before a grey wolf.
Untamed as the snow-storm, strong as the rapids,
she could never love the sons of the country side.
Yet she often came from the mountains to view
their dwarfish ways. Men shuddered when they
saw her, but the strong daughter of the wilderness
went securely among them, guarded by fear. The
daring exploits of her forefathers were not
forgotten, nor her own. As a cat trusts to its claws, so
she trusted in her god-inspired magic. No king was
so secure on his throne as she was in the domain of
terror in which she reigned.
So the Dovre witch wandered through many villages,
and she came at last to Borg, and did not
hesitate to approach Count Dohna’s mansion. She
seldom took the kitchen-way, and now she marched
straight up the wide steps of the terrace. She planted
her broad birch-bark shoes on the flower-bordered
walks as securely as if she trod her mountain paths.
It happened that Countess Märta had just
stepped out upon the terrace to view the fine beauty
of the June morning. At the end of the walk two
servant girls paused on their way to the larder. They
had come from the bath hut where meat was being
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