The Top 10 Short Stories - Northern Europe

By Minna Canth, Knut Hamsun and Hans Christian Anderson

Short stories have always been a sort of instant access into an author’s brain, their soul and heart. A few pages can lift our lives into locations, people and experiences with a sweep of landscape, narration, feelings and emotions that is difficult to achieve elsewhere.

In this series we try to offer up tried and trusted ‘Top Tens’ across many different themes and authors. But any anthology will immediately throw up the questions – Why that story? Why that author?

The theme itself will form the boundaries for our stories which range from well-known classics, newly told, to stories that modern times have overlooked but perfectly exemplify the theme. Throughout the volume our authors whether of instant recognition or new to you are all leviathans of literature.

Some you may disagree with but they will get you thinking; about our choices and about those you would have made. If this volume takes you on a path to discover more of these miniature masterpieces then we have all gained something.

In this volume we come up against the definition of Northern Europe. There are many, each with plausibility and each so obvious. So, here’s ours.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Top 10 Publishing
• Release date: Apr 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9781835474754

Book preview

The Top 10 Short Stories - Northern Europe

Short stories have always been a sort of instant access into an author’s brain, their soul and heart.  A few pages can lift our lives into locations, people and experiences with a sweep of landscape, narration, feelings and emotions that is difficult to achieve elsewhere.

In this series we try to offer up tried and trusted ‘Top Tens’ across many different themes and authors. But any anthology will immediately throw up the questions – Why that story? Why that author?

The theme itself will form the boundaries for our stories which range from well-known classics, newly told, to stories that modern times have overlooked but perfectly exemplify the theme.  Throughout the volume our authors whether of instant recognition or new to you are all leviathans of literature.

Some you may disagree with but they will get you thinking; about our choices and about those you would have made.  If this volume takes you on a path to discover more of these miniature masterpieces then we have all gained something.

In this volume we come up against the definition of Northern Europe.  There are many, each with plausibility and each so obvious.  So, here’s ours.

Index of Contents

The Nursemaid by Minna Canth

Photographer and Philosopher by August Strindberg

An Arch Rascal by Knut Hamsun

A Dry Spell by Eimar H Kvaran

Lord Arthur Savile's Crime by Oscar Wilde

Mistress Bine by Cornelia von Levetzow

The Story of a Mother by Hans Christian Anderson

N by Arthur Machen

The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson

Man Size In Marble by Edith Nesbit

The Nursemaid by Minna Canth

Get up, Emmi, can't you hear when the lady calls. Emmi, my God―that girl, how heavily she sleeps. Emmi, Emmi!

At last Silja got some life into her. Emmi sat up, grumbled and rubbed her eyes. She was still terribly sleepy.

What time is it?

It's five o'clock.

Five o'clock? For three hours she had lain in bed; at half-past twelve she had only just finished washing the dishes, as they had had guests the night before, as they usually did, and before that she had had to stay up a couple of nights for Lilli's sake, as the lady had been at a wedding, and the child would not be content with her dummy. Was it strange if she wanted to be asleep?

She was only fourteen. And her legs always ached in the morning, so that it was hard to step on them at first. Silja, who shared her bed, said it was because she was growing up. They should be bled, Silja thought, but Emmi was afraid it would hurt too much.  And they were already thin without having blood removed from them. They never ached when she slept; but as soon as she was awake they started. If she was allowed to sleep again, they again stopped aching.

Even now, as she sat on the bed, they were aching from the knee to the heel. And her head was pulling her back on the bed, so heavily that it was impossible to get up. Would she ever be so happy in the world as if she could sleep as long as she wanted one morning.

Emmi stroked her legs. Her head tilted down so that her chin touched her chest and her eyes closed. She breathed deeply and sparsely and it wasn't long before she fell back to sleep.

The bell rang again. Silja poked her in the side with her pencil.

Come on you tramp, how many more times for you to obey. Get up.

Silja stabbed her once more with the sharp end of her pencil, and it hurt so badly in her chest that she let out a scream.

Will it take ten more pokes to shake you awake before you get up.

Emmi hopped up; her head was dizzy, she was about to fall.

Splash cold water on your eyes and you'll feel better, Silja advised.

But Emmi didn't have to do that, for the bell sounded again. She quickly put on her skirts, smoothed her hair with two hands, rubbed her eyes and hurried in.

I have rung three times, said the lady.

Emmi said nothing, but took Lill from the lady’s side and held her in her arms.

Put some dry things on her and take her to her cradle; she won't sleep beside me any more.

The lady turned on her side and closed her eyes. The cradle was in the other room; Emmi and the child had gone into it. After changing her into dry wrappings, she began to sing a lullaby. Every now and then a thought came to her, not a great one, not a complicated one, though it made her singing stop all at once.

Sh sh sh sh sh. Ah ah ah ah.―Sleep away, my child, sleep.―A roll is coming. Who told it to come here―oh, Lord, go to sleep. I came along the Turku road. I was loitering on the road to Pori.―Silja  is still asleep.―I came along the road to Turku. I was loitering on the road to Pori.―sh sh sh sh. Ah ah ah ah―

Lilli was asleep, and then Emmi lay down on the floor, curled up next to the cradle. An arm she put under her head and before long she was fast asleep. Emmi was unaware that Lilli woke up, rubbed her nose and looked around in curiosity and saw no one was with her. Lilli tried to get up, but could not; instead, she went to her side and got her head on the edge of the cradle. Now she saw Emmi and tried to reach and cling to her. The cradle rolled over and Lilli struck her forehead against the leg of the cradle as she fell down.

She let out a painful groan which woke everyone up.

Jesus bless us!

Emmi went pale, seeing the child on the floor beside her. She snatched Lilli up cuddling her in her arms and rocked her. The lady must have heard, she thought in horror. And in her distress she forgot to find out whether the child had been hurt, or whether it was just crying out of fright.

The lady opened the door. Emmi thought she was going to faint, the whole world blackened in her eyes.

What happened to her?

Nothing.

Emmi didn't know what she answered. Instinctively, she stammered out words, hoping for salvation, if possible.

What's she crying for, then? Surely there must be a reason?

Emmi tried in vain to calm the baby.

Let me, said the lady. Oh, baby, my dear, what is the matter with you? My God, she has a bruise on her forehead.

She looked at Emma, who stood helpless.

How came it, tell me? Are you dumb?

I don't know―

You must have dropped her. Perhaps from the cradle?

Emmi fell silent and looked at the ground.

Yes, now you are no longer able to deny it. What a worthless and careless thing you are. First you drop a child and then you lie about it. How unfortunate of me to have taken you on. But now you also know that next year you will no longer be kept here. Get yourself a place somewhere else, if you can―I'm not having you, even if I never get another maid.... Shhh, my darling, shhh, mama's own sweet baby. Mamma will get you a better nursemaid next year, don't cry, don't cry.

Lilli stopped crying as she got the breast in her mouth and after a little while she was smiling contentedly, though the teardrops still flashed in her eyes.

Yes, my darling, yes, are you laughing at Mummy? My own child, how sweet she is. Such an ugly bruise now on her forehead.

Lilli cried no more that day; she was as cheerful as ever, and perhaps a little happier. She laughed at Emmi too, put her finger in her mouth and pulled her hair. Emmi let the baby wipe her cheeks with her delicate hand, for they were wet all day long with beads of teardrops the size of cranberries. And when she thought that in six weeks' time she would never again hold that soft, sweet child in her arms, and see nothing but a glimpse of her now and then at the window, when she walked past it in the street as a miserable waif, then, when she thought of this, or felt it more than she thought, the tears flowed so fast that they came together and made a little puddle on the table.

Look at that, look at that, she said to Lill, who immediately began to wipe it up with the palm of her hand.

Before noon some guests of the lady arrived, the wife of Dr. Vinter and Mrs. Sivén, the wife of the headmaster, both fine and noble, though not so fine as our lady, said Silja, and so did Emma herself.

When Silja brought in the coffee, the lady sent her to Emmi with orders to bring Lilli in to see the guests. Emmi changed Lilli into her most beautiful bonnet and put a brand new, freshly knitted bib in front of her. They both looked so beautiful on the child that Emmi had to invite Silja to see them before she took her in.

How the ladies fell in love with Lilli as soon as they appeared at the door!

Gud, så söt!

And then they took Lilli in their arms, kissing and squeezing and laughing.

Så söt, så söt!

Emmi stood back and smiled. She didn't quite know what that så söt, så söt meant; but she decided that it must mean something very good.

But suddenly they became serious. The lady told her guests about something―what she told them Emmi couldn't understand as it was in Swedish. But she guessed when she saw the horror on their faces.

Herre gud, herre gud, nej, men tänk, stackars barn.

Six eyes turned at once, first with the greatest pity to the bruise on Lill's forehead, and then with horror to Emmi.

Ett sådant stycke!

Emmi stared at the carpet on the floor, hoping for something to fall from the ceiling onto her head, which would at once crush her or throw her deep into the ground. For surely there was no other wicked person in the world as bad as her, such a wretched girl. She dared not lift her eyes, but she knew and felt in every finger and toe, that they were still looking at her. Those fine, noble ladies, who themselves never made mistakes. How could they when they were so very wise and so much above other ordinary people?

You may take Lill away, came the lady’s voice in her ear.

Her hands had suddenly become so limp that she feared she would drop the child if she took her in her arms.

Do you hear?

Der ser ni nu, hurudan hon är.

Emmi staggered forward and managed to take the few steps to the lady's chair. The hope of getting out of their sight and back into the nursery again gave her the strength she needed. Or perhaps it was the old habit that did that; the arms again obeyed and did their duty as before.

She let Lill down into the cradle, and sat down herself on a stool beside her, and showed her a toy to play with. But Lilli had lifted up both her legs and clung to them with her hands. She thought it was such fun that she laughed out loud. Emmi would have laughed too, if her throat-choking distress had allowed it.

She wondered, as she sat there, that this morning she had not remembered her remedy she had often used to prevent herself from going to sleep which was to prick and scratch her arms with a needle. This forgetfulness had caused the great, helpless misfortune which now shattered her whole life.

Late in the evening, after everyone had gone to bed, Emmi went out into the garden. It was grey and dark and quiet, but up above the sky was starry. She sat down on the bottom step to think about her present and future. Though thinking about it didn't make anything clearer, it was as grey and dim as the evening night around her.

Then she left her own cares behind her and looked up to the towering heavens where the candles in the sky burned brightly. Who were the happy souls that were up there with them? And which of the people of today were going to go there?  I wonder if any of them are nursemaids? she asked herself. But that would be unlikely although all the rich would be there. Of course, they were so incomparably better off even there. She wondered who it was that lit those candles in the evening, angels or men? Or did the people there turn into angels too, and the little children who died early? She wondered who nursed and cared for them? Or did they not need to be cared for in heaven?

Silja opened the door and hurried her inside.

What the hell were you doing sitting out there in the cold?

Look here, Silja, said Emmi, undressing, why are we so bad, we maids?

Don't you know?

No.

Because we have to stay up so much. We have more time to sin. You see, the rich, when they sleep late in the mornings, until nine or ten, there remains less time to do bad things.

So I suppose it was. For if she had been allowed to sleep more soundly in the morning, Lilli would not have fallen out of her cradle all because of her.

The next Sunday was hiring day so Emmi was handed a copy of her employment record and told to go to the churchyard.

There were an awful lot of people there; potential employers and employees. Standing in large groups, they all seemed to have acquaintances and friends with whom they were in league with.

Emmi felt abandoned and lonely. Who would want her services, a small and frail thing as she was?

She stood by the churchyard wall with her employment book and waited. Ladies and gentlemen passed by, but none even glanced at her.

Young men sat nearby on the church steps.

Girl, come here, said the one of them.

Others laughed and whispered among themselves.

Come, come, here, what are you waiting for. Come and sit down here.

Emmi blushed and stepped further away. At that same moment a gentleman and a lady came up to her. They weren’t really grand for the lady was wearing a shawl and the gentleman's clothes were very worn.

What about this one? said the gentleman, pointing to Emmi with his stick. She certainly wouldn't have any great demands on her wages, would she?

Whatever the gentleman wants to give. I'll settle for that, answered Emmi quietly.

A faint hope rose in her bosom.

What could she do?  She couldn’t even carry a bucket of water?

Yes, of course I can.

And can you do the laundry?

I've done that too.

Let's take her away; she looks clean and quiet, said the gentleman.

But the lady still had her doubts.

Isn't she sickly because she's so thin?

Emmi remembered her legs; but she dared not say anything about them, for she would be rejected at once.

Are you sick? asked the gentleman, looking at the employment record he had snatched from her hand.

No, whispered Emmi.

She resolved never to complain, no matter how much her legs ached.

He put the record in his pocket; gave her a few marks, and that settled the matter.

You will come to Karvonen's house on the evening of the All Saint’s Day and ask for the Hartonen’s said the lady. On the night of All Saint’s remember!

Emmi went home.

That’s a bad place, said Silja, who knew the Hartonen’s, poor and miserable living conditions, and the lady such a wretch that she can never keep servants for a full year. They are not even known to give food except in small quantities and very scantily.

Emmi blushed but she recovered herself in a moment, and answered:

How can there be enough of the best jobs for all? Some will have to make do with the worse and thank their lucky stars they didn't go the way of the devil.

She took Lill in her arms and pressed her face against her warm breast. She clung to her hair with both hands and whispered, Ta, ta, ta, ta.

Photographer and Philosopher by August Strindberg

Once upon a time there was a photographer. He was a splendid photographer; he did profiles and full-faces, three-quarter and full-length portraits; he could develop and fix, tone and print them. He was the deuce of a fellow! But he was always discontented, for he was a philosopher, a great philosopher and a discoverer. His theory was that the world was upside down. It was plainly proved by the plate in the developer. Everything that was on the right side of the original, now appeared on the left; everything that was dark, became light; light became shade; blue turned into white, and silver buttons looked as dark as iron. The world was upside down.

He had a partner, quite an ordinary man, full of petty characteristics. For instance, he smoked cigars all day long; he never shut a door; he put his knife into his mouth, instead of using his fork; he wore his hat in the room; he cleaned his nails in the studio, and in the evening he drank three glasses of beer.

He was full of faults!

The philosopher, on the other hand, was perfect, and therefore he nursed resentment against his imperfect brother; he would have liked to dissolve the partnership, but he could not, because their business held them together; and because they were bound to remain in partnership, the resentment of the philosopher turned into an unreasonable hatred. It was dreadful!

When the spring came they decided to take a lodging in a summer resort, and the partner was despatched to find one. He did find one. And one Saturday they departed together on a steamer.

The philosopher sat all day long on deck and drank punch. He was a very stout man and suffered from several things; his liver was out of order, and there was something wrong with his feet, perhaps rheumatism, or some similar disease. When they arrived, they crossed the bridge and went ashore.

Is this the place? asked the philosopher.

A very little walk will take us there, answered the partner.

They went along a footpath, full of roots, and the path ended abruptly before a stile. They had to climb over it. Then the road became stony, and the philosopher complained of his feet, but he forgot all about his pains when they came to another stile. After that, all trace of the road disappeared; they walked on the bare rock through shrubs and bilberry bushes.

Behind the third fence stood a bull, who chased the philosopher to the fourth stile, where he arrived in a bath of perspiration, which opened all the pores of his skin. When they had crossed the sixth stile, they could see the house. The philosopher went in and immediately stepped on to the verandah.

Why are there so many trees? he asked. They interrupt the view.

But they shelter the house from the strong sea-breezes, answered the partner.

And the place looks like a churchyard; why, the house stands in the centre of a pine-wood.

A very healthy spot, replied the partner.

Then they wanted to go and bathe. But there was no proper bathing-place, in the philosophical sense of the word. There was nothing but the stony ground and mud.

After they had bathed the philosopher felt thirsty, and wanted to drink a glass of water at the spring. It was of a reddish-brown colour, and had a peculiar, strong taste. It was no good. Nothing was any good. And meat was unobtainable, there was nothing to be had but fish.

The philosopher grew gloomy and sat down under a pumpkin to deplore his fate. But there was no help for it. He had to stay, and his partner returned to town to look after the business during his friend’s absence.

Six weeks