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Updated: June 25, 2025
Årsta is, as every one knows, an old haunted castle, but Mamsell Fredrika slept a calm, quiet sleep. She was old now and tired out after many weary days of work and many long journeys, she had almost traveled round the world, therefore she had returned to the home of her childhood to find rest. Outside the castle sounded in the night a bold fanfare.
Fredrika herself was restless and passionate, although of an affectionate nature. Among the other children she was the ugly duckling, who was misunderstood, and whose natural development was continually checked and frustrated. Her talents were early exhibited in a variety of directions. Her first verses, in French, to the morn, were written at the age of eight.
I had the taste of camomile and mallows in my mouth from morning till night; the skin of my jaw blistered under the scorching of ammonia; but the final result was, that I was cured, as the doctor and Fredrika had determined. This good-hearted girl was a genuine specimen of the Northern Swedish female.
Thereupon the dead swarmed out of the church, and Mamsell Fredrika wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye. "I will not go home with you," said her dead sister. "Will you not stop here now also?" "I should like to, but I cannot. There is a book which I must make ready first."
The kind Fredrika did not recognise us in our Lapp dresses, until I had unrobed, when she cried out in joyful surprise, "Why, you were here before!" We had been so completely chilled that it was a long time before any perceptible warmth returned. We then went to bed, tingling and stinging in every nerve from the departing cold.
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