Late one evening in November two women came riding into the townof Aarhuus. They were the gracious Lady Gyldenlowe (Marie Grubbe)and her maid. They came from the town of Weile, whither they hadcome in a ship from Copenhagen. They stopped at Lord Grubbe's stonemansion in Aarhuus. Grubbe was not well pleased with this visit. Mariewas accosted in hard words; but she had a bedroom given her, and gother beer soup of a morning; but the evil part of her father's naturewas aroused against her, and she was not used to that. She was notof a gentle temper, and we often answer as we are addressed. Sheanswered openly, and spoke with bitterness and hatred of herhusband, with whom she declared she would not live; she was toohonorable for that.
  A year went by, but it did not go by pleasantly. There were evilwords between the father and the daughter, and that ought never to be.Bad words bear bad fruit. What could be the end of such a state ofthings?
  "We two cannot live under the same roof," said the father one day."Go away from here to our old manor house; but you had better biteyour tongue off than spread any lies among the people."
  And so the two parted. She went with her maid to the old castlewhere she had been born, and near which the gentle, pious lady, hermother, was lying in the church vault. An old cowherd lived in thecourtyard, and was the only other inhabitant of the place. In therooms heavy black cobwebs hung down, covered with dust; in thegarden everything grew just as it would; hops and climbing plantsran like a net between the trees and bushes, and the hemlock andnettle grew larger and stronger. The blood-beech had been outgrownby other trees, and now stood in the shade; and its leaves weregreen like those of the common trees, and its glory had departed.Crows and choughs, in great close masses, flew past over the tallchestnut trees, and chattered and screamed as if they had somethingvery important to tell one another- as if they were saying, "Now she'scome back again, the little girl who had their eggs and their youngones stolen from them; and as for the thief who had got them down,he had to climb up a leafless tree, for he sat on a tall ship'smast, and was beaten with a rope's end if he did not behave himself."
  The clerk told all this in our own times; he had collected itand looked it up in books and memoranda. It was to be found, with manyother writings, locked up in his table-drawer.
  "Upward and downward is the course of the world," said he. "Itis strange to hear.
  And we will hear how it went with Marie Grubbe. We need not forthat forget Poultry Meg, who is sitting in her capital hen-house, inour own time. Marie Grubbe sat down in her times, but not with thesame spirit that old Poultry Meg showed.
  The winter passed away, and the spring and the summer passed away,and the autumn came again, with the damp, cold sea-fog. It was alonely, desolate life in the old manor house. Marie Grubbe took hergun in her hand and went out to the heath, and shot hares and foxes,and whatever birds she could hit. More than once she met the noble SirPalle Dyre, of Norrebak, who was also wandering about with his gun andhis dogs. He was tall and strong, and boasted of this when they talkedtogether. He could have measured himself against the deceased Mr.Brockenhuus, of Egeskov, of whom the people still talked. Palle Dyrehad, after the example of Brockenhuus, caused an iron chain with ahunting-horn to be hung in his gateway; and when he came ridinghome, he used to seize the chain, and lift himself and his horsefrom the ground, and blow the horn.
  "Come yourself, and see me do that, Dame Marie," he said. 'One canbreathe fresh and free at Norrebak.
  When she went to his castle is not known, but on the altarcandlestick in the church of Norrebak it was inscribed that theywere the gift of Palle Dyre and Marie Grubbe, of Norrebak Castle.
  A great stout man was Palle Dyre. He drank like a sponge. He waslike a tub that could never get full; he snored like a whole sty ofpigs, and he looked red and bloated.
  "He is treacherous and malicious," said Dame Pally Dyre,Grubbe's daughter. Soon she was weary of her life with him, but thatdid not make it better.
  One day the table was spread, and the dishes grew cold. Palle Dyrewas out hunting foxes, and the gracious lady was nowhere to befound. Towards midnight Palle Dyre came home, but Dame Dyre cameneither at midnight, nor next morning. She had turned her back uponNorrebak, and had ridden away without saying good-bye.
  It was gray, wet weather; the wind grew cold, and a flight ofblack screaming birds flew over her head. They were not so homeless asshe.
  First she journeyed southward, quite down into the German land.A couple of golden rings with costly stones were turned into money;and then she turned to the east, and then she turned again and wenttowards the west. She had no food before her eyes, and murmuredagainst everything, even against the good God himself, so wretched washer soul. Soon her body became wretched too, and she was scarcely ableto move a foot. The peewit flew up as she stumbled over the mound ofearth where it had built its nest. The bird cried, as it always cried,"You thief!