The Lady of Pintorp.1

What is now the country seat of Eriksberg, with its castle-like buildings among parks and gardens, was once an estate called Pintorp, upon [180]which tradition has fixed the melancholy story of “The Lady of Pintorp.”

At Pintorp, so goes the story, lived a nobleman who, at his death, yet a young man, left his goods and estates to his widow. Instead of proving a good mistress to her numerous dependents, she impoverished them in all possible ways and treated them with the greatest cruelty. Under the castle she had deep cells, the terrors of which, on the slightest provocation, many a poor innocent creature was made to experience. She would set vicious dogs on beggars and children, and he who was not at his work at a fixed hour could be certain that he would go home in the evening with his back well lashed.

Early one morning the Lady of Pintorp stood on the castle steps watching the people congregate for the day’s work. Noticing an unfortunate fellow a little behind time, she flew into a rage, pouring upon him a flood of abuse and curses, and in punishment commanded him to fell the largest oak to be found upon the estate, and to carry it, before evening, uncut, top foremost, to the garden. If he failed to execute the command fully and punctually he was to be mercilessly driven from the estate and all his possessions confiscated. [181]

Pondering over his sentence the man went to the woods where he met an old man who inquired why he looked so sad.

“Because I am done for, if the Lord does not come to my aid,” sighed the unfortunate fellow, and informed the old man what a task his mistress had put upon him.

“Don’t be uneasy,” said the stranger, “but chop that oak, then set yourself upon the trunk, when Erik Gyllerstierna and Svante Baner will draw it to the castle.”

The peasant, as he was instructed, began to cut the tree, which fell with a great crash at the third blow of his ax. Taking his seat upon the trunk, the tree at once began to move as if drawn by horses. The speed was soon so great that opposing fences and gates were brushed aside like straws, and in a short time the oak had arrived at the designated spot in the castle yard. Just as the tree top struck the castle gate one of the invisible haulers stumbled, and a voice was heard to say, “What, you on your knees, Svante?”

The lady who was standing upon the steps at the time understood, without anything further, who had been the laborer’s helpers, but instead of repenting she began to swear, scold and in the end, to threaten the man with imprisonment. Hereupon there was an earthquake which shook the walls of the castle, and a black carriage drawn by two black horses stood in the castle yard. A handsome man dressed in black stepped from the carriage, bowed to the lady and bade her prepare to follow him. Tremblingly—for she knew [182]well who the stranger was—she begged him to let her remain three years yet; to this the visitor would not consent. She begged for three months; this was also denied her, and at last she prayed for three days, then three hours, but was allowed only three minutes in which to dispose of her household affairs.

When she saw that prayers availed her nothing she asked him to, at least, allow her curate, chambermaid and house servants to go with her on the journey. This was granted, so they entered the carriage, which was instantly under way and went off at such a speed that the people who stood in the yard saw nothing but a black streak behind it.

When the lady and her followers had ridden some time they came to a lighted castle, up the steps of which the black gentleman conducted them. Arriving in the hall, he deprived the lady of her rich clothes and gave her instead a coarse gown and wooden shoes. Next he combed her hair three times with such a vengeance that the blood streamed from her head, and concluded by dancing with her three times until her shoes were filled with blood.

After the first dance she asked permission to give her gold ring to her chamberlain, whose fingers were burned by it as with fire. After the second dance she gave the chambermaid her key ring, which scorched her fingers as if glowing iron. At the termination of the third dance a trap in the floor opened and the woman vanished in a cloud of smoke and flames.

The priest who stood nearest peeped with curiosity into the opening where the woman had gone down, [183]when a spark came up from below and hit him in the eye so that thereafter he had but one eye.

When all was over the gentleman in black gave the servants permission to return home, but with strong injunctions not to look back. Hurriedly they sprang into the carriage. The way was broad and straight, and the horses galloped with great speed, but the chambermaid could not control her curiosity, and looked back. Instantly the carriage, horses, even the road disappeared and the travelers found themselves in a wild forest, where they wandered three years before finding their way back to Pintorp. [184]

1 The chief character in this narrative is the wife of President and Senator Erik Gyllerstierna, Beata Yxkull, to whom the name of Lady Pintorpa is given. As far as can be judged from the best accounts obtainable, Lady Beata was a woman of unusual understanding, decision and power. It is quite possible [180]that in her exactions and treatment of her servants and dependents she may have sometimes been unreasonably severe, and that therefore she did not command their love. It is certain that the stories of her inhuman conduct and tragical end are of a later date than her generation, and that this is a localization of a similar German legend.

The opinion is ever hazarded that Beata Yxkull came to play a part in this gruesome myth, alone because of the name of the estate, Pintorp, which our uncritical story-tellers have credulously taken for granted, was derived from Pina—to tease—though good grounds exist for the belief that the estate took its name from the family of Pinaur, who, in former days, resided thereon. ↑