-Back then, Scandinavia was a region not widely known to Englishmen.
Mr. Wraxhall was a man passed middle age.
Possessed of some private means and very much alone in the world.
His travels took him in the autumn of 1863, with some digressions to Sweden.
As to Mr. Axel's character, he was an intelligent and cultivated fellow.
His besetting fault was that of inquisitiveness, possibly a good fault in a traveler.
Certainly a fault for which this traveler paid dearly enough, in the end.
-Is it to your liking, Herr Wraxhall?
-Um... [ Attempts to speak Swedish ] -In English, please, dear sir, in English.
I do not expect you to-- -Oh, most kind.
I can, um, if I flatter myself, read a little of your mother tongue.
But as for conversation, [chuckles] um, everything is very much to my liking, Froken de la Gardie.
And may I say once again, how very, very kind it is of you-- -It is nothing, sir.
Nothing.
But it was to the soup I was referring.
Well, my palate, like my Swedish, is somewhat limited, although, as with my languages, I am determined to broaden it.
[ Clears throat ] Uh, "them."
-We have so few visitors here in Vestergothland.
Since my husband passed away... the house has been so very silent.
Hmm.
So sad.
You are indeed most welcome.
And it is fascinating, is it not, to have one's family history investigated?
-I-I-I very much hope so.
-So long as you do not, um... [ Speaks Swedish ] Um...
Disturb any skeletons.
-I have no intention of so doing.
The papers that I'm particularly interested in concern the correspondence between your ancestor Sophia Albertina in Stockholm and her married cousin Ulrika Leonora, here in Raback in 1705.
-You are absolutely sure?
We have 14 bedrooms here through back.
13 or 14, I forget.
-I wouldn't dream of imposing upon your hospitality anymore, From.
The village inn is perfectly suited to my purposes.
-Very well.
-Until tomorrow.
-Until tomorrow.
Oh!
Who is this fearsome looking chap?
-Ah, you are gazing upon the very first de la Gardie.
He who built Raback.
Most extraordinary man was Count Magnus.
-Well, he looks it.
-Yes.
A most extraordinary man.
Good night, Herr Wraxhall.
-Yes.
Good night, Froken de la Gardie.
[ Gasps ] [ Chuckles nervously ] Thank you.
Good night.
Yes.
Oh.
Thank you.
Ah, good morgon, Herr Nielsen.
-Good morgon.
-Herr Nielsen, I wondered if you could just satisfy my curiosity.
-To be sure.
How... [grunts] How can I be of service?
-Well, um, yesterday I was introduced to a Count Magnus.
-What?
-Oh, his portrait, that is.
-Ah.
-This is a very fine portrait, in my estimation.
And the gracious lady who so kindly has given me access to her archive, told me a little bit about him, but I wondered whether you... -Count Magnus.
His name is not good hereabouts, Herr Wraxhall.
He's not kindly remembered.
-Oh.
Do tell.
-Ah, that's a long time ago.
-But for a scholar like me, this is just meat and drink.
Please, please.
I'm most eager to learn.
-There was some trouble not long after the -- the great house was built.
People rose up, there was discontent.
-Oh, yes.
Oh, I see peasants, all that sort of thing.
Yes, you know, you're rather more prone to it here on the continent, aren't you then we -- Um, I'm sorry.
Do go on.
-The uprising, it was put down by the Count.
And he -- He was merciless.
Always merciless.
Tenants were flogged or branded if they were late with the rents.
And some houses that he said encroached on his land, were burned down with the people still inside.
-Oh, gracious.
-And then, of course... [ Door opens ] ...there was the other matter.
[ Man speaking Swedish ] -Other matter?
-[ Speaks Sweden ] Uh, you must excuse me.
-Yes, yes, yes, but what other matter?
-The black pilgrimage.
-Uh-huh.
What's that?
-I must go, I'm sorry.
I have business here.
I will be back this evening.
-One moment more.
-I'm sorry.
-Hey, Nielson.
What was the black pilgrimage?
-It's said that Count Magnus brought something back with him.
Something... or someone.
-Oh.
[ Chuckles ] [ Humming ] [ Crow cawing ] [ Lock clicks ] [ Chains rattle ] [ Humming ] [ Metal creaking ] Mm.
Yes, I wonder, um...
I don't do that.
[ Gasps ] Oh, the Count built it.
His mausoleum.
His tomb.
Oh!
How fascinating.
Sophia Albertina.
Where are you?
Sophia Albertina She got so much leaner When she ate the beetroot soup That made her greener [ Laughs ] [ Humming ] Ah!
"The Talmud."
[ Humming ] Blast!
Wow!
Talk of the devil.
"Vittles.
I'm hungry.
Dry goods.
Kitchen expenditure."
How very disappointing of you, Count Magnus.
"Turba Philosophorum."
"The Book of the Phoenix."
"Book of the 30 Words."
[ Gasps ] "Book of the Toad."
He's an alchemist.
"Liber Nigrae Peregrinationis."
"The Book of the Black Pilgrimage."
That's indubitably the Count's hand.
Indubitably.
"If any man desires to obtain a long life, if he would obtain a faithful messenger and see the blood of his enemies, it is necessary that he must first travel into the city of Chorazin..." Chorazin, Chorazin.
"...and there, salute the prince."
Prince... of the air?
-Ah!
I trust my ancestors correspondence isn't proving to be tedious, Herr Wraxhall.
-Oh, on the contrary, dear lady.
On the contrary.
The, um -- The mausoleum, the Count's tomb, might I crave a... -Yes?
-A visit?
-It would be so helpful for my researches.
-Certainly it is in the care of the church in the next village.
I shall have a word with the deacon.
-Now, that must have been him I saw earlier.
-I beg your pardon?
-Well, I saw someone standing on the steps, locking -- or unlocking, I suppose -- the door.
That must have been your deacon.
-Yes.
it must have been.
[ Indistinct chatter ] -Herr Nielsen!
I know something about that black pilgrimage you mentioned.
What was it that the Count brought back with him?
-I, uh-- -Come on, you may as well tell me everything you know.
-Herr Wraxhall, I will tell you this one little tale and no more.
Not anymore.
You must not ask me anything when I have done.
Is that agreed?
-Very well.
-In my grandfather's time, there were two men -- Anders Bjornsen and Hans Thorbjorn.
They were simple men from hereabouts.
Hans was a blacksmith, I think, and Anders Bjornsen, a carpenter.
And he was a beautiful man.
[ Men singing in Swedish ] [ Speaks indistinctly ] He was once a beautiful man.
[ Singing continues ] These men, they said, "Count Magnus is dead.
The Count is long dead.
We don't care for him.
Tonight we will go for a free hunt in his wood."
That's the long wood on the hill that you have seen outside Raback.
Those who heard them say this, they said, "No.
-[ Speaking Swedish ] Don't go.
If you go, you will meet persons walking that should not be walking.
They should be resting, not walking."
But these men, they laughed.
-[ Speaks Swedish, chuckles ] -[ Speaks Swedish ] [ Laughs ] -So that evening, they go into the wood.
My grandfather, he was sitting here in this inn.
It was -- It was summer.
And a late night, and with a window open, he could -- he could see out of the wood.
And hear.
So he sat there, and two or three men with him, and they listened.
At first, they hear nothing at all.
Then... [ Man screams ] [ Deep laugh ] It was not one of those two men that laughed.
Indeed, they have all of them said that it was not any man at all.
When it was quite light enough, they fetched the priest.
They said, "Father, put on your gown, and you're off, and come and bury these men," Hans Thorbjorn and Anders Bjornsen said.
Understand they were sure these men were dead.
But they went to the wood.
They found the men there.
Hans Thorbjorn was standing with his back against the tree, and all the time he was pushing with his hands.
Pushing, pushing away something from him which wasn't there.
So they led him away and they took him to the house, the mad house, you know?
And he died before winter, but he -- he went on pushing.
And also Anders Bjornsen was there, but he was dead.
I told you this about Anders Bjornsen, and that he was once a beautiful man, but now his face was not there, because the flesh of it had been sucked away off the bones.
You understand that?
[ Men singing in Swedish ] My grandfather couldn't forget it.
And so they laid him down on the beer that they had brought, and they put a cloth over his head.
They could not close the eyes of Anders Bjornsen because there was nothing to close over them.
This they could not bear.
Therefore, the priest sent for a spade and they buried him in that place.
You will need a drink?
-It could not be denied that all this through a rather lurid light upon the tastes and beliefs of the Count.
But to Mr. Wraxhall, separated from him by so many, many years, the thought that the great man might have added to his general forcefulness -- alchemy.
And to alchemy something like magic... -Oh, good morgon.
-...only made him a more picturesque figure.
-Chorazin.
-Chorazin?
-Oh, yes, yes.
Chorazin, yes.
You're a man of God.
What do you know of it?
-Why do you want to know?
-I have an inquiring mind.
As I recall, it's in the Apocrypha, isn't it?
It was a town in the Holy Land.
-If you know, why do you ask?
Oh, sorry.
I beg your pardon.
-It was a town cursed by our Lord, for they were unaffected by his mission.
Then began he to upbraid the cities wherein most of his mighty works were done.
For they repented not.
Woe unto thee, Chorazin!
Woe unto thee, Bethsaida!
Matthew 11: 20 to 24.
Luke 10: 30... -Yes, it must be a bit of a-- -...to 15.
-Yes.
It must be a bit of a ruin now.
And didn't I read somewhere, the Antichrist?
-The Antichrist will be born there.
Yes.
-Um, tag.
-[ Clears throat ] -So the Count he journeyed to Chora-- Chorazin, is that the tale?
And he wasn't alone when he returned.
Do you happen to know what the panels represent on the sides of the tomb?
There is one figure that's most peculiar.
Is it a man at all?
It has some kind of protuberance, like the tentacles of a devil fish.
-There are tales, Herr Wraxhall.
-Oh, yes.
-Tales.
I was going to say... That I have forgotten.
Good dag, mein Herr.
-Oh, well, um, thank you once again for sparing the time.
Oh.
Oh, sorry.
Here, allow me.
Ah.
[ Lock clicks ] [ Metal creaks ] Are you awake, Count Magnus?
Are you asleep, Count Magnus?
[ Chuckles ] Oh.
How odd.
I didn't notice that.
I felt sure.
Hmm.
Yes.
No, no, no, no.
[ Chuckles ] The cow sleeps safe enough.
Right.
Well, alas, dear lady, the old country beckons.
-It's been so good to have life in the old house again.
Jollity.
And singing?
[ Chuckles ] -Oh, gracious.
Um... You didn't hear me?
-Upon the occasion.
You're most ingenious.
-Oh.
[ Chuckles ] -And what have your researches?
-Oh, um.
Illuminating.
If only one had more time.
-Well, that is the one thing none of us have enough of.
Is that not so, Herr Wraxhall?
-Well, your ancestor, the Count, he certainly tried his best to beat times.
Winged chariot, I mean.
-Indeed.
-Well, it's all nonsense, of course, isn't it?
Local superstitions and fears all mixed up with tidbits of fact and speculation.
As you yourself observed, he was an extraordinary man.
But I hardly think he would have made a bargain with the devil to live forever.
-The Black Pilgrimage.
-Oh, you know of it.
-We're an old family, Herr Wraxhall.
The Count, he cast a long shadow over us.
I was raised on these stories of his journey to the Holy Land on most unholy business.
Of his coming back with... a companion.
-It's been so deeply fascinating, as I say, for a scholar like myself, these, uh, these fairy tales.
-Fairy tales.
I wish you a safe journey, Herr Wraxhall.
Take care.
Take good care.
Oh.
Yes.
It would be remiss of me not to say goodbye to the old boy, wouldn't it?
After all the fun he has given me.
Oh, Count Magnus.
Come, Magnus.
It is with sadness... [ Laughs ] ...as I bid farewell.
Oh, dear old Magnus.
Count Magnus.
Be thee in heaven, or be thee in hell Oh, no.
Let's not say that.
Yes.
You may have been a rascal in your time, but I'd dearly like to see you.
Or rather... Oh.
[ Coffin scrapes ] [ Screams ] What have I done?
What have I done?!
-Poor Mr. Wraxhall.
He sets out on his journey to England the next day and eventually reached there in safety.
And yet as can be gathered from the changed hand and inconsequential jottings of his notebooks, he was a broken man.
He seems to have become obsessed with enumerating and describing his fellow passengers.
-Commercial traveler.
Notable hair.
Black cloak.
Brown hat.
[ Mumbling ] [ Horse neighs ] [ Wriggles doorknob ] [ Breathing heavily ] They're coming.
Much is obvious.
They're coming to get me.
It's coming.
It.
What did I ever do wrong?
What wrong did I do?
What I've ever done?
I didn't do anything.
What should I do?
I can't go to the doctor, can I?
They'll lock me up.
[ Laughs, sobs ] Policeman, please.
[ Laughs ] They'll just laugh at me.
Why not?
Who's to believe such a story?
I'm so scared, scared, scared.
[ Indistinct ] The deacon.
The deacon.
Vicous.
He knew.
Perhaps no one knew.
All of them.
Oh, God!
What have I done?
[ Floorboards creak ] [ Breathing heavily ] Oh, God, God, God!
God!
Oh, God!
Oh, God!
[ Breathing heavily ] Oh, God!
Oh!
Oh!
Oh!
-[ Deep laugh ] -[ Screams ] [ Church bell tolls ] -People in that village still remember how the strange gentlemen arrived one evening years back, and how the next morning he was found dead.
There was an inquest and seven of the jury that viewed the body fainted, and none of them would speak of what they saw.
The verdict was visitation of God.
And here I lie with my companion, waiting.
And still they come down like poor Mr. Wraxhall -- Curious, over inquisitive, fresh.
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