Gustaf Torpander was still consumed by his silent passion. Every penny
he could save he devoted either to heightening his personal attractions
or to treating Marianne's brother; for hitherto he had never had the
courage to offer her any presents personally. The circuitous course he
was thus driven to follow in his courtship, was not altogether agreeable
to the Swede, and the drinking bouts at Begmand's cottage, in which he
was obliged to take part in order to get a glimpse of his sweetheart, he
found particularly distasteful.
At first Marianne was greatly annoyed by the attentions of the
journeyman printer. From her earliest childhood, the knowledge of her
exceptional beauty had made her careful to be on her guard against any
advances from the other sex; but since her misfortune, she had come to
regard every attention as a kind of persecution. But her shyness was
generally received with an incredulous smile or a coarse joke. What
shocked her most was, that men seemed no longer to believe that she
really meant to shun them in earnest, and she was therefore quite
nervous if any of them approached her. When, however, she saw that
Torpander did not presume on his acquaintance, and preserved his polite
and even respectful manner, she became at last used to his society, and
had even a kind of sympathetic feeling for him. For Tom Robson she had
always an unconquerable aversion. It is true that she saw Tom only from
his worst side, when he was drinking. In the morning, when Robson was
sober, there was something of the gentleman about him. He was always
neatly dressed in a blue serge suit, coloured shirt, and in dry weather
wore canvas shoes. It was a great pleasure for the young Consul to go
his morning round in the ship-yard with Mr. Robson. The work went on
bravely, and the ship bid fair to be both handsome and well built. Mr.
Garman knew Tom's weakness as well as any one, but as long as he
attended to his work he was free to use his leisure as he liked. The
firm had always worked on the principle that the less the workpeople
were interfered with the better. They worked all the better for it, and
gave far less trouble generally.
"I think she ought to be ready next spring," said the Consul one day in
the beginning of July.
"In about eight or nine months, if the winter is not too wet," answered
Tom.
"I should be very pleased if we could manage to launch her on the 15th
of May," said the Consul, in a low tone; "but you must not mention the
day to any one; you understand, Mr. Robson?"
"All right, sir," answered Tom.
Tom did not betray the day, even to his friend Master Gabriel; he only
said it was to be some time in the spring, and with that Gabriel had to
be content: but he still showed great curiosity as to what the name of
the ship was to be. Tom swore that he knew nothing about it, and Morten
answered that it was "a thing which did not concern schoolboys." From
which Gabriel inferred that neither of them knew much about it, and, at
all events, not Morten.
During the summer Gabriel got on but poorly at school; it seemed really
too hard that he should have to pore over his books, while the work was
going on with all its noise and bustle in the ship-yard. His
character-book showed a sad spectacle, and each month when he had to
take it in to his father, he made up his mind to make a little speech,
of which the burden was to be, that he did not wish to continue his
studies, but to be employed in the office, or be allowed to go to sea,
or anywhere his father chose to send him. But each time when he stood
before those cold blue eyes, every word seemed to vanish from his
memory, and he looked so helpless and confused that his father shook his
head as he left the room, and said--
"I can't make the boy out. I don't think he will ever grow into a man."
When first Madeleine came to Sandsgaard, Gabriel had found it a great
relief to confide his woes to her. But now she had got too clever for
him, and refused to be frightened by his threats of running away to sea,
or giving his master, Mr. Aalbom, some rat-poison in his toddy, and he
ended by feeling jealous of Delphin.
Fanny had for some time remarked that Delphin was openly paying his
attentions to Madeleine, and the more plainly her sharp eyes took in the
situation, the more clearly did she perceive that she had been relegated
to the unenviable position of third person. She knew that Delphin had
been used to the society of Christiania; he was neither so young nor so
green as most of her father's assistants, and she therefore found his
society agreeable. But when she found that, as usual, he began at once
to show his admiration for her, she thought to herself he was no
different to the rest. But now she began to take a little more notice of
him; perhaps it was hardly worth while to let him slip entirely out of
her hands; and when she looked at herself in the glass, she could not
help laughing and thinking how absurd it was for any one, with her
pretensions to beauty, to be contented to accept her present humiliating
position.
Fanny had arranged that Madeleine should take music lessons in the town,
and Delphin had got to know exactly when these music lessons took place.
Madeleine met him very frequently, and they generally managed to go a
little out of the way on her return, either in the streets, or in the
park. Madeleine found these meetings rather amusing, and talked gaily
and openly with her admirer.
"Now, Mr. Delphin," she said to him one day, "how is it you are so
sarcastic and critical when you are in society? When we are alone you
are much more agreeable."
"The reason is, Miss Madeleine, that when I am talking alone with you, I
show more of my natural character; when I am in conversation with other
people, I rather prefer to conceal my opinions."
"So you conceal your opinions?" said she, laughing.
"Yes. What I mean is, I don't care for every passer-by to pry into my
mind. I generally keep the blinds down."
"Yes, now I understand," she answered seriously; not that she remarked
the preference shown her, but she could not help thinking how much of
her own life was also concealed by a curtain.
In one of the small streets near the sea they had to pass through a
crowd of fishermen, who had been out all night, and were carrying home
their lines, tarpaulins, and large baskets full of fish.
"Bah!" said Delphin, when they had passed, "I can't bear that smell of
fish. But I forgot, Miss Garman; you must have had plenty of it when you
lived at Bratvold."
"Oh yes!" answered Madeleine, with some confusion.
"Well, for my part," he continued, in a merry tone, "I can say with
truth that I am a friend of the people, but I must confess that when the
dear creatures come too near my nose my affection for them somewhat
cools. There is something about that mixture of fish, tobacco, tar, and
wet woollen clothes that I can't get over."
Madeleine could not but feel what a vivid description this was of the
people among whom she had lived, and of him to whom she had so
nearly--Ah, it was well she had not betrayed the secret to any one.
As they were crossing the market Delphin pointed to some one going in
the direction of Sandsgaard.
"I declare, there is Mr. Johnsen going to Sandsgaard again to-day. Do
you know, Miss Garman, he has gone a little wrong in his head?" But
Madeleine had heard nothing about it.
"Yes, he is quite wrong in his head," continued her companion; "but it
is not yet perfectly clear whether he is in love or whether it is
religious mania. In favour of the first theory, that he is in love, we
have the fact that he rushes over to Sandsgaard nearly every day, and is
seen talking _tête-à-tête_ with Miss Rachel. In favour of the other
theory, that he has gone wrong on the subject of religion, it is said
that he intends to give us no end of a sermon one of these Sundays.
Won't you go to hear him?"
"Well, I don't know; but if the others go, I dare say I may go too."
"No! now promise me you will go to church that Sunday," said he, looking
at her imploringly.
There was no time for an answer; they were close to the door, and
Madeleine had caught a glimpse of Fanny behind the curtains of the
sitting-room.
In the mean time Mr. Johnsen went on his way. It was quite true that he
was going to Sandsgaard, but Delphin's statement that he was there every
day was an exaggeration. Since that Sunday, when the conversation had
waxed so warm, he had not been at Sandsgaard; but his thoughts had been
occupied ever since by the recollection of his last conversation with
Rachel in the garden.
Eric Johnsen came, as he often said, of a poor family. At the Garmans'
he was first brought into contact with that luxury which he had hitherto
despised, and he had made up his mind beforehand that he would not allow
himself to be dazzled by it, and therefore on his first introduction had
made his best endeavour to put on an air of severity, and to show
himself superior to its attractions. But now he was not only astonished
by the well-ordered and unpretentious comfort of the house, but he was
also shaken in his preconceived notions about the rich, when he came to
make the acquaintance of the Garmans. Johnsen had expected to find
something more ostentatious, especially at table; but the solid tone of
the household, and the easy and polished manners of the family, perhaps
most of all the presence of Rachel, finally caused him to change his
original ideas. He regarded with suspicion the satisfaction he felt,
after having been at Sandsgaard a few times. He was on his guard against
everything that tended to draw him away from his calling. There was one
point which he felt of the highest importance, which was, since he had
his origin from the poor and indigent, it was among them his work ought
to lie, among paupers and in pauper schools.
One day Johnsen actually found himself hesitating before the door of his
school, shrinking from going into its tainted atmosphere, when it was
not actually necessary for him to do so. The discovery caused him at
first the greatest uneasiness. Now, however, Rachel's society was
beginning to have more influence over him. It was no longer the comfort
of Sandsgaard which attracted him--of that he was quite certain; neither
had he any feeling for the young lady except interest, a deep, earnest
interest, after all the stirring impressions he had received through
her. She had a wonderful power over him. Her words seemed to shed a ray
of light over much which he had hitherto overlooked. He had, like the
rest of us, the germs of doubt in his heart, and he was still so young
and fresh that his aspirations were but loosely covered, and had not yet
had time to wither entirely in his heart. When, therefore, he was
suddenly thrown into the society of a woman of such intellectual power,
his mind seemed as it were to awake, and her influence and his own
reviving energies kindled within him a desire for action which increased
with each day that passed. The tiresome and uninteresting work of his
daily life seemed aimless to him. He must find some other means of
publishing his convictions--this was now clear to him. He went,
therefore, to his adviser, ready to engage in any combat into which she
might think fit to send him.
Rachel generally did at home pretty much as she liked. She disdained all
the hundred restraints which are generally considered so necessary for a
young girl; they plainly did not apply in her case--she was so different
to others. As soon, therefore, as Johnsen had exchanged a few words with
old Mrs. Garman, she said, without further ado, "Come, Mr. Johnsen, let
us take a turn in the garden," without her mother being in the least
astonished. Rachel had grown up quite beyond her power of restraint, and
if it came to the worst, thought Mrs. Garman, this unusual _penchant_
for a clergyman was not the worst one Rachel could have hit upon.
The two went down into the garden, where they walked as usual up and
down the central path. He found it rather difficult to lead the
conversation in the direction he wished. His tone was therefore somewhat
doubtful, as he said, "I have thought a great deal about our last
conversation; in fact, I have hardly thought of anything else since,
and, with your permission, I should like to say a few more words on the
same subject."
"I am always glad to talk with you," answered Rachel, fixing her eyes
upon him. Rachel had the same clear blue eyes as her father, to whom, in
fact, she bore considerable resemblance, even in the slight projection
of her under jaw. Her dark hair was faintly tinged with red, especially
at the temples, and her tall and well-built figure rendered her
appearance rather more imposing than attractive. The young men generally
were absolutely afraid of her, and she had the reputation of being
terribly learned and sarcastic, which was considered to be a great pity,
as in other respects she was a most desirable _parti_. Mr. Johnsen did
not notice any of these peculiarities: all he thought of was leading the
conversation into the direction he desired. At length he was successful.
He spoke with ever-increasing earnestness on the change that had taken
place in him; how that she had not only roused him to meditation, but
had also imparted to him a desire for work, for which he must now find
vent. He had come to her to be told how and where he was to begin.
Rachel seemed somewhat embarrassed. "It is not so easy for me," she
answered, "who as a woman am debarred from a life of action, if even I
had the wish for it, to advise you how you ought to begin."
"I am ready for anything," cried he, excitedly. "I am ready to write or
speak against the abuses I see everywhere around me. I am ready to cut
myself adrift from the calling I have adopted, if it must be. I will not
leave a single corner of my innermost heart concealed, but will lay open
my convictions as a man ought to do."
His young friend was too wary to allow herself to be carried away by
this sudden outburst, which she could not but regard with some
misgiving.
"I think you ought to consider," she began, "that what we have hitherto
been speaking of is a mere matter of scattered detail; there is scarcely
any irreconcilable want of agreement between your ideas and those of
Christianity in general."
"But Christianity requires either an entire belief or else none at all,
and I do not care to continue in my doubtful position any longer."
"Yes; and besides," she continued, "I am quite willing to confess that I
consider these forms and dogmas of but very slight importance. Our
conversation has only turned particularly on these points from the fact
that you hold a position in the Church."
"But that is not what we have been talking about," answered he,
excitedly; "the real gist of the matter is, that you have been trying to
rouse in me a consciousness of the personal responsibility which follows
conviction."
"Yes," answered she, "you are quite right; that is exactly what I was
aiming at."
"Whether I am in the Church or not, then, is not the question. What is
really important is to be a man--man enough to have a conviction, and
man enough to stand by it."
His vehemence and honesty overcame Rachel's scruples, and she answered
hastily, and almost with a feeling of relief, "Yes, that is the point;
it is exactly sincerity which is so rarely met with. This is the
principle which I can myself scarcely hope to carry out to its full
extent. What weight does the conviction of a woman carry with it, in a
society like ours? But my whole sympathy is excited whenever I see
sincerity struggling to the light. And that is why I believe that you
are on the right path now, that you have entered upon this combat with
falsehood. It is better to be utterly beaten in the battle than to lead
a peaceful but insincere life."
Her clear blue eyes sparkled as she spoke. He looked at her with
rapture, and with a sudden change of manner that was characteristic of
him, he said in a calm, quiet voice:
"I will live a life of falsehood no longer!" He took a few steps, and
said slowly and with emphasis, "I will ask the provost's permission to
preach in the church next Sunday; I have, in fact, already said
something to him about it. I want to tell the congregation--"
"It would, perhaps, be scarcely worth while," said Rachel, "to go too
much into details."
"No, that was not my intention. I wish to bring forward the importance
of sincerity. I will tell them plainly that I have my doubts, and that
God is to be found in truthfulness, and not in mere forms; and I wish
especially to examine the position of those of my own calling, who even
more than others are fettered by forms and ceremonies."
"It may cost you your future; and in any case you will make many
enemies."
"But perhaps I may make one friend."
"You shall have my friendship," said she, giving him her hand, "if you
find any support in that. You can count upon me, even if all others turn
their backs upon you."
"Thank you," said he, with solemnity, as he let go her hand. He left the
garden hastily, but without going through the house; he took a side
path, and went through the little wicket gate.
Rachel stood gazing after him as he went down the avenue. At last she
had met a man who dared to state his convictions. This was more than
ever Jacob Worse would have the courage to do.