DITTE HAS A VISION
Before losing her sight Maren had taught Ditte to read, which came
in very useful now. They never went to church; their clothes were
too shabby, and the way too long. Maren was not particularly zealous
in her attendance, a life-long experience had taught her to take
what the parson said with a grain of salt. But on Sundays, when
people streamed past on their way to church, they were both neatly
dressed, Ditte with a clean pinafore and polished wooden shoes, and
Granny with a stringed cap. Then Granny would be sitting in the
armchair at the table, spectacles on her nose and the Bible in front
of her, and Ditte standing beside her reading the scriptures for the
day. In spite of her blindness, Maren insisted upon wearing her
spectacles and having the holy book in front of her, according to
custom, otherwise it was not right.
Ditte was nearly of school age, but Maren took no notice of it, and
kept her home. She was afraid of the child not getting on with the
other children--and could not imagine how she herself could spare
her the whole day long. But at the end of six months they were
found out, and Maren was threatened, that unless the child was sent
to school, she would be taken from her altogether.
Having fitted out Ditte as well as she could, she sent her off with
a heavy heart. The birth certificate she purposely omitted giving
her; as it bore in the corner the fateful: born out of wedlock.
Maren could not understand why an innocent child should be stamped
as unclean; the child had enough to fight against without that. But
Ditte returned with strict injunctions to bring the certificate the
next day, and Maren was obliged to give it to her. It was hopeless
to fight against injustice.
Maren knew well that magistrates were no institution of God's
making--she had been born with this knowledge! They only oppressed
her and her kind; and with this end in view used their own hard
method, which was none of God's doing at all. He, on the contrary,
was a friend of the poor; at least His only son, who was sitting on
His right hand, whispered good things of the poor, and it was
reasonable to expect that He would willingly help. But what did it
help when the mighty ones would have it otherwise? It was the squire
and his like, who had the power! It was towards them the parson
turned when preaching, letting the poor folks look after themselves,
and towards them the deacon glanced when singing. It was all very
fine for them, with the magistrate carrying their trains, and
opening their carriage door, with a peasant woman always ready to
lay herself on all fours to prevent them wetting their feet as they
stepped in. No "born out of wedlock" on _their_ birth certificate;
although one often might question their genuineness!
"But why does the Lord let it be like that?" asked Ditte
wonderingly.
"He has to, or there'd be no churches built nor no fuss made of
Him," answered Maren. "Grandfather Soeren always said, that the Lord
lived in the pockets of the mighty, and it seems as if he's right."
* * * * *
Ditte now went three times a week to school, which lay an hour's
journey away, over the common. She went together with the other
children from the hamlet, and got on well with them.
Children are thoughtless, but not wicked; this they learn from their
elders. They had only called after her what they had heard at home;
it was their parents' gossip and judgment they had repeated. They
meant nothing by it; Ditte, who was observant in this respect, soon
found out that they treated each other just in the same way. They
would shout witch's brat, at her one minute and the next be quite
friendly; they did not mean to look down upon her. This discovery
took the sting from the abusive word--fortunately she was not
sensitive. And the parents no longer, in superstition, warned their
children against her; the time when Maren rode about as a witch was
entirely forgotten. Now she was only a poor old woman left alone
with an illegitimate child.
To the school came children just as far in the opposite direction,
from the neighborhood of Sand. And it happened, that from them Maren
and Ditte could make inquiries about Soerine and Lars Peter. They had
not seen Ditte's father for some time, and he might easily have met
with an accident, being on the roads night and day in all sorts of
weather. It was fortunate that Ditte met children from those parts,
who could assure her that all was well. Soerine had never been any
good to her mother, although she was her own flesh and blood.
One day Ditte came home with the news that she was to go to her
parents; one of the children had brought the message.
Old Maren began to shake, so that her knitting needles clinked.
"But they said they didn't want you!" she broke out, her face
quivering.
"Yes, but now they want me--you see, I've to help with the little
ones," answered Ditte proudly, gathering her possessions together
and putting them on the table. Each time she put a thing down was
like a stab to the old woman; then she would comfort and stroke
Granny's shaking hand, which was nothing but blue veins. Maren sat
dumbly knitting; her face was strangely set and dead-looking.
"Of course I'll come home and see you; but then you must take it
sensibly. Can't you understand that I couldn't stay with you always?
I'll bring some coffee when I come, and we'll have a lovely time.
But you must promise not to cry, 'cause your eyes can't stand it."
Ditte stood talking in a would-be wise voice, as she tied up her
things.
"And now I must go, or I shan't get there till night, and then
mother will be angry." She said the word "mother" with a certain
reverence as if it swept away all objections. "Good-by, dear, _dear_
Granny!" She kissed the old woman's cheek and hurried off with her
bundle.
As soon as the door had closed on her Maren began crying, and
calling for her; in a monotonous undertone she poured out all her
troubles, sorrow and want and longing for death. She had had so many
heavy burdens and had barely finished with one when another
appeared. Her hardships had cut deeply--most of them; and it did her
good to live through them again and again. She went on for some
time, and would have gone on still longer had she not suddenly felt
two arms round her neck and a wet cheek against her own. It was the
mischievous child, who had returned, saying that after all she was
not leaving her.
Ditte had gone some distance, as far as the baker's, who wondered
where she was going with the big parcel and stopped her. Her
explanation, that she was going home to her parents, they refused to
believe; her father had said nothing about it when the baker had
met him at the market the day before, indeed he had sent his love to
them. Ditte stood perplexed on hearing all this. A sudden doubt
flashed through her mind; she turned round with a jerk--quick as she
was in all her movements--and set off home for the hut on the Naze.
How it had all happened she did not bother to think, such was her
relief at being allowed to return to Granny.
Granny laughed and cried at the same time, asked questions and could
make no sense of it.
"Aren't you going at all, then?" she broke out, thanking God, and
hardly able to believe it.
"Of course I'm not going. Haven't I just told you, the baker said I
wasn't to."
"Ay, the baker, the baker--what's he got to do with it? You'd got
the message to go."
Ditte was busily poking her nose into Granny's cheek.
Maren lifted her head: "Hadn't you, child? Answer me!"
"I don't know, Granny," said Ditte, hiding her face against her.
Granny held her at an arm's length: "Then you've been playing
tricks, you bad girl! Shame on you, to treat my poor old heart like
this." Maren began sobbing again and could not stop; it had all come
so unexpectedly. If only one could get to the bottom of it; but the
child had declared that she had not told a lie. She was quite
certain of having had the message, and was grieved at Granny not
believing her. She never told an untruth when it came to the point,
so after all must have had the message. On the other side the child
herself said that she was not going--although the baker's counter
orders carried no authority. They had simply stopped her, because
her expedition seemed so extraordinary. It was beyond Maren--unless
the child had imagined it all.
Ditte kept close to the old woman, constantly taking hold of her
chin. "Now I know how sorry you'll be to lose me altogether," she
said quietly.
Maren raised her face: "Do you think you'll soon be called away?"
Ditte shook her head so vehemently that Granny felt it.
Old Maren was deep in thought; she had known before that the child
understood, that it was bound to come.
"Whatever it may be," said she after a few moments, "you've behaved
like the great man I once read about, who rehearsed his own
funeral--with four black horses, hearse and everything. All his
servants had to pretend they were the procession, dressed in black,
they had even to cry. He himself was watching from an attic window,
and when he saw the servants laughing behind their handkerchiefs
instead of crying, he took it so to heart that he died. 'Tis
dangerous for folks to make fun of their own passing away--wherever
they may be going!"
"I wasn't making fun, Granny," Ditte assured her again.
From that day Maren went in daily dread of the child being claimed
by her parents. "My ears are burning," she often said, "maybe 'tis
your mother talking of us."
Soerine certainly did talk of them in those days. Ditte was now old
enough to make herself useful; her mother would not mind having her
home to look after the little ones. "She's nearly nine years old now
and we'll have to take her sooner or later," she explained.
Lars Peter demurred; he thought it was a shame to take her from
Granny. "Let's take them both then," said he.
Soerine refused to listen, and nagged for so long that she overcame
his opposition.
"We've been expecting you," said Maren when at last he came to fetch
the child. "We've known for long that you'd come on this errand."
"'Tisn't exactly with my good will. But in a way a mother has a
right to her own child, and Soerine thinks she'd like to have her,"
answered Lars Peter. He wanted to smooth it down for both sides.
"I know you've done your best. Well, it can't be helped. And how's
every one at home? There's another mouth to feed, I've heard."
"Ay, he's nearly six months old now." Lars Peter brightened up, as
he always did when speaking of his children.
They got into the cart. "We shan't forget you, either of us," said
Lars Peter huskily, while trying to get the old nag off.
Then the old woman stumbled in, they saw her feeling her way over
the doorstep with her foot and closing the door behind her.
"'Tis lonely to be old and blind," said Lars Peter, lashing his whip
as usual.
Ditte heard nothing; she was sitting with her face in one big smile.
She was driving towards something new; she had no thought for Granny
just then.