THE BRIDE’S DANCE
On Twelfth-Night the Pastor and his wife had been to church, and were
now on their way home after the service. She was half-frozen in the
sleigh after sitting still for two hours in the cold church. How glad
she was to know that they did not need to drive all the way home to
Lövdala, but could break their journey at Lobyn, where they were bidden
to the wedding-feast of a well-to-do peasant. They would be saved at
least a quarter of their cold drive. She could think of nothing else,
but how annoying it was that the Parsonage lay away at the far end
of the parish, all but six whole miles from the church. The church
itself was well situated in the middle of the parish, and was easily
reached from every direction. Not so the Parsonage, which was a good
twelve miles from all the houses lying far away to the south of the
parish. And how difficult it was for the Pastor’s wife to get to church
every Sunday, as was but fit and proper! It took a good four hours
before she could get home again; and on Communion Sundays maybe even
five or six. And when she got home she was quite certain to find the
old housekeeper had cooked the dinner too soon, so that it had been
waiting several hours and everything was dried up and burnt.
The same thoughts filled her mind every time she had to drive home
from church cold and hungry. If she could only manage by some means or
other to get a shorter way to church. If it had only been a question of
inducing the parishioners to sell the old Parsonage and build a new one
nearer the church, that in itself would have been difficult enough. But
it was a much more intricate matter than that.
Good gracious, how vexatious it was that Svartsjö was, to begin with,
only an offshoot of the great Church of Bro! From very early times it
had been ordained that the rural dean of Bro should also be the rector
of Svartsjö, and get half the stipend, and, of course, no change was
possible in such an old-established custom as that. Or else, it really
did seem as though her husband who had all the work ought also to have
all the stipend. But he was only an assistant pastor, and had to be
content with the usual assistant stipend. And the congregation was but
a small and poor one, so that if their Pastor had only had what they
gave him to live on, he would have been a pauper indeed.
If the Pastor of Svartsjö happened to be a little better off than other
assistant ministers it was only because he not only had a house of his
own, but enough land to give him his living. If he had not had that,
he would have been in a poor case indeed. Of course she was glad that
he owned Lövdala; indeed she would be the last to grumble about it. It
was a fine property with a nice house and good land. Its only fault was
that it lay so far from the church. Yet not quite the only fault! There
was just one more. Those who lived on it seemed to think themselves a
little better than other folk. She, who had seen really great places,
could only laugh at the very idea, but in the parish it was reckoned
quite a distinction to live at Lövdala. Even the Countess at Borg was
not thought so much of as the Pastor’s family.
For her part she could never understand how that had come about.
A hundred years ago the whole of Lövdala had been nothing but a
peasant-holding. It may have been large and rich enough, for no doubt
they had splendid pasture lands on the bed of the old lake. But all
the same it had been a peasant-holding and nothing more, and she would
almost have said it was nothing more even now. Up there in Värmland, of
course, there was nobody who knew what a real gentleman’s country-seat
looked like.
It was nothing remarkable that the rich peasant’s son should manage
to study and pass a contemptible priest’s examination, and become
assistant pastor of Svartsjö. Neither was there anything astounding in
his marrying one of the rural dean’s daughters. After all, he had never
got any farther than Lövdala, but had stayed there all his life. He was
said to have been a clever man, but that was hard to believe, or else
he would surely have been made Pastor of some larger place.
No doubt he had been very comfortably off, for he had inherited Lövdala
from his parents and could live there. He had not needed to go, hat in
hand, to the peasants for their tithes and offerings. He lived on his
own property, was quite independent, and as good as any one of them.
And that, no doubt, had been as much to their liking as to his.
During the lifetime of this first Lövdala pastor there had been indeed
no parsonage belonging to the parish, but there was one now, a small
property adjoining Lövdala.
It seemed to her pure stupidity of the peasants to build the Parsonage
there. They had not troubled the least that the Pastor had so far to
go to the church. They had had quite another object in view, and that
they had achieved. The second Pastor had married the first’s daughter,
and inherited and lived in Lövdala. In this way he too had become a
well-to-do peasant-holder of independent means, and not simply a poor
assistant minister. And he too had stayed all his life in Svartsjö. He
was said to have been a remarkable preacher, but she did not believe
that either. She imagined that it was only because he had married one
of their own Pastor’s daughters and lived at Lövdala that the Svartsjö
folk insisted upon his great gifts of oratory.
The Pastor’s wife raised her muff and covered her face. The road went
straight over the old lake-bed, and the cold breeze always blowing
there nipped her ears. But her thoughts only travelled the faster.
It was plainly enough only the fact that the pastors of the parish
must of necessity live at Lövdala, which made it so impossible to
get a shorter road to church. Her husband was now the third Pastor
in succession who lived there. He had acted in the same way as his
predecessors, married the Pastor’s daughter and inherited the estate.
He had made his home in Lövdala, but the Parsonage ground was so close
that he could quite well manage that too, and with his two properties
he was a well-to-do man. This was such a good arrangement that there
was not a soul in the parish but wished its continuance as long as
Svartsjö had a pastor and people. She could not deny that it had been
a capital thing for the other Lövdala pastors, for she did not believe
that they had been fit for anything better than to stay here all their
lives. But it was a never-ending pity that her husband had lost his
heart to both property and parish and was still here. For she would
wager her life that he could have had the best living in the diocese
any day if he had chosen to take it. She knew exactly why he liked
Svartsjö so much. Since the same family had been pastors of the parish
for so many years, and since both Pastors and Pastors’ wives had been
so much beloved, they had got into a position of great authority. No
one undertook anything at all without first going to the Parsonage for
advice, and that was what he liked. Once she had mentioned to him that
he might have had a larger church. Yes, he agreed, but then perhaps he
would not have had so much influence. Here he thought he ruled over the
whole parish.
It was, indeed, no easy matter to change all this. No doubt it was
a capital thing for a young minister to marry one of the daughters
of the Lövdala Pastor. He got a competence at once, an easily worked
parish, and, for the rest, did not everyone say that to get a wife as
beautiful and capable as any of the daughters of the Lövdala Parsonage
was a fortune in itself? That might be true enough of those who had
lived there before her time, but as far as Maia Lisa was concerned,
it certainly was not a fact. The Pastor’s wife saw no beauty in her
long face, nor could she see that she was fit for anything either. Of
course she was doing her best now to improve her, but she got no help
in that from anyone, scarcely even from her Father, who ought to have
been the first to wish his daughter to grow into a sensible creature
with thoughts for something besides play. All the same she meant to do
her duty by her. There were not many who would venture to correct the
heiress to Lövdala and to the whole parish.
The air round them resounded with the tinkling of bells, for here in
Lobyn there were four cross-roads, and sleighs were coming from all
directions bringing guests to the wedding. It was evidently going
to be a grand affair. What a mercy she had managed to prevent her
stepdaughter from coming with them! It was just in these old peasant
houses that they made the most fuss of her. It was only to be expected
that she should grow idle and haughty, and begin to think she could
do whatever she chose. Yes, indeed, she was the best judge of what
was good for her. But for the present she was not going to say so,
not even to herself. Perhaps, however, she might be able to kill two
birds with one stone; might get, maybe, a shorter road to church and,
at the same time, teach her stepdaughter that she was no princess, but
only a poor, insignificant Pastor’s daughter.... There now, had she
not known that she would have to put up with all this? She had not
crossed the threshold before everyone began asking why the Pastor’s
daughter had not come too. Before she had unbuttoned her fur coat she
had to explain, at least ten times, how tiresome it was that Maia Lisa
would not leave her old Grandmother alone at home. Most inquirers were
satisfied with this answer, but the givers of the wedding-feast wanted
a better reason than that. Old Biorn Hindriksson and his wife had had
to work away for many a long year before they could persuade their
youngest granddaughter, who was to have their house and land after
them, to marry the man they had chosen for her. And as a reward for her
consent they wanted now to give her the finest wedding in their power.
Biorn Hindriksson was so old that he remembered Herr Olavus, the first
Lövdala Pastor, and his wife, Fru Katrina Hesselgren, and he had
never lost the respect he had for them. As long as there was still a
descendant of Herr Olavus in the parish she must come to the marriage
feast if it were not to be shorn of half its glory. He would not accept
the excuse that the Pastor’s daughter could not leave home on her
Grandmother’s account, and asked at once if one of the maids could not
have given an eye to Fru Beata for that day at least. Besides, she was
not on her death-bed!
His tone of voice showed plainly enough that he was really sorry, and
not speaking just for form’s sake. Glad as he was to see the Pastor’s
new wife, it could nevertheless not be denied that she did not belong
to the old Parsonage family.
The Pastor’s wife replied that she had been of the same opinion as he,
and said so too. But there it was: the Pastor’s daughter was so bound
up in the old lady that it was a sheer impossibility to get her away if
her Grandmother was the least ailing.
Now the Pastor’s wife had taken off her wraps and knew in her own mind
that she was a fine-looking woman and well dressed too, so that they
might search the land for a more dignified Pastor’s wife. And yet these
peasant folk seemed to have no eyes for her at all.
Biorn Hindriksson’s wife wondered why Fru Beata herself had not made
her granddaughter go. She must have known that not a wedding had taken
place in their time where one of the old Pastor’s family had not danced
with the bride.
The Pastor’s wife drew herself up and answered sharply that she had not
known it was a matter of such moment, or she herself would have stayed
at home instead. However, she would drive home, now at once, and then
Maia Lisa could come.
With that the Pastor’s wife won the day. The peasant hosts were
terribly vexed that they had offended her, and ended by begging and
praying her to stay.
But it was the same question and answer over and over again when she
went upstairs to the large room where she had to go round shaking hands
with all the guests, who stood leaning against the walls, waiting for
the marriage ceremony. She had been cold all day, but she was soon warm
enough now. There was no end to their questions about Maia Lisa until
she took her place on the sofa. The two most important peasants’ wives
sat on either side of her, and they were silent as wax figures. They
knew, indeed, that it was no fitting time to chatter when they were
sitting and waiting for anything so solemn as the marriage service!
She felt that her cheeks were flaming red. How they had all attacked
her! They had not plagued the Pastor with their questions. Did they
think that he no longer had any voice in the matter?
Ulla Moreus, the sexton’s wife, appeared in the doorway and stepped
forward to shake hands with her. Of course there would be more
questions to answer now, for she was one of Maia Lisa’s best friends.
However, she did not seem to be thinking of Maia Lisa. She and her
Mother-in-law were there dressing the bride. They had finished now, but
they wondered----
Indeed it would be such a help to them if Fru Raklitz would kindly come
to the garret bedroom and see if the bride’s dress was just right.
The Pastor’s wife was well aware that no one in Värmland knew better
how to dress a peasant bride than Ulla Moreus and her Mother-in-law.
Still it was polite of them to wish to hear her opinion. So she went
with Ulla to the bedroom where the bride stood ready, waiting for the
bridesmaids to come and fetch her. They were thinking of nothing here
but flowers and finery. It was a real relief to answer questions as to
whether the gold chain was hanging as it should, whether they ought to
put more bead necklaces on the bride, or whether she really admired
the tall crown of cardboard that Ulla Moreus had sat up all night to
decorate with red and green silk and gilt paper. They had thought until
the very last moment that the old crown would have done again, but late
last evening Ulla had remembered that this was the grandest wedding
to be held this winter, and then she had cut a new foundation and
decorated it.
The Pastor’s wife praised it and everything else as well. But old
Mother Moreus still looked troubled, and in a little while she confided
to the Pastor’s wife what was worrying her.
It was very nice that Sister[1] Raklitz was pleased with the
wedding-dress, but she felt herself that everything was a failure if
they could not induce the bride to look a little happier. There was not
much pleasure in decking up anyone who looked after all as if she were
going to the gallows.
The bride turned sharply away from them, muttering a few scarcely
audible words. All the fine things she wore were nothing to her if
Mamsell Maia Lisa was not coming to the wedding! Had she not promised
thousands of times that she would come and see her in her wedding-dress?
Then Ulla Moreus put in her word, speaking in the bright, pleasant
voice of one who likes to take a matter in hand and settle it all
happily. No doubt Maia Lisa could leave her Grandmother for a little
while. They would willingly send for her. It wasn’t after all a long
drive.
And even the old Mother-in-law added a persuasive word as well: Maia
Lisa and Britta were schoolfellows, and had been good friends ever
since.
The Pastor’s wife answered in no very friendly tone. “No doubt, dear
Sister, I should think there isn’t a single peasant girl in the parish
who isn’t a good friend of Maia Lisa.” She tossed her head, and left
the room. No one ventured to say anything more to her. Her face was
flaming again by now. They needn’t think she did not see that they had
only coaxed her up into the garret to talk about Maia Lisa.
The ceremony was over, and everything had gone well. The bride knew
that the guests were all sitting now, talking in whispers of how she
had looked. For her parents’ and grandparents’ sake she could have
wished her face had not been quite so tear-stained. If only Mamsell
Maia Lisa had come she would have gone through it all with a bright
face. The Pastor’s daughter had so often said how she would like to
see her as a bride; perhaps it was only to encourage her, but now she
thought that the one piece of brightness that she had promised herself
to-day had been snatched from her. Whilst the service was going on she
had turned her head several times and glanced towards the door, for,
in spite of all, she had been so sure Maia Lisa would come that she
could not help looking for her. How could anyone be so hard-hearted and
refuse her on such a day, the only thing she asked! Her eyes filled
with tears at the very thought.
When they had laid the great table, shaped like a horseshoe, and the
guests sat down to eat, they began to be very merry and talkative all
round her. The others could eat, drink, and joke, but she felt all the
time the same sense of oppression. She could not even think of food.
She sat crumbling a slice of bread, so that they might think she was
eating something. “If only Mamsell Maia Lisa had come to-day,” she
thought, “it would have been a different matter. She would have made
it easy for me.” She looked up at her bridegroom beside her with
some confusion, wondering if he had heard anything, for it struck her
that she had been thinking aloud. And in a moment she really did; she
noticed she was sitting there murmuring: “Oh dear, dear, to think that
Mamsell Maia Lisa has never come to my wedding!”
“What are you sitting there, saying to yourself?” asked the bridegroom.
She answered almost against her will, “Oh dear, dear, to think that
Mamsell Maia Lisa has never come to my wedding!” The bridegroom
remembered very well how he had had to beg and pray before this rich
peasant’s daughter had consented to take him. Already people began to
whisper that she had been forced to it by her grandparents, and if
his bride was going to sit at the wedding-feast with such a sad face,
the report would soon spread far and wide. He began to reprove her.
It wasn’t fitting to take it so to heart. She could have the Pastor’s
daughter another day.
The bride paid no heed to his words. She sat crumbling her bread, and
in a little she sighed again: “Oh dear, dear, to think Mamsell Maia
Lisa should not see me as a bride!”
Once more her husband tried to reason with her--“How foolish to make a
fuss about such a thing,” he said. “What do you think Mamsell Maia Lisa
troubles about you? We all know how much interest gentlefolk take in us
peasants!”
But then the bride turned round sharply: “You wouldn’t say that if you
knew what you were talking about. You wouldn’t be sitting where you
are if the Pastor’s daughter had not spoken well of you, and said that
she believed you would be good to me.”
Now it was the bridegroom’s turn to be silent, so silent, indeed, that
when the guests sitting opposite wanted to speak to him, they had to
shout before he answered.
The other guests could not fail to notice it, and they too grew silent,
and did nothing but look anxiously at bride and bridegroom. But just
when all were feeling most embarrassed, the young peasant turned to his
bride. “If that is all you are troubled about,” he said, “it can soon
be remedied. I think I am man enough to manage to let Mamsell Maia Lisa
see you as a bride.”
She looked at him in amazement and saw he was in earnest.
“I will never forget that you cared enough for me to help me in this,”
she answered. And as she spoke her face brightened, and she seemed a
different creature.
* * * * *
The Pastor’s daughter was sitting crying before the stove in the
kitchen bedroom at Lövdala. The tears were pouring down her cheeks.
She simply could not keep them back, although she tried hard to, for
she did not want the servants to think she was sitting there crying
only because she was left alone at home whilst her dear father and
stepmother were away enjoying themselves.
For that wasn’t why she was sad; no, indeed; her trouble was that she
had not been able to keep her promise to Britta. How often they two had
spoken of this great wedding-day! It had never been possible to make
Britta quite happy about her bridegroom, but it had always cheered her
up when the Pastor’s daughter told her that she was looking forward to
seeing her in her wedding-dress. How could she help but cry? It was so
hard to have had to break her word to Britta.
But how strange it was! She fancied she could hear sleighbells, the
tramp of horses’ feet, and unmistakable sounds of a violin. The music
grew plainer and plainer. Surely she heard something, but where in the
world could it come from? She got up and went to the eastern window
where she could see right down the avenue.
When she had lit the stove an hour ago it had been dark night outside,
but now the wood had burnt out it was dark in the room. And, meanwhile,
how light it had grown outside in the clear, bright starlight. The snow
on the ground and the white frost on the trees were doing their part
too, so that when she reached the window it seemed as though she were
looking into a brightly lighted room.
She saw quite plainly a bridal procession coming out from the avenue,
and on between the old houses behind the Parsonage. In the first sleigh
sat the players with their fiddles under their chins, fiddling away as
fast as fingers could go. In the next sat the bride and bridegroom,
and the bride had not even a shawl over her head, but, instead, her
crown shining brightly in the white light of the snow. After them came
sleigh after sleigh filled with peasant guests. She recognised Sexton
Moreus’ white horse, the churchwarden’s red sleigh, and----
But as she looked she grew so dizzy that she had to sit down on the
chair by the window. She could not make out what it was. Why were the
wedding-party from Lobyn driving down here to the empty Parsonage?
Perhaps she only saw such things because all day long her thoughts had
been busy with nothing but this marriage feast.
She heard them stop before the steps, heard the door open and people
crowding into the hall. But she sat on just as before. Not that she was
afraid, but alas! how heartbreaking it would be to go out to welcome
them and find no one there after all!
Now they were in the drawing-room, and now they opened the door
into the room next the kitchen. The players came first. Then Sexton
Moreus with Ulla on his arm. Next the bride and bridegroom with two
bridesmaids each carrying a three-branched candlestick, and after them
a whole host of young folks, men and maids.
When they had all come in, Jan Oster and his friend stopped playing,
and Sexton Moreus stepped up to the Pastor’s daughter and made a little
speech. Nothing would satisfy Britta of Lobyn but that the Pastor’s
daughter should see what a beautiful bride she was, and so she and
her husband had meant to drive over alone, but then he and the others
had thought that it would not give her much pleasure to see the bride
unless she could see the bridal procession as well, and so they had
all come or, at any rate, as many as were not too sleepy after the
wedding-dinner.
The Pastor’s daughter was always badly dressed since she had had a
stepmother. But both she and everyone else forgot all about that in the
joy that lit up her face at their coming.
It was true enough what report said of these daughters of Lövdala
Parsonage that they had some magic power over people. No one could
really understand how she managed it, but when she threw her arms round
the bride and shook hands with the bridegroom and all the others, every
one of them felt that the real wedding joy had been wanting until that
moment. For the Pastor’s daughter could throw off her sadness, and be
so gay that other people too thought, “There is nothing so beautiful as
life; it is untrue to say life is sad and troublous, when it is nothing
but unmixed joy.”
The Pastor’s daughter only had to look at the bride and praise her
crown to open their eyes too. They had not noticed before how pretty
she was in her wedding-dress. When she turned to the bridegroom with a
word of thanks for his coming and congratulated him on his wife, the
same thing happened to him. He realised that he had not only married
into the largest peasant-holding in Lobyn, but that he had also got
the best peasant girl for his bride. No one could hear what she said to
Britta, but Britta’s face told plainly enough that it was just what she
needed to make her happy for all the rest of the day.
They had brought refreshments which they spread on the table, for they
wanted her to taste the wedding-feast. And it was evident how delicious
she thought it all was, but she would not eat anything until after they
had gone again. She knew, of course, that they could not stay long, the
only marvel was that they had managed to get away at all.
Ulla told her how they had watched their opportunity, and crept away
immediately after the dinner. The old people had been sitting a little
drowsy, needing their after-dinner nap, and had known nothing about it
until the young folk had got away. But they must drive back as soon as
the bride had danced one turn with Maia Lisa.
They went out into the drawing-room, and took their places round the
wall to watch the dance. Fiddler Jan Oster tuned up a polka, and off
went the bride with the Pastor’s daughter. But in the very first round,
Maia Lisa turned pale with anxiety. In her happiness she had quite
forgotten about the dance-money. On the wedding-day everyone, old and
young, alike, had to dance with the bride, and everyone who danced with
her had to give her the dance-money. But she, poor girl that she was,
did not possess a single farthing.
The bride had not been so forgetful of her duty. Away on a table in
the corner of the drawing-room she had put a bottle of scent and a
bride’s box of pastry, raisins and wedding comfits to offer her after
the dance.
The Pastor’s daughter felt that never before had fate treated her so
badly. It would never do to break the old custom, for everyone would
think that would bring bad luck.
Britta must have seen her anxiety, for in the midst of the dance she
whispered that Mamsell Maia Lisa must just pretend to put something in
her hand. Of course she couldn’t have any dance-money ready when they
had come upon her so unexpectedly.
The Pastor’s daughter owned a pair of gold ear-rings and a gold brooch
that had been her Mother’s before her. She would have liked to give
Britta one or other of them, but she did not know if she dared. What
would happen if her stepmother chanced to hear of it? It was not
unusual to dance more than one round with the bride, but the Pastor’s
daughter danced two or three, whilst she turned over in her mind what
she could do. Not that that quite expresses her feelings, for she was
in such terror that her thoughts flew in the wildest confusion.
Whilst she was dancing as slowly as she could, she thought of a silver
spoon that had been given to her at her christening. But she was by
no means certain that Raklitz would not go to the bride’s home the
next day and ask for it again if she gave away anything so valuable.
“The only thing I can do is to tell Britta she will get her money
another time,” she said to herself. But then something happened that
startled her, and off she went and finished the round at a good pace.
For someone had watched her and slipped a coin into her fingers as she
was dancing past. When the dance came to an end she had a whole bright
silver thaler to lay in Britta’s hand.
The bride was so taken aback that she quite forgot to offer the wedding
comfits, and the Pastor’s daughter had to ask if she was not to get
any. Whilst she helped herself to scent, she looked round to find out
who it was that had given her the thaler. She knew she had got it just
as she passed the stove. Then it must have been the tall dark man
standing between the stove and the cupboard who had helped her.
She bent forward and took some pastry from the box, and as she did so
she whispered to the bride that she thought she knew everybody in the
parish, but she could not quite recollect the name of the man standing
by the cupboard.
The bride answered under her breath that that was not to be wondered
at, for that was a man from another parish. He was a smith from the
Henriksberg ironworks in Västmarken, and he had just come that day to
buy some hay from her Grandfather. She didn’t really know why he had
come with them, for he wasn’t one of the wedding guests. He hadn’t even
got on his best clothes.
And sure enough the stranger was dressed in black sheepskin with a
belt round his waist. The Pastor’s daughter wondered how she was to
thank him, but she had no chance then, for the wedding-party were just
coming up to say good-bye. She thanked them for coming, helped them on
with their wraps, and waved her hand to them from the porch. When she
came back to the drawing-room she was a little astonished to find the
tall stranger still standing in the middle of the room.
But it soon occurred to her why he had stayed. Of course he wanted to
know when he was to get back the thaler that he had lent. Who knows,
perhaps he has taken it from the money his master gave him to pay for
the hay!
It seemed as though he would like to deny having lent it, and when she
persisted, he declared it was nothing worth speaking about.
But she could not consent to take a whole thaler from a stranger. She
told him she would ask her Father for it as soon as he came home, and
send it over the next morning, so that he could pay for the hay.
A kindly smile crept over his face like a gleam of sunshine. She must
do as she liked in the matter, but he had plenty of money to manage,
without the thaler.
She looked at him with a little wonder in her glance. Indeed, she began
to think he had not stayed for the sake of the money. But why, then?
He stroked a long lock of hair back from his forehead, and looked past
her to the other wall. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said; “perhaps there was
something else I wanted to talk about.”
The Pastor’s daughter with a little feeling of impatience took a step
towards the door.
The man looked at her again with his kindly smile. “I cannot understand
how the others had the heart to drive away,” he said.
The Pastor’s daughter flushed and went on towards the door.
“They ought to have taken you with them to the dance, and not have left
you all alone here.”
There was such a kindly note in his voice that she could not be angry.
She turned towards him and laughed. “Oh, it won’t hurt me to be left
alone, for I am happy now. And you must go as well. Contented as I am,
no one need be uneasy on my account.”