With all respect,
Ovind Pladsen.
To Ovind Thoresen Pladsen.
The schoolmaster has given me a fresh letter from you, which I have now
read, but I cannot understand it, which must be because I am not
learned. You want to know how I fare in every respect. I am quite well.
I have a good appetite and sleep at nights, and sometimes also in the
day. I have danced a great deal this Winter, for there have been many
delightful parties here. I go to church when there is not too much
snow, but it has been very thick. Now you must have heard everything,
but, if not, I don't know anything better than that you should write to
me again.
Marit Knudsdatter.
To Marit Knudsdatter Heidegaard.
I have received your letter, but you appear to wish me to remain as
wise as before. Perhaps this is an answer after all, I don't know. I
dare not venture to write that which I wish to, because I don't feel to
know you. Perhaps you don't know me any better. You must not think I am
any longer the soft fellow that you crushed the spirit out of, as I sat
and watched you dance; I have had many provings since then. Neither am
I, as I used to be, like those long-haired dogs that hang their ears
and shun people; but enough of this now.
Your letter was humorous enough, but the joking was just where it
should not have been, for you understood me quite well, and you should
have known that I did not ask in joke, but because lately I have not
been able to think of anything else than that I asked you about. I
waited anxiously, and then there came nothing but foolery.
Farewell, Marit Heidegaard. I shall take care not to look too much at
you as I did at that dance. Grant you may both eat well and sleep well,
and get your new web finished, and grant above all, that you may shovel
away the snow lying before the church door.
With all respect,
Ovind Thoresen Pladsen.
To Ovind Thoresen.
In spite of my age and the weakness of my eyes, together with the pain
in my hip, I must yet give in to the entreaties of the young, for they
are glad to make use of the old people when they stick fast themselves.
They call and cry till they are let loose, and then they run away again
and will not hear us any more. This time it is Marit, who, with many
coaxing words, has begged me to write a letter to send with hers, as
she dare not trust herself to write alone. She had thought she had Jon
Hatlen or another fool to deal with, and not one that schoolmaster
Baard had brought up, but now the matter has come to a critical point.
Yet you have been a little too hard, for there are some women who joke
to keep from weeping. I am glad, however, that you look at serious
things seriously, otherwise you could not laugh at that which is
laughable. The position in which you stand to each other, is now
apparent from many things. I have often had my doubts about Marit, for
she is variable as the wind, but now I know she has refused Jon Hatlen,
and greatly enraged her grandfather thereby. She was pleased when she
received your letter, and it was not to repulse you that she wrote
jokingly. She has suffered much, and that in waiting for the one she
cared for, and now you will not have her but set her aside as a foolish
child.
This was what I had to say to you, and if you take my advice you ought
to be at one with her, for you will find enough besides to trouble you.
I am like an old man who has seen three generations;--I know folly and
its reward.
Your father and mother send their best love to you: they long to see
you back. I have always avoided speaking of this before, lest it should
make you home-sick. You do not know your father, and when you really
learn to know him, you will marvel. He has been depressed and silent in
respect of his affairs, but your mother made his mind easy, and now
things look brighter.
Now my eyes grow dim, and my hand is unsteady, so I commend you to Him
whose eye is ever watchful and whose hand stayeth not.
Baard Andersen Opdal.
To Ovind Pladsen.
I am grieved that you are vexed with me, for I didn't mean it as you
have taken it. I am aware I have not always acted rightly towards you,
and I wish to tell you so, but you must not show this to any one. Once
when I got what I liked I wasn't good, and now no one cares for me any
more, and I'm very unhappy. Jon Hatlen has written a song about me, and
all the lads sing it, so that I daren't go anywhere. Both the old
people know about it, and they are very cross. I am writing this alone,
and you mustn't show it to any one.
I have often been down to see your parents. I have spoken with your
mother, and we understand each other now, but I cannot tell you more
for you wrote so strangely last time. The schoolmaster only makes game
of me, but he knows nothing about the song, for no one dare sing such
before him. I stand alone and feel to have no one to talk to. I often
think of the time when we were children, when I always rode on your
sledge, and you were so good to me. I could wish we were children
again.
I dare not ask you to answer me any more, but if you will write just
this once I shall never forget it, Ovind.
Marit Knudsdatter.
P.S.--I beg you burn this letter, I scarcely know if I dare send it.
Dear Marit,
It was a happy moment when you wrote that letter; and I thank you for
it.
I feel as if I could scarcely stay here any longer Marit, I love you so
much, and if you love me as truly, then Jon Hatlen's song and others'
bitter words shall be like the chaff that the wind blows away. Since I
received your letter I am like another man,--I feel so much stronger,
and am not afraid of anything in the whole world. After I had sent my
last letter I regretted it so, that it made me almost ill, and now you
shall hear what this led to. The principal took me aside and asked me
what was the matter; he thought I read too much. Then he said to me
that when my year here was completed, he would allow me to stay a year
longer free of expense; I should assist him in several ways, and he
would give me a chance of learning more. Then I thought that work was
the only thing for me, and I was very grateful, and even now, though I
long so much to come to you, I do not regret it, for it will put me in
a better position for the future. How happy I am! I do the work of
three, and shall never be behind in anything. I will send you a book I
am reading, for there is a great deal about love, and I read it at
nights when the others are asleep; then I read your letter over too.
Have you thought of the time when we shall meet again? I think about it
very often, and so must you, it is so delightful. I am glad I wrote so
much before, though it was so difficult, for now I can open my whole
heart to you. I shall send you several books to read, that you may see
what those who truly love each other have had to go through, choosing
rather to die of sorrow than to give each other up. And we should do so
too. Though it will be two years before we see each other, and longer
still before we really belong to each other, we must cheer our hearts
by thinking that each day as it goes brings us one day nearer.
I have a great deal to write about, but I will leave it till next time,
as I have not got any more paper to night, and the others are all
asleep.
Now I shall go to bed and think of you till I sleep.
Your friend,
Ovind Pladsen.