For the first time in his life he entered the door of the Castle and
ascended the stairs to the first floor. A hum of voices came from
within; his heart was beating violently; he knocked and entered.
The Lady of the Castle, still young, came towards him and greeted him
in a friendly fashion, pressing his hand. Very glad to see him; she
remembered him when he was no higher than that; now he was a great
man.... And it seemed as though the Lady would have said more, she held
his hand a long time and looked at him searchingly.
Then the Master came up and gave him his hand. As his wife had said,
a great man, in more senses than one. A famous man. Very glad to see
him....
He was introduced to gentlemen and ladies, to the Chamberlain who was
wearing his orders, to the Chamberlain's Lady, to a neighbouring Laird,
to Otto, the Lieutenant. Victoria he did not see.
Some time went by. Victoria came in, pale, hesitating indeed; she
was leading a young girl by the hand. They made a round of the
drawing-room, shaking hands and saying something to every one. They
stopped at Johannes.
Victoria smiled and said:
"Look, here is Camilla, isn't this a surprise? You know one another."
She stood looking at them both for a moment, then she went out of the
room.
For the first instant Johannes stood motionless, stiff and dazed.
This was the surprise; Victoria had been kind enough to provide a
substitute. Look here, you two people, go and take each other! Spring
is in full bloom, the sun is shining; open the windows if you like,
for the garden is full of the scent of flowers and the starlings are
playing in the birch-tops. Why don't you talk to one another? Laugh,
for goodness' sake!
"Yes, we know each other," said Camilla frankly. "It was here you
pulled me out of the water that time."
She was young and fair, bright, dressed in a rose-coloured frock, and
was in her seventeenth year. Johannes clenched his teeth and laughed
and joked. Little by little her cheerful talk actually began to wake
him up; they talked a long time, the beating of his heart subsided.
She kept the charming habit she had had as a child of putting her
head on one side and listening expectantly when he said anything. He
recognized her, she was no surprise to him.
Victoria came in again; she took the Lieutenant's arm, carried him off
and said to Johannes:
"Do you know Otto--my fiancé? You remember him, don't you?"
The men remembered each other. They said the necessary words, made the
necessary bows and separated. Johannes and Victoria were left alone. He
said:
"Was that the surprise?"
"Yes," she answered, worried and impatient; "I did the best I could,
I didn't know of anything else to do. Don't be unreasonable now, you
ought rather to thank me; I could see you were glad."
"Thank you. Yes, I was glad."
An irreparable despair fell upon him, his face turned pale as a corpse.
If she had once wronged him it was now so abundantly made good and
healed. He was sincerely grateful to her.
"And then I notice that you have your ring on today," he said dully.
"Mind you don't take it off again."
Pause.
"No, now I am sure not to take it off any more," she answered.
They looked into each other's eyes. His lips quivered, he indicated the
Lieutenant with his head and said hoarsely and rudely:
"You have taste, Miss Victoria. He's a handsome man. His epaulettes
give him shoulders."
She gave him his answer very calmly:
"No, he is not handsome. But he is a well-bred man. And that means
something."
"That was one for me, thanks!" He laughed aloud and added with
insolence: "And there's money in his pockets; that means more."
She left him at once.
He drifted about from one wall to the other like an outlaw. Camilla
talked to him, asked a question and he did not hear it and made no
answer. Again she said something, touched his arm even and asked
another question in vain.
"Oh, now he's lost in thought," she cried with a laugh. "He's thinking,
he's thinking!"
Victoria heard and answered:
"He wants to be alone. He sent me away too." But suddenly she came
right up to him and said aloud: "I expect you're thinking out some
apology to me. You need not trouble about that. On the contrary, I
owe you an apology for sending you the invitation so late. It was very
neglectful of me. I forgot you till the very last, I nearly forgot you
altogether. But I hope you'll forgive me, for I had so much to think
about."
He stared at her speechless; even Camilla looked from one to the other
and seemed astonished. Victoria stood right in front of them with her
cold, pale face and looked satisfied. She had had her revenge.
"Now you can see our young men," she said to Camilla. "We mustn't
expect too much of them. Over there sits my fiancé talking about
elk-shooting and here is the poet deep in thought.... Say something,
poet!"
He gave a start; the veins in his temples swelled.
"Very well. You want me to say something? Very well."
"Oh, not if it's such an effort."
She was going already.
"To come straight to the point," he said slowly, smiling, but with a
quiver in his voice; "to begin right in the middle--have you been in
love lately, Miss Victoria?"
For a few seconds there was dead silence; all three could hear their
hearts beating. Camilla put in timidly:
"Of course Victoria is in love with her fiancé. She is just engaged,
don't you know that?"
The doors to the dining-room were thrown open.
* * * * *
Johannes found his place and was standing by it. The whole table heaved
up and down before his eyes, he saw a crowd of people and heard a buzz
of voices.
"Yes, that's right, that is your place," said the hostess kindly. "If
only everybody would sit down."
"Excuse me!" said Victoria suddenly, just behind him.
He stepped aside.
She took his card and moved it several places down, seven places down,
beside an old man who had once been tutor at the Castle and who was
supposed to drink. She brought back another card and sat down.
The hostess, much upset, found something to do on the other side of the
table and avoided looking at him.
His confusion became even worse than before and he withdrew bewildered
to his new place; his first seat was occupied by one of Ditlef's
friends from town, a young man with diamond studs in his shirt-front.
On his left sat Victoria, on his right Camilla.
And the dinner began.
The old Tutor remembered Johannes as a boy and a conversation was
started between them. He said that he too had written poetry in his
young days, he had kept his manuscripts, Johannes could read them some
day. Now they had sent for him on this great occasion that he might
participate in the joy of the family over Victoria's engagement. The
Master and Mistress of the Castle had given him this surprise for the
sake of old friendship.
"I have read nothing of yours," he said; "I read myself when I want to
read anything; I have a drawer full of poems and tales. They are to be
published when I am dead; after all, I should like the public to know
what manner of man I was. Ah yes, we who are somewhat older in the
craft are not in such a hurry to rush into print as they are nowadays.
Your health!"
The meal wore on. The Master rapped on his glass and stood up. His
thin, aristocratic face was alive with emotion and he gave the
impression of being very happy. Johannes bent his head low. There was
nothing in his glass and nobody gave him anything; he filled it himself
to the brim and bent down again. Now for it!
The speech was long and eloquent and was received with joyful cheers;
the engagement was announced. From all parts of the table good wishes
poured in upon the daughter of the Castle and the Chamberlain's son.
Johannes emptied his glass.
A few minutes later his agitation had vanished, his calm had returned;
the champagne glowed softly through his veins. He heard that the
Chamberlain also made a speech and that there were more bravos and
hurrahs and clinking of glasses. Once he looked towards Victoria's
place; she was pale and seemed distressed; she did not look up. But
Camilla nodded to him and smiled and he nodded back.
The Tutor by his side went on talking:
"It's a fine thing, it's a fine thing when two young people come
together. It did not fall to my lot. I was a young student, fine
prospects, great gifts; my father had an ancient name, a great home,
wealth, many, many ships. So I think I may say I had _very_ fine
prospects. She was young too and belonged to the best set. I come to
her and open my heart. _No_, she answers. Can you understand her?
No, she wouldn't, she said. So I did what I could, I went on with my
work and took it like a man. Then came my father's bad years, wrecks,
liabilities--to make a long story short, he went bankrupt. What did I
do then? Took it like a man again. And now she positively didn't hold
back any longer, the girl I'm talking about. She came back, hunted me
up in town. What did she want with me, you may ask? I was a poor man,
I had got a little job as a teacher, all my prospects had vanished and
my poems were thrown into a drawer--and now she came and said yes. Said
yes!"
The Tutor looked at Johannes and asked:
"Can you understand her?"
"But then it was you who wouldn't have it?"
"_Could_ I, I ask you? Cleaned out, stripped, a teacher's job, one pipe
of tobacco on Sundays--what are you thinking of? I couldn't do her such
a wrong. But all I say is: can you understand her?"
"And what became of her afterwards?"
"Good Lord, you don't answer my question! She married a captain. That
was the year after. A captain in the artillery. Your health!"
Johannes said:
"They say some women are always looking for an object for their
compassion. If the man is getting on well they hate him and think
themselves superfluous; if things go against him and he is down they
crow over him and say: here I am."
"But why didn't she accept me in the good days? I had the prospects of
a little god."
"Goodness knows. She wanted to wait till you were brought low."
"But I wasn't brought low. Never. I kept my pride and sent her about
her business. What do you say to that?"
Johannes said nothing.
"But perhaps you're right," said the old Tutor. "Yes, by God and all
his angels, what you say is right," he exclaimed with sudden excitement
and took another drink. "She took an old captain at last; she nurses
him, cuts up his food for him and is master of the house. A captain in
the artillery."
Johannes looked up. Victoria sat with her glass in her hand staring in
his direction. She held her glass high in the air. He felt a shock all
through him and seized his glass too. His hand shook.
Then she called aloud to his neighbour and laughed; it was the Tutor's
name she called.
Johannes put down his glass in humiliation and sat with an embarrassed
smile on his face. Everybody had looked at him.
The old Tutor was touched to tears by this friendly attention of his
pupil's. He made haste to empty his glass.
"And here I am, an old man," he continued, "here I am tramping the
earth, alone and unknown. That has been my lot. Nobody knows what there
is in me; but nobody has ever heard me grumble. How is that?--do you
know the turtledove? Isn't it the turtledove, that melancholy being
which makes the gay, bright spring water muddy before it drinks it?"
"I don't know."
"No, I dare say not. But it is. And I do the same. I did not get her
whom I should have had; but I am not altogether without joys for all
that. Only I stir up the mud in them. Every time I stir up the mud.
Then I can't be beaten by the disappointment afterwards. There you see
Victoria. She drank with me just now. I have been her tutor; now she's
to be married and I'm glad about it, it gives me a purely personal
sense of happiness as if she was my own daughter. Now perhaps I shall
be tutor to her children. Oh yes, there are really a number of joys
left in life. But what you said about compassion and woman and the man
brought low--the more I think about it, the more you are right. Yes,
God knows you are.... Excuse me a second."
He got up, seized his glass and went along to Victoria. He was already
a little unsteady on his legs and stooped a great deal.
More speeches were made, the Lieutenant made one, the neighbour Laird
gave the toast of the ladies, the Lady of the house. Suddenly the young
man with the diamond studs got up and spoke Johannes' name. He had
received permission for what he was doing, he wanted to hail the young
poet in the name of the young. His words were most friendly, a kindly
expression of thanks from contemporaries, full of appreciation and
admiration.
Johannes hardly believed his own ears. He whispered to the Tutor:
"Is it me he's talking about?"
The Tutor answered:
"Yes. He's forestalled me. I was going to do it myself; Victoria asked
me to some hours ago."
"Who asked you to, did you say?"
The Tutor stared at him.
"Nobody," he said.
During the speech the eyes of all were turned upon Johannes; even the
Master nodded to him, and the Chamberlain's Lady put up her glasses and
looked at him. When the speech was finished they all drank.
"Give it him back now," said the Tutor. "He stood up and made you that
speech. It ought to have fallen to one who is your senior in the craft.
Besides, I didn't agree with him at all. Not at all."
Johannes looked along the table to Victoria. It was she who had got the
young man with the diamond studs to speak; why had she done it? First
she had applied to another about it, quite early in the day she had had
it in her thoughts; why had she? Now she sat looking down and not a
muscle of her face betrayed her.
Suddenly his eyes were bedewed with a deep and violent emotion, he
could have thrown himself at her feet and thanked her, thanked her. He
would do it later, after dinner.
Camilla sat talking to right and left and smiling all over her face.
She was pleased, her seventeen years had brought her nothing but
happiness. She nodded again and again to Johannes and made signs to
him to get up.
He got up.
He spoke briefly, his voice sounded deep and stirred: On this occasion,
when the House was celebrating a joyful event, he too--who was entirely
outside the circle--was drawn from his obscurity. He wished to thank
the originator of this amiable suggestion and the speaker who had
addressed to him so many agreeable words. But at the same time he
could not fail to appreciate the kindness with which the whole company
had listened to his--the outsider's--praise. The only claim he had to
be present on this occasion was that he was the son of the Castle's
neighbour....
"Yes!" Victoria cried suddenly, with flaming eyes.
Everybody looked at her, her cheeks were red and her breast heaved up
and down. Johannes broke off. A painful silence ensued.
"Victoria?" said her father in surprise.
"Go on!" she cried again. "That is your only claim; but go on!" The
light in her eyes went out abruptly, she began to smile helplessly and
shake her head. Then she turned to her father and said: "I only meant
to exaggerate things. You see, he's exaggerating himself. No, I won't
interrupt...."
Johannes listened to this explanation and found a way out of the
difficulty; his heart was beating audibly. He noticed that Victoria's
mother was looking at her with tears in her eyes and with infinite
forbearance.
Yes, he had exaggerated, he said; Miss Victoria was right. She had
been so kind as to remind him that he was not only their neighbour's
son, but also the playmate of the Castle children, and it was to this
latter circumstance he owed his presence here. He thanked her, that was
how it was. He belonged to the place, the Castle woods were once his
whole world, beyond them loomed the unknown country, fairyland. But
in those days he would often have a message from Ditlef and Victoria
that they wanted him to join them in an excursion or a game--those
were the great events of his childhood. Later, when he had thought
over it, he was bound to acknowledge that those hours had had a
significance in his life which no one knew of, and if it was true--as
they had just heard--that what he wrote had sometimes a _flame_ in it,
that was because the memories of that time kindled him; it was the
reflection of that happiness his two playmates had bestowed on him in
childhood. Therefore they also had a great share in what he produced.
To the general good wishes on the occasion of the engagement he would
therefore add his personal thanks to both the Castle children for the
good years of childhood, when neither time nor things had come between
them, the glad, short summer day....
A speech, a regular attempt at a speech. It was not amusing, but it
didn't go so badly, the company drank, went on eating and took up their
conversation again. Ditlef remarked dryly to his mother:
"I never knew it was really me that had written his books, what?"
But his mother did not laugh. She drank with her children and said:
"Thank him, thank him. It was very easy to understand, when he was so
lonely as a child.... What are you doing, Victoria?"
"I'm going to send the maid to him with this sprig of lilac for my
thanks. Mayn't I?"
"No," answered the Lieutenant.
* * * * *
After dinner the company scattered themselves about the rooms, the big
balcony and even the garden. Johannes went down to the ground floor
and entered the garden room. It was not empty, there were a couple of
men smoking, the Laird and another, and they were talking in undertones
about the Master's finances. His land was neglected, choked with weeds,
the fences were down, the timber shockingly thinned; it was said he
even had difficulty in paying the astonishingly high insurances on the
buildings and their contents.
"How much is the place insured for?"
The Laird mentioned the sum, a whacking sum.
For that matter money was never considered at the Castle, the sums
were always big there. What did a dinner like this cost, for instance?
But now according to all accounts the bottom had been reached, even of
their hostess's famous jewel-case, and so the son-in-law's money would
have to refill the coffers.
"What's he worth, do you suppose?"
"Oh tut! there's no counting it."
Johannes got up again and went out into the garden. The lilacs
were in bloom, a fragrant wave of auricula, narcissus, jasmine and
lily-of-the-valley swept round him. He found a corner by the wall and
sat down on a stone; a shrub hid him from all eyes. He was worn out by
emotion, thoroughly fagged, and his wits were clouded; he thought of
getting up and going home, but sat on in dull apathy. Then he heard a
murmur on the pathway, some one was coming; he recognized Victoria's
voice. He held his breath and waited a moment; then he caught a glimpse
of the Lieutenant's uniform through the leaves. The engaged couple were
walking together.
"It doesn't seem to me," he was saying, "that this will hold water. You
listen to what he says, you hang on to every word of his speech and
then shout out. What does it all mean?"
She stopped and stood before him at her full height.
"Do you want to know?" she asked.
"Yes."
She was silent.
"It's all the same to me if it meant nothing," he went on. "Then you
needn't tell me."
She collapsed again.
"No, it didn't mean anything," she answered.
They began to walk again. The Lieutenant shrugged his epaulettes
nervously and said aloud:
"He'd better look out, or he might feel an officer's hand about his
ears."
They went in the direction of the summer-house.
Johannes remained seated on the stone for some time, in the same dull
pain as before. It was all becoming indifferent to him. The Lieutenant
had taken it into his head to suspect him and his fiancé immediately
began to defend herself. She said what had to be said, calmed the
officer's heart, and walked on with him. And the starlings chattered
on the boughs above their heads. Very well. God vouchsafe them a long
life.... He had made her a speech at the dinner and torn his heart
out; it had cost him sorely to make good and cover up her insolent
interruption and she had not thanked him for doing so. She had seized
her glass and drunk. Here's your good health, look at me and see how
nicely I drink.... By the bye, you should always look at a woman from
the side when she's drinking. Let her drink of a cup, a glass, anything
you like, but look at her from the side. It's shocking to see what an
air she gives herself. She purses up her mouth and dips the extreme tip
of it into the drink and she gets desperate if you watch her hand while
she is doing it. You must never in any circumstances look at a woman's
hand. She can't stand it, she capitulates. She begins at once to draw
in her hand, to pose it more and more elegantly, always with the object
of concealing a wrinkle, a crookedness of the fingers or a rather
misshapen nail. At last she can bear it no longer and asks, quite
beside herself: what are you looking at?... She had once kissed him,
once, one summer. It was so long ago, God knew if it was even true. How
was it, weren't they sitting on a bench? They talked a long time and
when they walked away he came so close to her that he touched her arm.
On a staircase she had kissed him. I love you, she said.... Now they
had gone past, perhaps they were still sitting in the summer-house.
The Lieutenant would give him a box on the ears, he said. He heard
it quite plainly, he was not asleep, but still he did not get up and
come forward. An officer's hand, he said. Oh well, it didn't matter to
him....
He rose from the stone and went after them to the summer-house. It was
empty. Up in the verandah of the house stood Camilla calling for him:
Come along, there was coffee in the garden room. He followed her. The
engaged couple were sitting in the garden room; several others were
there besides. He took his coffee, retired and found a place.
Camilla began talking to him. Her face was so bright and her eyes
looked at him so frankly that he could not resist her; he talked too,
answered her questions and laughed. Where had he been? In the garden?
What a story! Why, she'd looked for him in the garden and couldn't find
him. Oh no, he hadn't been in the garden.
"Was he in the garden, Victoria?" she asked.
Victoria answered:
"No, I didn't see him."
The Lieutenant threw her a glance of annoyance, and to give his fiancé
a lesson he called over to the Laird in a needlessly loud voice:
"Didn't you say you'd let me join your shoot?"
"Yes, of course," answered the Laird. "You're welcome."
The Lieutenant looked at Victoria. She said nothing and sat as before,
making no attempt to keep him from joining the Laird's shooting party.
His face clouded over more and more, he pulled nervously at his
mustache.
Camilla addressed another question to Victoria.
Then the Lieutenant rose hastily and said to the Laird:
"All right then, I'll go with you this evening, at once."
With that he left the room.
The Laird and a few others followed.
There was a short pause.
Suddenly the door was thrown open and the Lieutenant came in again. He
was greatly excited.
"Have you forgotten something?" asked Victoria, getting up.
He danced about by the door as if unable to stand still and then went
straight up to Johannes and gave him a blow with his hand as though in
passing. After that he ran back to the door and danced about again.
"Look out, man, you hit me in the eye," said Johannes with a hollow
laugh.
"You're mistaken," answered the Lieutenant, "I gave you a box on the
ears. Understand? Understand?"
Johannes pulled out his handkerchief, dried his eye, and said:
"You don't mean that. You know I can double you up and put you in my
pocket."
As he said it he stood up.
Then the Lieutenant hurriedly opened the door and stepped outside.
"I do mean it!" he yelled back. "I do mean it, you clown!"
And he slammed the door.
Johannes sat down again.
Victoria was still standing near the middle of the room. She was
looking at him and was as pale as a corpse.
"Did he hit you?" asked Camilla in the greatest astonishment.
"By accident. He got me in the eye. Would you like to look?"
"Heavens, it's all red, there's blood. No, don't rub it, let me bathe
it with water. Your handkerchief is too coarse, look here, take it
back; I'll use my own. Did you ever hear such a thing, right in his
eye!"
Victoria held out her handkerchief too. Then she went quite slowly to
the glass door and stood there with her back to the room, looking out.
She was tearing her handkerchief into little strips. A few minutes
later she opened the door and left the room quietly and without saying
a word.