There was not a little astonishment manifested among the servant-maids
at Kvaerk the next morning, when the huge, gaunt figure of a man was
seen to launch forth from Aasa’s alcove, and the strangest of all was,
that Aasa herself appeared to be as much astonished as the rest. And
there they stood, all gazing at the bewildered traveler, who indeed was
no less startled than they, and as utterly unable to account for his
own sudden apparition. After a long pause, he summoned all his courage,
fixed his eyes intently on the group of the girls, and with a few rapid
steps advanced toward Aasa, whom he seized by the hand and asked, “Are
you not my maiden of yester-eve?”
She met his gaze firmly, and laid her hand on her forehead as if to
clear her thoughts; as the memory of the night flashed through her mind,
a bright smile lit up her features, and she answered, “You are the man
who gathers song. Forgive me, I was not sure but it was all a dream; for
I dream so much.”
Then one of the maids ran out to call Lage Ulfson, who had gone to the
stables to harness the horses; and he came and greeted the unknown man,
and thanked him for last meeting, as is the wont of Norse peasants,
although they had never seen each other until that morning. But when the
stranger had eaten two meals in Lage’s house, Lage asked him his name
and his father’s occupation; for old Norwegian hospitality forbids the
host to learn the guest’s name before he has slept and eaten under his
roof. It was that same afternoon, when they sat together smoking their
pipes under the huge old pine in the yard,--it was then Lage inquired
about the young man’s name and family; and the young man said that his
name was Trond Vigfusson, that he had graduated at the University of
Christiania, and that his father had been a lieutenant in the army; but
both he and Trond’s mother had died, when Trond was only a few years
old. Lage then told his guest Vigfusson something about his family, but
of the legend of Asathor and Saint Olaf he spoke not a word. And while
they were sitting there talking together, Aasa came and sat down at
Vigfusson’s feet; her long golden hair flowed in a waving stream down
over her back and shoulders, there was a fresh, healthful glow on her
cheeks, and her blue, fathomless eyes had a strangely joyous, almost
triumphant expression. The father’s gaze dwelt fondly upon her, and
the collegian was but conscious of one thought: that she was wondrously
beautiful. And still so great was his natural timidity and awkwardness
in the presence of women, that it was only with the greatest difficulty
he could master his first impulse to find some excuse for leaving her.
She, however, was aware of no such restraint.
“You said you came to gather song,” she said; “where do you find it? for
I too should like to find some new melody for my old thoughts; I have
searched so long.”
“I find my songs on the lips of the people,” answered he, “and I write
them down as the maidens or the old men sing them.”
She did not seem quite to comprehend that. “Do you hear maidens sing
them?” asked she, astonished. “Do you mean the troll-virgins and the
elf-maidens?”
“By troll-virgins and elf-maidens, or what the legends call so, I
understand the hidden and still audible voices of nature, of the dark
pine forests, the legend-haunted glades, and the silent tarns; and this
was what I referred to when I answered your question if I had ever heard
the forest sing.”
“Oh, oh!” cried she, delighted, and clapped her hands like a child;
but in another moment she as suddenly grew serious again, and sat
steadfastly gazing into his eye, as if she were trying to look into his
very soul and there to find something kindred to her own lonely heart. A
minute ago her presence had embarrassed him; now, strange to say, he met
her eye, and smiled happily as he met it.
“Do you mean to say that you make your living by writing songs?” asked
Lage.
“The trouble is,” answered Vigfusson, “that I make no living at all; but
I have invested a large capital, which is to yield its interest in the
future. There is a treasure of song hidden in every nook and corner of
our mountains and forests, and in our nation’s heart. I am one of the
miners who have come to dig it out before time and oblivion shall
have buried every trace of it, and there shall not be even the
will-o’-the-wisp of a legend to hover over the spot, and keep alive the
sad fact of our loss and our blamable negligence.”
Here the young man paused; his eyes gleamed, his pale cheeks flushed,
and there was a warmth and an enthusiasm in his words which alarmed
Lage, while on Aasa it worked like the most potent charm of the ancient
mystic runes; she hardly comprehended more than half of the speaker’s
meaning, but his fire and eloquence were on this account none the less
powerful.
“If that is your object,” remarked Lage, “I think you have hit upon the
right place in coming here. You will be able to pick up many an odd bit
of a story from the servants and others hereabouts, and you are welcome
to stay here with us as long as you choose.”
Lage could not but attribute to Vigfusson the merit of having kept Aasa
at home a whole day, and that in the month of midsummer. And while he
sat there listening to their conversation, while he contemplated the
delight that beamed from his daughter’s countenance and, as he thought,
the really intelligent expression of her eyes, could he conceal from
himself the paternal hopes that swelled his heart? She was all that was
left him, the life or the death of his mighty race. And here was one who
was likely to understand her, and to whom she seemed willing to yield
all the affection of her warm but wayward heart. Thus ran Lage Ulfson’s
reflections; and at night he had a little consultation with Elsie, his
wife, who, it is needless to add, was no less sanguine than he.
“And then Aasa will make an excellent housewife, you know,” observed
Elsie. “I will speak to the girl about it to-morrow.”
“No, for Heaven’s sake, Elsie!” exclaimed Lage, “don’t you know your
daughter better than that? Promise me, Elsie, that you will not say a
single word; it would be a cruel thing, Elsie, to mention anything to
her. She is not like other girls, you know.”
“Very well, Lage, I shall not say a single word. Alas, you are right,
she is not like other girls.” And Elsie again sighed at her husband’s
sad ignorance of a woman’s nature, and at the still sadder fact of her
daughter’s inferiority to the accepted standard of womanhood.