IN THE DOVECOTE
One morning in the gymnasium, when the senior class was practising
rather reluctantly because the weather was splendid, and two panes were
open in the big window that looked towards the mountain, letting the
air pour in, laden with the scent of trees and flowers;--one morning in
the gymnasium, just as Miss Hall had joined them, and had, as usual,
interrupted the ordinary practice by taking away a few of the pupils
for special exercises;--one morning in the gymnasium, when, as the
result of all this, some of the girls had gone over to the window for a
moment to give a glance at the hundreds of fruit-trees in full blossom,
whose dense masses like an amphitheatre covered the opposite hillside
with a single thick crown;--one morning in the gymnasium, when these
same girls could not utilise the moment as fully as they wished,
because a number of impertinent young trees had that year shot up in
such a marvellous manner, that it was impossible to see the glory of
the hillside, except where these young trees allowed it; nay, worse
still, the trees attracted the bees from the hives on the right, and
they were more impertinent still, for they buzzed in at the open
window, and frightened the girls when they were trying to see out
between the trees;--one morning in the gymnasium, just as all those
small labourers in the garden, who in lieu of steel spades, hoes, or
forks, use their own small legs, who begin their work at sunrise so as
to end betimes, working by no forced contract, but also with no
supervision or inspection, through the whole summer and autumn, they
and their wives and children feeding at Fru Rendalen's expense, friends
with all, except the cat;--yes, one morning in the gymnasium, just when
all these tiny workers--oh, hundreds of them--gathered from all parts,
rising high in the air to settle down again and hide themselves in the
bushes in every direction, the girls stood looking on in wonderment.
All at once the trees in the wood bowed their heads, and deeply bowed
those to the left, in front of the garden, while sand and seeds whirled
up in a menacing cloud; a sudden squall from inland had come over the
hill, and without warning drove across from right to left. Almost
before it had reached the garden it was no longer the trees, but the
wind which possessed the blossom; every single petal of every opening
flower was lifted up, strewn far and wide, and carried away lighter,
more lively than the snowflakes, for these are attracted by the earth.
Millions and millions of flower wings--a flashing, whirling atmosphere,
as of white butterflies, through which patches of green appeared like
islands in a sea of cloud, like islets in a mirage.
The girls screamed with delight, shouted, and clapped their hands, all
exclaiming as this marvel was driven gleaming across the garden.
From the wood came a darker shower in pursuit of it, following the same
course; it soon reached the place where the glittering petals had
passed; its track was narrower, but its rush heavier and more rapid.
The girls rushed towards the great door, which was half open; they
wanted to follow the bright moving mass, the fugitives from the
fruit-trees. They forgot that they were in gymnasium dress--besides, at
the back of the house it did not matter; they screamed, they jumped.
Just then the door was pushed right open from outside; on the steps
stood a young man in white trousers and a naval uniform coat and cap.
He laughed and bowed, he bowed and laughed. It was Niels Fuerst.
Behind him, down in the courtyard stood Kaja Groendal, who wore a light
hat and carried a violet parasol. She looked remarkably smart. She
laughed too.
"Is not Elisa here?" asked Fuerst. No one in either of the senior
classes was called Elisa, no one knew any Elisa in the whole school.
"No, not Elisa," he said; "Olava!" There was no Olava in either of the
classes. "Olava?" No one knew any Olava in the whole school. He was
sure that they all took it for a joke. He looked at them in their
gymnasium dress, turning from one to another. He had both hands full of
flowers, he had to put the ones he held in his right hand against his
breast and press them with his left arm when he wanted to raise his
cap. Fru Groendal was carrying flowers as well; they had evidently just
bought them, and having heard that the senior classes were at the
gymnasium at that moment, he had wished to see them. "Pardon," he said;
"perhaps she was called Petrea, or it may be that she was not here at
all." He raised his cap, his light curls seemed to laugh with him, and
the girls all laughed till the walls of the gymnasium re-echoed. He
sprang down. Fru Groendal turned and went with him; as they passed round
the corner he nodded back at them.
The laughter of the girls sounded round and round the lofty building.
They were most of them in a state of excitement, they kept running to
each other, asking questions without waiting for an answer; if three of
them were standing in a group, others joined them; if some were
laughing more than the others, they all rushed in that direction. Two
began to dispute, and the dispute increased; one or two more joined in,
then several others, all of them at last: the dispute was about the
disturber of the dovecote who had been at the door.
Tinka was one of those who was disputing. She was simply shocked at his
shamelessness; she looked round for supporters. She thus caught sight
of Tora, who was sitting on a bench by the door, as white as a sheet.
Miss Hall was attending to her. Tinka sprang across, calling as she did
so, "What is the matter?" "What has happened?" Tora had continued her
gymnastics by herself, for she had become an enthusiastic gymnast, and
pursued a special system. As she was at the height of her practising,
she caught sight, through the half-open door, of a pair of little birds
which were flitting backwards and forwards about a bush. Was any one
under the bush? Had they a nest there? Was it only their usual antics?
Then she saw Kaja Groendal's light dress come between her and the bush,
a large bouquet and a parasol instead of the birds; a young man in
naval uniform, with his hands full of flowers. She did not know him.
Kaja just then caught sight of her, and either Tora imagined it or she
really did say, "There she is!" The officer looked at Tora and kept his
eyes intently fixed on hers, his eyes both laughed and stabbed. Kaja
Groendal tried to hold him back and then fell behind, but he kept
advancing, did not even stop at the steps, but came up them and still
on, without removing his eyes a single moment from hers. She could not
move. The noise by the window, the squall, which lifted Fru Groendal's
veil and threatened to turn her parasol inside out, the waving of the
bushes, the whistling in the trees; she saw, she heard, but as if at a
great distance. She could not properly understand it, she could not
put it together; a strange weakness came over her, especially in her
knees--they would not support her.
Just then the girls screamed out, and the whole group flew by to the
door, while he pushed it quite open with his foot. She felt as though
she were breathing fresh air, as though some one were supporting her
trembling limbs; but so long as he stood there she could not go away,
although she longed to do so; she _must_ stay.
It was not until after he had gone that she tried to find the bench,
and only when she sat down did she begin to feel ill. She tried to
struggle against the feeling; Miss Hall came to her, and now Tinka as
well; and when Tinka asked what it was, firmly and decidedly, it helped
her--she was able to cry. The others came running up, but they became
quiet at the sight of the deadly white face. They did not ask a single
question.
"She has been doing her gymnastics too violently," whispered Miss Hall.
"She does everything so energetically," added Nora kindly, sitting down
beside Tora, and drawing her head towards her.
The others went away; Miss Hall asked them to do so. One could hear in
the little room, where they changed their dress, the sound of their
returning merriment--one heard them go away, group after group.
Although the dinner-bell was ringing, Tora sat there, with Tinka on one
side and Nora on the other, and Miss Hall in front of them. Tora had
spoken to them several times, and assured them that she was well again
now. They all three believed that she had worked too hard at her
gymnastics--she believed so herself; but she said, "Oh, what an ugly,
horrid man!"
The others looked at each other: "Do you mean Niels Fuerst?"
She did not answer at first: "So that was Niels Fuerst?"
A little time afterwards she shivered as if from cold, but she did not
give any further explanation. She understood what had happened so far
as that the gymnastics had been the cause of it. That, being weakened,
he had had a singular influence upon her. She would not say a word
about it.
Miss Hall now went away. The two others sat there still: Tora asked
them to do so. It was so nice to hold their hands.