Fru Rendalen looked much worn, the glances which she hastily exchanged

with Tomas and Miss Hall proved that she understood why the crowd was

here, and that she did not feel safe among them. She held her son's arm

very fast.

But respect for her--perhaps, now that they were face to face with her,

a feeling of compassion also--prevented them from attempting anything.

Way was made for them. Of course they could see by words and manner

that this was no guard of honour, even some of their older

acquaintances were there, such as the Town Bailiff and his wife. They

hardly bowed; with the sternness of high morality they watched these

evil-doers go by.

Those who had been standing nearest to the quay now made their way

towards the carriage, followed by degrees by those whom the three had

already passed. The carriage was quite surrounded when they got into

it. In consequence of this they had to go slowly, step by step, once

more through the crowd, which became more tiresome. They were hardly

through before Rendalen whipped up. He was much incensed. At this

moment he saw Anton Doesen, with a number of others, hurrying across

towards them; they were flushed and had evidently just come from

dinner. They all bowed with immense deference; either Doesen's bow was

impolite, or it appeared so to Rendalen in his irritation. In an

instant he pulled up the horses, threw back the reins to Miss Hall, was

out of the carriage and up with Doesen, giving him a box on the ear

which made him reel. He was back at the carriage, up and off again so

quickly, that no one grasped what had happened before the carriage was

rumbling over the cobble stones.

In the hall up at the house stood the three deserters, Tinka, Anna, and

Nora. Miss Hall was the first up the steps, and with beaming eyes told

them all that had happened; but Fru Rendalen found no pleasure in it.

Rendalen, too, disappeared as soon as he had brought his mother up; it

was long before he returned, and he was then in low spirits.

The conversation turned exclusively on the dark point in Tora's story,

upon which she herself had laid but little stress, hardly ever

mentioning it--the meeting at Fru Groendal's. It had frustrated any

attempt made in the town to lay the blame on Niels Fuerst. Fru Groendal

had supported Fuerst's assertions in the most minute particulars.

Tora Holm had been furiously in love with him, she returned to the town

merely to get Fuerst to accompany her.

Fru Rendalen could assure them that the only thing which Tora had been

"furious" about was the confidential terms which Fru Groendal and Fuerst

were upon. This had put her out all the more perhaps, because she was

beginning to feel an interest in him. She understood this later. They

all agreed to let Tora herself relate the circumstances. Tinka wrote to

her the same evening.

Rendalen had joined them during this discussion, and now the events of

the journey were related and all about Tora. Fru Rendalen was giving

them her reading of Tora as she now knew her, and the others were

deeply engrossed in it, when Karl Vangen interrupted them; he came in

from church. The meeting between him and his adoptive mother was more

than usually warm, she went into his room with him. She did not return.

The one whom Tora's misfortune had struck the hardest was Karl Vangen,

but no one knew this except Fru Rendalen.

He had gone quietly on from day to day, the happiest man in the world.

Whenever he met Tora she was evidently pleased, though he never never

ventured to construe this into a sign that she loved him--far from it;

but _he_ loved her, and thought that if Fru Rendalen would ever help

him, the pliable Tora might be brought to share in some of his

interests. If she came to do that, perhaps she might perceive his great

affection for her; perhaps she might then feel that he would be able to

do something to make her happy too. Fru Rendalen had often enough heard

him talk to Tora and about Tora, but had suspected nothing till the

morning when she told him what had happened. She saw him change colour

and remain silent instead of expressing sorrow or offering help; but

even then she was not certain, beside which she was much absorbed in

her new relations with Tomas. Still she had a dim suspicion of the

truth. But when the money which she had reckoned on for the journey

could not be obtained, and Karl took her into his own room and offered

her his savings and a small sum which he had inherited--then, as he

looked into her eyes, she understood it all. He could not keep silence

any longer, he held out his arms---- "Yes, that is how it is, mother."

"My Dear Nora,

"I do not know what you can think of me for not writing, but your last

letter so upset me on account of our dear Tora that I really did not

know what to write. How at a loss, how helpless, one feels at such a

time, dear Nora! And, let me add at once, how ashamed. To think that

such a thing could happen to any one with whom we have associated! I

shall never forget what my father said the first time he saw her. I was

very angry at it then, we thought so highly of one another. Are you

quite certain, dear Nora, that everything was exactly as Tora has said?

You know she was never very exact, and, especially in such a case, it

seems to me that a person is almost obliged afterwards to put a

different colour on it. Do you not think the same? I will not repeat

what I have heard, it may be a mistake too; but you know yourself, dear

Nora, that she never was particular. Do you remember that once or twice

you had to check her when she was telling us stories. You see, she had

been in France; she knew a great deal more than we others. When I

recall what she has told me at different times, I feel that it amounted

to a great deal. May not some of this have affected her disposition? Of

course, I do not say this as a reproach, least of all could I do so now

when she is unhappy, but perhaps this may explain a few things. I am

terribly sorry for her, and you would do me a service if you could tell

me any way in which I could be of use to her without offending or

embarrassing her. I will not answer dear Tinka this time, give her my

best love, and say that the expression in her last letter, 'Tora's

greatest friend,' is not a true one, at least from my side. It might

have appeared so at one time, I do not deny it; but that was quite and

entirely Tora's fault. Not that she forced herself upon me, it would be

wrong to say so, but it was impossible, when in her society, not to go

too far. I was obliged to make more of it than I wished, and this to

the last hour of the last day.

"Do you know, I had not been three days alone before I began to have a

feeling of dislike for her. Perhaps that was bad of me.

"Her influence over me lasted beyond the time when we parted. I did not

understand that at once, but I have a proof lying before me--the letter

you kindly returned to me; that one in which hurriedly scribbled down

something about my impressions of Sofiero. I shall keep it, that shall

be my punishment. I have just read it through again. You unfortunately

have read it also (a thing I shall never forgive myself for): could you

conceive any letter of mine more unlike me?

"I don't know why, but I see Tora through the whole thing. I can't

explain it. I have never been able to write to her since. Here, where

everything is more formal, and where there is no room for sentimental

confidence, it offends the taste even to be reminded of such a thing.

It would almost be like going out before one was _coiffee_ and without

one's dress. Perhaps I am too severe, the blame for being so must fall

on the tone of conversation at home. I am so often reminded of that

unfortunate girl by some Germans here; they are very like her, though

she was the worst I have ever met.

"Yet how clever she was! I never have a new dress, or study a pattern,

or indeed see any new fashion which interests me, without remembering

her. Could she not become a milliner? If I could do anything to help

her in that direction, it would be a pleasure to me, otherwise what is

she to do? I really am dreadfully sorry for her.

"I have lots to tell you, I see something fresh nearly every day; but

this affair of Tora has put me in such a _triste_ state of mind that I

do not feel inclined to begin anything more cheerful. Poor Tora! You

must give her my love, but don't say anything about what I have written

to you in confidence, it would wound her without doing good to any of

us. Fate has raised a dividing wall between us, so there is no need.

Give my love to Tinka, Fru Rendalen, and all who ask after your

affectionate, and, in other respects, very happy,

"Milla Engel."

VII

THE FIGHT ITSELF

CHAPTER I

IN BOTH CAMPS

After Milla's letter, Nora disappeared from the sitting-rooms--nay, for

several days she was unable to go on with her work; she was quite

overcome. First Tora in her way, now Milla in hers. It was too much for

her. She had held the principal place in their mutual life, she had

believed all they said, and made herself one with them.

Latterly she had endured mockery, not least from her father, ever since

her presidentship had laid her open to ridicule; she had tried to bear

this, but after Milla's letter she gave in. As we know, she had every

now and then before this time felt her life shallow and superficial.

But after this! Over and over again she reviewed the thoughts and

actions of her companions since she had been here. She was confronted

everywhere by lofty aims, but lamentable weakness when it came to

deeds; not least in herself. They had all been easily raised to

enthusiasm, yet were unutterably volatile, their heads full of

nonsense, vanity and jealousy. In many, was an evil desire which

befooled them under a thousand disguises. They were disfigured by the

instinct, inherited through a thousand years, to submit themselves to

the wishes of the stronger.

She would no longer be the leader of the Society. She could hardly

resolve to remain a member of it. It did no good, and she had more than

enough to do for herself, for she saw in herself natural gifts, but no

stability.

"Genius with disorder," as her father called her mother. Just then the

relations between her parents were not good. Nora clung to the school,

absolutely hid herself there.

Christmas came; she was free and could have gone home, but she begged

to be allowed to stay. She was very lonely; Tinka was engrossed with

Frederik Tygesen, who was at home for Christmas; the engagement was now

almost openly acknowledged. Anna Rogne was studying philosophy with

Rendalen, and was so learned and so happy that she did not at all suit

her. Very often, when any one came in, Nora was sitting crying. She had

a quick way of brushing away her tears; her hand moved across her eyes

as though she were driving away a fly. Then she would smile cheerfully

at whoever came--no matter who it was; the reason for her distress was

evidently not in the house.

Nora down-hearted! Nora overcome! They all knew that that happened

occasionally, but now it had continued so long. Of course she was asked

about it, but she at once became so high and mighty that no one asked

her a second time.

At last, just after Christmas, came the long-expected letter from Tora.

Rendalen invited all her friends in the school to hear it. The

beginning of the letter at once explained what they wished to know; it

reminded them of something that they recalled at once, but had not up

to this time understood; how Tora had been affected the first time that

she and Fuerst met, that morning up at the gymnasium, when she was

excited and overdone; how he had walked slowly up, fixing his eyes upon

hers and nailed her to the spot, till he stood by her side. The

agitated style of the letter, the constant interpolations, re-writings,

protestations, gave a striking image of Tora. If she had not always

been careful, she was touchingly so now, perhaps just because she knew

that, not without grounds, they might be doubtful about her in this

particular. Anna Rogne read the letter aloud to them all; she knew

it by heart, and delivered it in a rather precise, but even tone of

voice; thus read, the letter touched them. Its many turns and additions

came out oddly. The protestations shone out like sunlight through

clouds--one laughed, and was moved at the same time.

During the reading, Rendalen sat looking at Nora. He had just heard

that she would not continue to be the head of the "Society," and he

felt that he must break through the restraint which he had put upon

himself.

While the others were discussing the letter among themselves, he sat

down near Nora, and talked long and eagerly with her--until some of the

others noticed that she often passed her hand across her eyes. The

conversation ceased; looks were turned towards them. Fru Rendalen

proposed that they should have some music; she asked her son to play

something. "With pleasure," he said, but remained sitting thoughtfully.

"What should you say to my first endeavouring to combat the depression

which often overcomes a woman when her eyes are opened to her

inheritance of frailty?"

Yes, they would all like to hear him.

He said he had been reminded that evening of how, more than a year ago,

he had spoken at a meeting of the Society in a very desponding manner

on heredity. This had really only arisen from a feeling of depression.

His opinion of heredity was simply this, that one inherited quality

combats another. One need not be so desponding. In the course of time

all families are so mixed together that any legacy of evil (which one

must strive to reduce to impotence) has almost always beside it a

legacy of good which may be strengthened by use. That is to say, never

be guided by chance, but let the teacher first, and ourselves

afterwards, be watchful betimes.

He was so imbued with the subject that he was able, on the spot, to

give a number of historical examples. He added others to them, gathered

from his own and others' experience. The question had occupied him from

his boyhood. In his own family there was a predisposition to insanity.

Every case which he could trace showed plainly that only when the

weakness which led to insanity had been allowed to increase, did this

infirmity break out. When this weakness was opposed by the intermixture

of fresh blood, by education and self-education, that person was saved

for his work in life. Heredity was not a destiny, but a condition.

It was sometimes said that knowledge and surroundings were no help. But

what did the letter tell us which had just been read? First, most

distinctly, that Tora had an inherited weakness; next, that if Miss

Hall had given her lecture four months sooner, Tora at any rate would

have been saved, "So we may well say, 'Help one another,' by knowledge

and fearless counsel. Woman has been condemned to isolation. Man has

sought fellowship and knowledge. Only by fellowship will women teach

each other to fight for their own cause.

"'The inward development,' is subject to crises, and then intercourse

is burdensome; with this each one must deal as she can. But there is no

doubt that we advance our inward development only by doing our duty."

That was all; but from it, and the conversation which succeeded it, was

formed, from that evening, the strongest bond of union among all the

women who, in the time that followed, supported the cause of the school

in the town. From this evening also dated the influence of the

"Society" over the school; all discords were subdued before they came

to the teachers' ears. Even before this the members of the "Society"

were accustomed to go into the different classes to help the more

backward pupils before lessons began. This had given them an influence

of which they made use. Again, from this evening dated--and in the long

run this was the best of all--Rendalen's lectures in the chapel up on

the mountain. Every Saturday evening he explained the laws of natural

history, illustrating them with pictures and experiments; and every

Sunday evening gave sketches of the history of civilisation, when

pictures were also exhibited. Niels Hansen defrayed the preliminary

expenses, and was always present. Rendalen had begun this partly to

gain partisans. He would not "Hang in the wind." But when once he had

begun, he became interested in the task which lay before him, and

persuaded Miss Hall to lecture every Sunday, between three and four, to

the women there. Miss Hall elected to speak alternately on the diseases

of children and those of women. She had an immense audience, and this

was greatly owing to the fact that the quick-witted young lady at once

declared that these diseases, both in women and children, had in no

small degree the same origin--men's immoral lives.

But to return to this evening. There are times when human wills, with

the projects they have formed, readily unite themselves as though there

had never been doubt or separation--a harvest full of promise for a

future seed-time. Such a time at "The Estate" was that evening of the

twenty-ninth of December. The day was remembered, and often mentioned

at a later time. They did not separate till past midnight, and the

departing guests sang as they went down the avenue.

As Fru Rendalen was undressing she heard, to her astonishment, Tomas

going out; she half opened the door.

"My dear boy, where are you going?"

"It is such splendid starlight."

Fru Rendalen could not be called romantic; she went to the window and

peered out from behind the curtain; yes, it was starlight, quite so.

There are so many things that a schoolmistress has to think of, that

there is no time left for the stars. Yet the tone in which he spoke of

them! Tomas had not for some time seemed so happy as this evening. He

had never before stayed with them the whole time, till past midnight!

He really was beginning to take root, or was it through combativeness?

He was terribly like the Kurts.

"Fru Rendalen?"

"Good gracious!"

"It is only I."

"Why, my dear Nora, are you not in bed? I am coming to the door. What!

you are still dressed?"

"It is such lovely starlight."

"Tomas has gone out."

"Yes, I heard him. Oh, Fru Rendalen!"

"What is it, my dear? Excuse me, I am going to get into bed. That's

it!"

"I am so happy."

"Are you? That's right; you were so unhappy a little while ago."

"All that Rendalen said----"

"Yes, he was capital this evening."

"Fru Rendalen, do you think I might thank him for it? Might I venture?"

"Why, of course! What do you mean, my dear?"

"I could not rest till I had written----"

"Written? When you live in the same house----"

"I thought I would get it sent to him this evening."

"To-night, you mean; you can wait just as well till to-morrow, my dear,

and then you can say it to him. You know Tomas is peculiar."

"But this evening he is in a good humour, eh?"

"You want to take a letter into his room?"

"Oh, no; not I myself. Fancy if Pastor Vangen were to come, or Rendalen

himself!"

"Would you like me to?"

"Dear Fru Rendalen!"

"Get me my spectacles, and let me see."

"Here they are."

Fru Rendalen read:

"Herr Rendalen,

"I cannot go to bed without thanking you. I did not want you to think I

did not wish to do so. I did not find an opportunity for it. Thank you.

"Most humbly,

"Nora Tue."

Fru Rendalen's bed creaked; she got up. "I will put it on his table by

the candle. Have you the envelope? There, that's all right. Have you

directed it?"

"Yes."

"Just give me my skirt and slippers--that's it. It was pretty of you,

Nora. Yes, he was very good this evening: that's it;" and she trotted

off.

As she again got into bed she said: "But, Nora, why did you not thank

him at once?"

Instead of answering, Nora put her head down to Fru Rendalen, kissed

her a good-night, and went lightly off. She turned back. "Shall I put

out your candle?"

"No; good-night, my dear."

The winter passed by, and they began to hope that the war might pass

off as well as it had done before.

But when minds are excited they require but little to aid them. The

political strife was now at its height; the so-called people's party

had started a newspaper; the _Spectator_ seemed to them to have

attained the measure of iniquity. Between this paper and the new one,

the _Independence_, a fierce antagonism quickly arose, which became

most trying to the nerves.

In the spring, on Rendalen's birthday, the "Society" hit upon the

unlucky idea of having a large flag-staff set up on the tower, from

which waved, on the great day, an enormous Norwegian flag without the

"Union." The girls had never thought about the old quarrel over the

flag, but Rendalen had showed the whole school pictures of the flags of

all nations, and explained to them that, from old times, the Union was

only used by States which were incorporated one in the other, such as

Scotland and Ireland with England, or the United States of America, and

this was what the world understood by a Union, notwithstanding the

differing colours of the two flags. "Thus a Union gave us, the smaller

country, the appearance of having been incorporated into Sweden."

This flag was looked upon as a demonstration; it was "bringing politics

into the school." Rendalen forbade its being again hoisted; he wished

to avoid new quarrels. But this was of no avail; angry spirits were

roused; all the old accusations were gone over again in the columns of

the _Spectator_ and at the club. The Town Bailiff suddenly came forward

with a gift of five thousand kroner to found a new school without

politics, with unbiassed instruction, without a method which was

antagonistic to morality. The donor, he said, wished the gift to be

anonymous. He had been most decided on that point.

The Town Bailiff and his wife each added one thousand kroner. It was he

who had before proposed that a new school should be started; now he

came prominently forward; he had been scandalised. The anonymous gift

was precisely the same sum as that given by Fru Engel. Was Consul Engel

the donor? Several amounts were subscribed on the spot, but they were

not large!

Tomas Rendalen at once put himself up for the club, as did several of

his friends, Karl Vangen and Niels Hansen among them. All these were

elected at a very full meeting, Niels Hansen, however, with only a

small majority; the club was partly built on his ground, and it was

thanks to this that he was elected at all. Rendalen's election, on the

contrary, was left open. It is true that the rules declared that every

admission should be decided at the first meeting, but happily there

were a number of lawyers present, and this rule was so construed that

it was decided that _first_ really meant _next_.

The next meeting was largely attended. The Town Bailiff opened it with

the astounding declaration that Rendalen must be kept out, for "peace"

sake.

A number of men had been sent to this meeting by their respective wives

to vote for Rendalen, and one of these obedient husbands made the mild

remark that "peace" had already been disturbed by the Town Bailiff's

proposal. The last-named gentleman became so exasperated at this

that he would not continue, and Consul Engel's solicitor, the best

speaker in the town, found it necessary to come to his assistance. His

name was Bugge, and he was extremely eloquent. Several solicitors

followed him, and all talked more or less about peace, morals, and

Christianity--subjects which they, at all events, knew by _hearsay_.

Karl Vangen asked what on earth these great questions had to do with

the matter in hand, whether Rendalen should, or should not, be a member

of a social club? But Karl Vangen had hardly stood up before the Town

Bailiff pulled a long list out of his pocket. He asked if he might put

some questions to Pastor Vangen?

"With pleasure."

"First question--Is it true that Herr Rendalen has said that history

cannot well be taught to people who believe that the world began as

Paradise and its inhabitants as perfect beings?"

Breathless silence. Karl Vangen began a little hesitatingly: "Yes, that

is true, but----"

"I beg your pardon, but I have the word," interrupted the Town Bailiff.

"No," observed one of the "husbands"; "Pastor Vangen undoubtedly has

the word. It was he who was interrogated."

Hereon there was a great uproar; the real men were, Heaven be praised,

in the majority; the "husbands" had by no means such strong throats.

"Second question--Is it true that Rendalen has said----"

"But dear me!" called out Niels Hansen; "is Rendalen to join the club

to be confirmed?"

A roar of laughter followed. The whole room, without distinction of

parties, gave way to immense merriment. The Town Bailiff paused. As

soon as peace was restored he began again. "Second question--Is it

true----" The laughter began again, worse than before. The Town Bailiff

stopped abruptly, and left the room; Karl Vangen now began. His friend

Rendalen was of the opinion that history lessons ought conscientiously

to describe all movements just as they were, and therefore the

development of Christianity as well; but to describe the life of

mankind as a work of God's dispensation belongs to Church history.

"Is he not a Christian, then?" asked Bugge.

"We have nothing to do with that here," called out Niels Hansen.

"Is he not a Christian?" repeated Bugge.

"No, he is not a Christian," answered Vangen, colouring like a little

boy.

"The blockhead," muttered Niels Hansen, and he left too.

"Then he has deceived us," shouted Bugge.

"He should have said that from the first," observed another.

Several shouted at once. There was disturbance, noise, delight. All the

"husbands" were frightened, and held their tongues.

A quiet, well-to-do man stood up: "Yes, I could almost have guessed

that Rendalen was not a Christian. Women to take the same position as

men, that is against Christianity."

Pastor Vangen then again came forward, and he now spoke warmly.

Rendalen's actions had been perfectly honourable. So long as

Christianity supports mankind's moral consciousness, every school

director should see that it was given to the children, as truly and

heartily as possible. And it was thus that Rendalen had acted. It was

only to be lamented that his instrument was so feeble, for that

instrument was himself. But he could assure the meeting that he had

full opportunity of doing all of which he was capable.

This made a good impression, and for a moment it seemed as though the

discussion would end there. But the man who had spoken before, again

rose; it was evident that it was a serious matter with him. "If Tomas

Rendalen had said this when he gave a lecture up at the gymnasium two

years ago--if he had said, 'I am not a Christian'--there would have

been no school."

At the moment Karl Vangen could not think of any reply to this; it

almost seemed to him to be true. The voting began immediately, and

Rendalen was refused admittance by an overwhelming majority.

"Not," as Bugge observed, "because Rendalen did not believe, for they

were tolerant there, but because he had not behaved honourably."

As soon as he could do so, Rendalen gathered his friends, and any

others who liked to join them, at a meeting at the gymnasium. It was a

very full one. This was a fight which every one understood, and in

which most of them took an interest. As well as this, the special

woman-question was far more opened up than it had been two years ago;

Rendalen was able to speak quite freely. He began by declaring that

religion had been made use of as a "last resort." He had been expecting

it for a long time. The audience was given an amusing description of

the moral and Christian responsibility of the club, enveloped in clouds

of tobacco smoke round the card-tables and punch-bowls, and of the

virtue of the men, which consisted in a strong demand for virtue--in

women, which was an advantage to themselves.

A work to obtain equality between men and women could not be called

"Enmity to Christianity." Therefore notorious interpolations of Judaism

into Christianity ought not to be sanctioned. If this were done, and

the views of woman's position two thousand years ago in Judea were

sanctioned--well, in that case, he could tell the Christians that they

did not thus destroy the claims of the present day, but themselves.

There was no help which he desired so much as that of serious

Christians. He considered, too, that the Christian who had no

reactionary aims must range himself here with the great French pastor,

Pressense.

As a teacher of history, he had himself endeavoured to point out

trustworthily the works of Christianity. As a teacher of natural

science, on the contrary, he could not disguise the fact that divers

new discoveries were in opposition to the Jewish traditions; an honest

teacher of natural science in most Christian schools must find himself

in the same case. But the principal dogmas--the belief in God and

salvation through Christ--remain unmoved.

The Christian beliefs of the school were unfettered, and directed by a

clergyman, whom they all highly respected. He was clearly in his rights

when he demanded that his private beliefs should be left out of the

question. Indeed, it was his duty to demand this where the question was

notoriously merely introduced for the sake of making confusion.

This time the current of opinion against the school was divided by a

brisk counter-current. It was a good sign that Miss Hall's public

lectures at the school were still well attended.

But what would Rendalen, or his eager opponents, have said, if they had

known that the whole movement, from the moment the flag was hoisted,

had been directed from outside? That the best contributions to the

_Spectator_ had never once been written in the town? That the Town

Bailiff was a tool in a light but skilful hand? That the five thousand

kroner which had so animated his faculties and morality, and those of

his wife, had not come from Consul Engel at all? What would the Town

Bailiff, what would lawyer Bugge and his colleagues have said, if they

had known that the famous anonymous donor, who had called forth their

eloquence, was a rascal who had carefully reckoned on the certainty of

these men behaving as they had done, if they believed Consul Engel to

be the donor? What would all these worthy men and women, who were

fighting for morality and Christianity--what would they have said if

they had known that at Stockholm there was a man who reckoned on their

zeal and strong prejudices, as well as on the cringing and shrewdness

of others, with the same sense of superiority with which we use the

wide powers of Nature for the accomplishment of our own ends. But the

force of opposition could not be accurately measured from a distance;

where women are concerned, it is never easy to calculate;

notwithstanding these great exertions, the amount subscribed was small,

very, very small.

A mine must therefore be laid, and some of this opposition blown up.

And this was done. The report of Niels Fuerst's engagement to Milla

Engel had died out; it was now renewed, and, with it, the exasperation

of the whole woman's party. Angry, scornful remarks were flung over the

whole town from Rendalen's circle; they stabbed and wounded both the

families, Fuerst's and Engel's. Consul Engel was especially offended by

Rendalen having said, "All the Consul's mistresses ought to attend on

the wedding-day as bridesmaids." Engel gave Rendalen to understand that

till then he had held himself aloof from the business. Now, if the

wedding took place, the new school should be remembered both as

regarded a house and funds.

The person who brought this information to Rendalen received out of

hand for answer: "Yes, it is wise of the Consul to put _if_ before it,

for there is not a church in the town in which Milla Engel will dare to

be married to Niels Fuerst." This was really going too far; other people

saw this beside the Consul. He now felt himself compelled to act.

The fact was that Milla had not engaged herself again to Niels

Fuerst--the report was untrue, a mere trick. Up to this time the Consul

had not mixed himself in the matter; in such affairs one must be

circumspect. He had contented himself by sending her cuttings from the

_Spectator_, small reports, stories, and so on. He had also asked

others to write; she no longer corresponded with any one at "The

Estate." Now, however, the Consul wrote to her himself. He was so

fortunate as to be able to send her a cutting from a Lutheran weekly

paper, in which a highly esteemed clergyman analysed the proposition

that women have the same right to demand chastity from men, as men have

from women: the decided logical result of his analysis being that the

proposition was unchristian.

"And now," wrote her father, "what further objection can there be? You

love Niels Fuerst? If there is any condition which you wish to make in

regard to your marriage, name it, my child. The consideration which you

and I possess demands that you should be married in accordance with our

position in your native town."

Milla complied. If her dear mother's favourite clergyman, old Dean

Green, who had carried her mother's gift to the school, would perform

the ceremony, he _himself_, her father, might fix the wedding-day at

once. So old Green, the most respected man in the town, was to give his

countenance to their side? The Consul felt that this was highly

improbable. He wrote to Niels Fuerst, that now he had but little hope.

Fuerst was not of the same opinion. Most old people incline towards

compromise. He gave some instructions to his brother-in-law, and, after

the latter had paid a visit to the Dean, Fuerst wrote to the Consul

that, after all, things might be more hopeful than he had imagined. The

Consul was off at once. It may well be that he was astonished when the

old man said decidedly that the attacks on the school ought now to end.

A peculiar smile passed over the Consul's face as he lamented that he

did not possess sufficient influence. The old man met smile with smile;

there was no need for influence, he believed. And thus the matter

rested.

It was on a Friday morning that printed invitations were sent out to

Consul Engel's friends, in this and the neighbouring towns, asking them

to honour him by their presence at his daughter's marriage with

Lieutenant Niels Fuerst.

The wedding was fixed for the following Monday week, at four o'clock in

the afternoon, at the Cross Church. It was being hurried on.

To a few of his oldest friends the Consul added in writing that the

spiritual guide of his family, his beloved wife's friend, Dean Green,

would do the young people the honour of uniting them.

On the same day, about dinner-time, the Consul walked along the quays

just as all the business men were coming to, or from, them. Every one

greeted him with beaming faces and with great cordiality, and those who

were sufficiently intimate pressed his hand laughingly.

Every one had been annoyed that Rendalen should wish to prescribe who

was or was not to marry--precisely like Max Kurt in the old days--he, a

miserable fellow, crippled with debts, with a great school which might

tumble about his ears any day. The news of the wedding, and that Dean

Green was to perform the ceremony, was carried by Saturday's steamers

up and down the coast; it sprang ashore on the islands, was heard at

the watering-places, and slipped away through the woods far inland. It

brought excitement everywhere. One party rejoiced; the other was

immensely scandalised. But there was not a woman in either party who

did not declare that she should go to the town for the day to see it

all. The children begged to go too. Mimic weddings took place in the

"Groves" and about on the rocks, where an old Dean Green, in a short

frock and with bare arms, intoned the service over the bridal pair in a

trembling voice.

Somewhat more laggardly the news came that the donor of the five

thousand kroner to the new school had withdrawn his gift; that Consul

Engel had condemned all the uproar about the school; if it were carried

further, he would be obliged to support the recipients of his wife's

legacy: her memory demanded no less of him.

Had a compromise been effected? Was Milla to return home as the Angel

of Peace?

Some people were incensed; some laughed; some few, including the Town

Bailiff, would not give in; but how could a new school be started

without Consul Engel? And when in cold blood the advantages were

considered, who did not at last wish for peace? The daughter of the

school's benefactress married to Niels Fuerst--that was in itself

victory, and that sufficed. One or two marriages of this sort,

especially amongst the most advanced pupils at the school, and the good

old constitution, the good old distribution of virtue and authority

between the sexes, would remain unshaken. Rendalen, the Society, and

Miss Hall might stick to their views if they liked. Tora was never

mentioned now.

Milla was to be married on a Monday, and to leave the same night; she

was to arrive the evening of the previous Friday; she would not be

three days in the town! That did not imply a vast amount of courage,

her quondam friends considered. Not one of them went down to the

landing-place to meet her. But there was no need for them, for,

notwithstanding a drenching rain, it was densely crowded. The wedding

for which she was returning, even if nothing special had happened

previously, would have been the most important that any one could

remember. The bridegroom, aided by the unusually large fortune which he

would command, would be able to enter upon a career at Court which

would lead to the highest positions in the country. Every one who knew

him described him as a "born politician;" not very flattering to

politicians, but that I cannot help.

The bride was a beauty capable of becoming a thorough woman of the

world. Besides, she was to remain so short a time at home, that every

one must secure a glimpse of her.

Flags were hoisted everywhere, but they drooped along the masts in

quite a shamefaced manner, mere patches of colour--the beautiful

green-clad mountains at the head of the bay were shrouded in fog.

Houses, gardens, sea, seemed to lie in a casket whose cover was the

grey woolly mist.

The house-roofs were no longer red-brown but black; the houses not

white, but ashen grey; not yellow, but a sooty colour; all the tints

were subdued by several shades, the houses themselves seemed to crowd

closer together, and appeared wonderfully small and crooked to the girl

fresh from Paris, who stood, in the rain, on the deck of the steamer

which was gliding in among the islands. Only the great building up at

"The Estate" and the formal stone walls by the side of the avenue

loomed out from their encircling trees; but the red bricks looked dark

and ominous, the window-frames a pitchy black, the dumpy frowning

tower seemed to stand on the watch; as they drew nearer a huge white

flag-staff could be seen on it without a flag. "The Estate" lay hemmed

in, wide and menacing. Milla's glances wandered down from it towards

the Cross Church with its slender spire, from which the joyful soul of

Max Kurt had ascended to heaven; not that Milla thought of this, but

under that spire she would, notwithstanding ... But, good Heavens, what

is that? all that moving mass of black on the landing-place up to the

very walls of the houses? Umbrellas? Absolutely nothing but umbrellas!

What could that mean? From all the information which had been sent to

her, and perhaps even more from what had not, she was quite convinced

that if things were not all that she could wish, yet still there was

peace here now, and no danger. Dean Green's authority protected her,

and she herself did not wish to do any one an injury. But at the sight

of all these people, a remembrance rushed to her mind of the way in

which poor Fru Rendalen had been received, when she had returned from

her journey with Tora. Milla turned deadly white; a fearful dread

seized her. Although she struggled against it with all her might, she

could not help trembling; her knees trembled so that her whole body

shook; she had to support herself, to sit down. In the short space of

five minutes she went through more--ah! more than when her mother died,

for then a comforter hovered over her; the gloom was lightened by the

hope of a future meeting. Now she felt separated, cut off, plunged into

an abyss!

A sound of pitiless laughter surrounded her; people were trying to

grasp her hands--where could she creep to?

Her father was on board, but at the moment was down below collecting

the luggage and paying the steward. He heard the vessel swing noisily

in towards the quay, and then cheers from hundreds of voices, repeated

again and again. He came on deck, and his daughter rushed towards him,

seized him, pressed herself against him, her lips quivering, and

trembling in every limb. She who was ordinarily so self-contained, was

in a state of nervous excitement.

"Why, Milla? They are calling out 'Hurrah for the bride!'"

"Hold me," she whispered. "Let me collect myself, I did not know, I

thought----" And she cried--ah, how she cried!

Happily there was some obstruction at the quay, and a little time

elapsed before they were alongside. The captain stormed; as Milla

listened, the strain relaxed; so that when she stepped on shore,

leaning on her father's arm, though still pale and trembling slightly,

she could smile from under her coquettish hat as she passed in her

charming travelling dress. Tears were becoming to her.

What ringing cheers for the bride, for Consul Engel! The crowd was

almost all composed of men, and there was no one whom she knew well;

but, yes, there are Fuerst's sister and Fru Groendal and Wingaard, and

several others. There are flowers and welcomes, friends pressing

forward, and cheer upon cheer, and more welcomes--nothing but homage

and delighted greetings. More flowers still. The carriage was almost

full! She took her seat in it--the same carriage in which thirteen or

fourteen months ago she had driven here with Tora. She had no time to

recall it. This was splendid, perfect!

At a little past two the next morning a _skyss kaerre_[5] drove slowly

up the avenue to the school. A closely veiled lady sat in it with a

child in her arms. She was expected, for Rendalen came down at once to

meet her, and take her up the steps, at the top of which stood Fru

Rendalen. It was a touching meeting.

CHAPTER II

A GALA DAY IN TOWN AND HARBOUR

Between three and four o'clock in the afternoon, two unlucky printer's

devils trudged off, each on his own beat, with the _Spectator_. They

threw it into the passages, left it on the steps, pushed it under the

gates. They must hurry on! The church was full long ago; by this time

the marketplace was packed from one end to the other.

When the worthy burghers returned home and found the _Spectator_, they

read the following:--"As we go to press our town presents a most festal

appearance. Naval Lieutenant Niels Fuerst and Froeken Emilie Engel,

members of two of the oldest and most respected families in the town,

are to-day to be united at four o'clock, in the Cross Church, by our

venerable Dean. From the country, where all the families who have the

means are now enjoying their summer holiday, there has been an immense

influx of people to witness the ceremony. As well as this, our streets

are filled by a considerable number of strangers. It is understood that

Consul Engel has received the good wishes of his Majesty, through the

High Chamberlain of the Norwegian Court. Consul Engel, on the occasion

of this happy event in his family, has presented to the Maternity

Hospital the interest of a bequest of ten thousand kroner. The poor of

the town will to-day be entertained by the Consul at the poorhouse.

Further, we have just received the announcement that, in response to a

special appeal, Consul Engel has given two thousand kroner for the

thorough restoration of the magnificent organ in the Cross Church. A

gala day in town and harbour!"

At midday a refreshing breeze had fanned the glowing streets; now only

a capricious puff stirred the flags, and each time they blew out they

formed a mass of colour over the town, and the whole length of the

harbour; several ships were covered with flags from deck to masthead. A

barque, the most gaily decorated of all, is hauled out to fire a

salute, to begin the moment that the pair are united, and to continue

until the bride's carriage draws up before Engel's house. Another

salute is to be fired during the dinner.

The most perfect weather, over mountain and hill and sea and town! How

cheerful the town looked in the sunshine! The small blocks of houses

with their provincial decorations, surrounded by the pavement of

cobble-stones, cleanly swept and warmed by the sunshine.

The shadows were very heavy; when any quiet pedestrian emerged from

them into the white glare of the street, he had the same feeling as in

old times the wick of a tallow candle must have had when it escaped

from the snuffers again. The cats dozed in the sunshine, but with one

eye open, for there were a hundred idlers about to-day. The gutters,

generally the route for many a toy-boat, were now dry; the newspaper

boys jumped backwards and forwards across them, as they went from one

empty house to another. Everything was clean and charming and quiet.

Only in the streets by the quays the smell of decayed wood, salt

herrings, train oil, and "such like," prevailed. There was work going

on there too; festival at the masthead, toil on deck and down below. In

the rest of the town most work was over by three o'clock.

A train of young people could be seen trudging down from "the mountain"

towards the marketplace, succeeded by groups of women, both old and

young. They knew a little about the two families which were to be

united, those good people on the mountain!

What a glorious day! The land breeze now and again sent "cat's-paws"

across the harbour, which lost themselves in the blue grey water out by

the islands. The open sea beyond lay wide and peaceful.

And how lovely were the wood-clothed mountains and hillsides, in the

full colours of both pines and leafy trees, with the grass below ready

for its second mowing. The greens were deeper than those of spring and

with less variety. On the road below the churchyard was a long train of

pedestrians; those country folk who lived nearest the town, toiled in

just at the last to get a glimpse of the show--the men in front, the

women following. A fussy little steamer shoots out from among the

islands, snorting and puffing--she is behind time; she is bringing

people from the nearest town, and has a horn quartet on board.

In the sunshine, the mountain seemed to those approaching it from the

sea, to rear itself from the water like an anthill, but the resemblance

was spoiled as one came nearer, although its small houses still looked

like linen and stockings put out to dry. Close by, it became a curious

breeding place for human sea-birds. All the children of the upper

classes in the town looked at it with the greatest envy, especially on

a day like this, for the flags excited their imagination.

Every now and then, heads were turned towards "The Estate." Every pane

of glass in the great red-brick building shone in the sunlight, but no

flag was hoisted. As late as half-past three, Consul Engel, smoking a

cigar, went up to the top attic to see if the flag were hoisted; Emilie

was just coming down the attic stairs; she was fully dressed, except

that she still wore her _peignoir_. She coloured when she met her

father.

"What are you doing up here, my child?"

"I was looking----" She slipped past him without saying for what. No

flag on the tower! The Consul remained there smoking. If there had been

a flag without the "Union" to-day it would have been most suitable.

From the time it was reported that Tora Holm was at "The Estate" with

her child, which report was heard early as Monday morning, an avalanche

hung on the mountain ready to overwhelm them. This was the cause of all

the Consul's generosity; if any one but asked for more, he gave it.

He had had two sleepless nights! Was it true that Rendalen had sent a

letter to the old Dean couched in most respectful terms, but in which

he said that if this were "peace," it was once more shown that peace

belonged to Satan, but that the fight was God's?

"What did they contemplate--a scandal?" the whole town was asking.

Tora's appearance with her child just now was in itself a sentence--she

must have an undaunted conscience; something would certainly happen.

There was no answer to this fact: Tora Holm had dared to come here;

Rendalen and Fru Rendalen believed in her--_all_ her friends believed

in her.

All the incidents of Niel's bachelor life were recalled--that is to

say, those which related to _that_ part of the country; as a general

thing, people would say what a devil of a fellow Niels Fuerst was, and

stroll away laughing. The laughter ceased now. In Tora's neighbourhood

such stories took a different complexion. Some of them seemed

absolutely repulsive.

And the father-in-law! His past also was brought up again. None of the

stories dealt with daring seductions, unexpected, astounding conquests;

no open scandal--Heaven forbid! but certain quiet intrigues were known

of, often one or two at a time.

Expensive presents and small annuities had been heard of as well. They

knew of children who passed for his, and who were his living image. It

all came up again now; even "indiscretions" of twenty years ago and

more, were recalled. Such little provincial towns have pitiless

memories.

It had been but a short time previously that every one rejoiced that

Fru Engel's gift had been opposed by a similar one, so that the

"indecency" up at the school might come to an end. Now, as the women

flocked into the town (which they began to do as early as Sunday), and

the juniors at once hurried up to "The Estate," or collected in groups

in the streets, a remembrance of Fru Engel's beautiful funeral filled

the minds of all. What the daughter was about to accomplish was, in

reality, disrespectful to her mother's memory.

Emilie herself was the only one who did not know that Tora was there.

Fuerst had arrived on Saturday morning, and had heard it at once, but he

and her father believed that Tora had come to force herself upon Milla;

they kept most careful watch that neither Tora herself, nor a letter or

message, or indeed any sign from her, could come without being

intercepted. The friends of the house had received their instructions,

and beside they consisted entirely of members of the two families. The

bridesmaids arrived in the town on Sunday--they were relatives, and,

with hardly an exception, from a distance.

Milla knew nothing except that the other party had been defeated and

ruined, there would be nothing now but peace. Her father had the firm

intention of helping the school; it would work well enough if some of

the ideas were abandoned. Milla felt especially grateful for this

promise of her father. Why should not they all be friends together?

"That is what we shall be," Fuerst had assured her. The school party had

made peace: old Dean Green was a proof of it. "Yes, old Dean Green was

a proof of it," repeated Milla to herself, whenever she felt any doubt.

On Sunday she went to church and heard him, it did her so much good;

and in the afternoon she went with her father to call on him. How kind

he was! He exhorted her to be patient; we cannot alter the world, but

we can set a good example; that was what her mother had done. Milla was

deeply touched. "Ah! if only every one were good!"

Her father had never been so loving to her as now. His increasing

kindness reminded her of the time when her mother was ill, and then the

great amount of his charity; he could not have done her honour in a

more delicate or beautiful way. Fuerst was always amusing, and his way

of being so was so very superior. He told stories of the Court, and

terribly malicious ones they were; Fuerst was so pleasant and clever,

Milla felt that she was really fortunate--that is to say, except for a

slight sense of want, a tiny sensation of mistrust--just so much as to

oblige her, at the last moment, to go up to the top attic, to see if

there were a flag on the tower. But there was nothing. Perhaps no one

was at home! That would be the best thing for both parties. They could

find each other another time.

Now to put on her wedding dress! If Tora could have seen it! Poor Tora!

But such things will happen when one is not careful. Emilie asked her

maid to take care that the folds hung properly over her tournure. At

the same moment Fru Wingaard came in with the bridal wreath.

Every one who came from the adjoining streets into the market-place,

observed something red against the open door of the church, the outer

one to the left. It was a red shirt, worn by a tall sailor. The church

attendants tried to get him away, but in vain; all round were ladies

who would willingly have occupied his place, but he answered that he

had as good a right to stand there as any one else, which he

undoubtedly had. He did not belong to the town, no one knew him, a

tattoo mark on his hand showed that he had been at sea--indeed, he said

so himself. He was in a timber ship now--she was a large vessel.

With this exception there were nothing but ladies, old and young, on

the steps, down below, and in every direction, all who had not found

room in the church. Every time the inner door opened, affording a

glimpse of the interior, one saw, on both sides, right down to the

door, nothing but ladies--nothing but bonnets, with flowers, feathers,

and veils. A solitary uncovered masculine head in one of the rows of

chairs showed up like a single late gooseberry or black currant on the

branch in autumn. If the departed Herr Max could have looked up from

the chancel where he lay, it would have been "a goodly sight" for his

woman-loving eyes, especially as the younger ones were all in the front

places--they had been most eager in securing them.

Almost all the parasols which were to be seen on the market-place were

either on the steps, or round about them, a many-coloured moving

shield-like roof under which endless stories and laughter went on.

Every one thought the donation to the Maternity Charity _too_

felicitous. That Engel, who had so much tact, could---- But to be sure

that was because Fru Wingaard was the patroness--she had wheedled it

out of him, the minx!

On either side of the steps, each one the centre of a group, stood

those two sisters of doubtful character who had kept the club and the

hotel until they had been obliged to relinquish them in favour of

Engel's housekeeper. They least of all had reason to spare Engel or his

guests for the day, the magnates of the coast towns.

Nearest to these stood another knot of women who had not had so much

time to find places. There were few parasols here, but bonnets and

aprons, and some of the younger ones even bareheaded. There was

whispering, tittering, and giggling!

No solemnity, no gravity, no authority, not the least what is usual in

a provincial town. Even where the darker groups of men were collected,

there was no seriousness or "decorum," as the Town Bailiff would have

said, and indeed as he did say when, at a quarter before four, he

joined the guests, in full uniform, and with his wife on his arm. The

guests indulged in witticisms and laughter, the result of which was not

impressive; all the people looked at them with amused glances as though

they were comrades. The town was unrecognisable. When two boys

contrived to clamber on to the chimney of one of the houses opposite

the church, all clapped their hands and snouted. This had just occurred

as the Town Bailiff arrived. Amid the guests immediately following him

came the organist, very drunk. He was a young Swabian, who three or

four years ago came to the town in the course of a musical tour, and

there remained. The then organist had recently died--the organ was a

marvellous one; beside which there was excellent sea-bathing. He was a

soft, fantastic, thoroughly musical man, who as a rule was every one's

favourite, and who had more to do than he could manage, but who on a

holiday "_Wenn Konstantinople erobet warden ischt_," as he expressed

himself, got drunk. This occurred but seldom, but when it was the case

he did anything which took his fancy.

This culminated when one day a home missionary was speaking from the

chancel steps on the subject of sin, and the organist, noticing that

every one was yawning, began to play the organ till it roared! It was

pretended that the missionary made such very long pauses that the

organist had been misled by the longest of them.

To-day he had conceived the happy idea of going gaily to Consul Engel,

and asking him for some money for the organ, and he received a cheque

on the spot. So "_Konstantinople_" had "_erobet warden_" again, and

champagne corks flew! Who liked might drink with him. He came up,

beaming with happiness and swinging his arms about. Every one laughed,

and he laughed with them. He arrived just after the Town Bailiff and

his wife. They looked as stiff as though the organist had yoked them

and was driving them into the church. Great commotion was now caused by

an attempt to drive a carriage through the crowd. Up to this time every

one had come on foot. There was no room for carriages here, they cried,

and turned sullen; the police had to interfere. In the carriage sat a

pretty lively lady of uncertain age, by the side of a somewhat stout

gentleman with a remarkably shaped head and a supercilious expression.

Facing the lady sat an older man with a red face, heavy moustache and

imperial, and wearing a number of orders; he talked incessantly, as

though they were all three in a closed room where no one could see

them. They did not belong to the town; no one knew them until the

carriage-door was opened, and the man with the orders led the lady

forward. Then the hotelkeeper's wife said that he was a Consul-General

from Christiania; the lady was not his wife, but that of the gentleman

who was walking beside them--Consul Garman, of the firm of Garman and

Worse. Soon after these arrived two other strangers, Consuls Bernick

and Riis. The first-named invariably attended funerals with a stick in

his hand; the other always wore his order of St. Olaf when he went to a

ball. Several important magnates followed; some with their wives, some

without--millionaires in the herring, timber, or ice trade. The

monotony of the black coats was broken by the full uniform of the

Sheriff--he was without his wife, and in company with a gouty old

General, a relation of Fuerst. Besides these, there were Government

officials and merchants mingled together, most of them with their

wives, who hung on their husbands' arms like well-filled costly

baskets; the husbands were quite eclipsed. Absolute silence gradually

spread upwards from the lower end of the market-place, like oil over

troubled waters. The bridegroom was alighting from his carriage,

accompanied by his brother-in-law, Consul Wingaard. From another

carriage descended two naval officers and two civilians, one of whom

was Anton Doesen; these four joined the others.

All the special man[oe]uvres which had brought about that Fuerst should

to-day approach the Cross Church through the crowd, admired or envied,

accompanied or shunned, had been carried out by himself, and up to the

present time he had earned the honoured reception of a victor. Still he

did not advance with a victor's step--a child could see that at the

first glance. He walked forward in the deadliest fear. Tora had never

shown herself, had sent neither message nor letter. Neither she nor any

of her friends had once been near Consul Engel's house. It was evident

that she had not come to talk Emilie over, or to frighten her. What had

she come for? What did Rendalen's threat mean? There was danger until

he was inside the church; then the sanctity of the building, and the

respect due to the old clergyman, must protect him. But here----! His

eyes wandered up to the wooded slope above "The Estate." It was an

involuntary action. It was not there, but here, that she might appear.

She or others. She was not the only one.

His half-closed eyes searched about, his bronzed face was without

movement--those strings which moved his lips must have broken! There

was no smile now. His fair whiskers hung down and seemed to lengthen

his face.

The gait of this dandy had an air of painful caution--each step

might lead to disaster. If it did not fall on him, it might await

her who would soon follow him. There were sparkling eyes all round and

many sharp ones, but no one whom he feared. He was taller than the

women; he could see for a good distance, and he looked from side to

side--nothing!

He had just put his foot on the first step when the tall sailor stepped

forward:

"Ane Marja sends you her compliments."

Those who stood nearer heard it; some who were further away saw the

movement.

"Did he say something? What's he say?"

Sibilations whistled across; to those who were furthest away it sounded

like es-s-s-s-s-s-s-s all round the church.

Fuerst stood still: his eyes contracted as though fine dust had been

thrown into his face; his gloved hand sought for his handkerchief, from

which scent was wafted; he blew his nose and walked on, his friends

following him. Within it seemed dark after the bright sunshine outside,

but in the darkness were eyes, women's eyes!

Here sat Tora's friends. He knew every one in the town by sight, and

picked them out one by one. They sat quite in front, excited, restless,

threatening. There must be something after all. The great church bell

began to ring at that moment, and the bride's carriage was seen at the

end of the market-place. What would happen now?

Nora, Tinka, and Anna Rogne were on Fuerst's left as he walked up to the

chancel. He glanced involuntarily to the opposite side; the first seat

was vacant. Every one in the chancel rose as the bridegroom appeared.

There was a stir outside, not merely because the bride's carriage had

arrived followed by those of the bridesmaids and Fru Wingaard, but

because the coachman in grey livery wanted to drive up to the church

door, which seemed impossible. Those in front pressed back to make

room, but those behind declined to be pushed against, and exerted their

strength, till several people were forced up against the carriage

windows. Shrieks, angry words, and orders ensued, and alarm inside the

carriages. Engel put his head out of the window, but no one listened to

him, and he got out of the carriage. The police were at hand, and

eagerly cleared a way for the wealthy magnate, while the bride

alighted, as did the bridesmaids; they arranged themselves and walked

forward, not where the others had passed; the crowd made way for them

in all directions.

Her red-gold hair crowned with myrtle, the bride resembled the most

exquisite work of an English Academician. The lines of her face were

regular and of an English type, the colouring soft, the skin very

white; the shoulders rather sloping, beautiful--the figure that of a

soft delicate young girl.

She walked forward with her head bent, not looking at any one, her hand

resting lightly on her father's arm; just below the level of his order

of St. Olaf could be seen her diamond ornament, though only by those

just before or above them. An old-fashioned brooch, a valuable one,

which was recognised as having been a favourite of her mother, secured

the flowers in front of her dress. A puff of wind raised her veil just

as they came up the steps; it streamed out into the face of the sailor,

but did not touch it; a delicate perfume was spread in all directions.

How relieved Engel felt as he stood inside the door! That had been the

worst journey he had ever made in his life. Still he had not hurried;

unobtrusive, quiet, benign, he had walked forward; he kept his eye

fixed on one point--was that the needle's eye which must be passed

through?

His handsome regular features looked as though they had never been

disturbed by any idea inconsistent with honourable habits, or the good

counsel of elders and superiors--nay, as though he had never had

knowledge of such things. His had always been a God-fearing house;

three generations had endowed charities. The very perfume which now

hung round them might well have come from Palestine.

And after all there had been no danger. "We are in church now." The

organ pealed under the powerful touch of the drunken Swabian; its full

accords blended with Engel's thoughts, and seemed to restore him to

himself.

No delight can compare with that of an evenly balanced nature, which,

having believed itself in danger, discovers that that danger has been a

delusion. This feeling of delight does not spring violently into being,

it does not throb, but spreads through the whole man with a soft

perfect sense of enjoyment. It resembles the delight of recovery of a

good digestion, the smiling view, the delightful odour of some coveted

object to which he may now draw near. He raised his face, bearing its

best expression, towards the pulpit, calmly receiving all the glances

which were directed towards him. He suspected that he was envied, and

that tickled him.

What a future lay before them! Just then the bride's hand trembled; he

withdrew his eyes quickly from the pulpit. Milla was deadly white, and

could not, or would not advance. What was it?

Nora, Tinka, Anna Rogne, and several others were sitting quite in

front, just where they must pass. Could there be anything terrifying in

that? Every face bore an expression of mingled excitement and

mischievous delight, all, all of them, in whatever direction he looked;

it infected him as well. What was it? Involuntarily his eyes sought the

chancel--if they were but there! There they would be in peace. But all

in the chancel were on their feet; they stood amazed, staring down into

the body of the church, not to his side, but to the opposite one. At

the same moment his daughter gave a sharp cry and staggered backwards,

dragging him with her.

Into the pew furthest from them on the right, through the vestry, and

therefore from across the chancel, came Pastor Vangen; after him, Tora

Holm, with something in her arms; then Miss Hall, then Rendalen. In

this order they were just seating themselves as the bridal procession

entered the door.

Tora had a double black veil over her face and over what she held in

her arms, and this had been securely fastened so that it was only when

Miss Hall had helped her that she was able to turn with her face

uncovered, and with her child in her arms, towards her who was now

advancing.

A storm of anger, reprobation, threats seemed to rise to the very roof,

the excitement mingling with the roll of the organ. Milla was almost

dragged forward. She came into the chancel little more than a white

silk dress among all the other dresses.

A rustle, a stir! Heads, hands, eyes, bouquets seemed to whirl before

her, so that she could not extricate herself, nor find her own seat,

her own bouquet, her own handkerchief. Every one crowded round with

offers of help, with eau de Cologne, and general disturbance. The last

to come was the big red-faced man with the large moustache and the

decorations; he tried to force her own bouquet on her, of which she

could not endure the scent. When at last she was free and could draw a

breath, she burst into tears. She drew her veil forward. Milla pitied

herself so: what a dreadful thing it was that they had done; she felt

furious, perfectly furious.

Consul Engel received her first glance. It came on him, following all

that he had already gone through, like the last dram which deprives a

man of consciousness. He began to wonder with a strange delirious

feeling why his trousers felt so thin. Was it really so?

The elegant Fuerst sat beside him, holding his hat first in one hand,

then in the other, and crossing and uncrossing his legs. It was on

account of _him_ that all this had happened, and the budding politician

was not yet sufficiently accomplished to be able to sit still while he

was flayed, cut up, and put in the pot.

Doesen, who was close behind him, pulled the ends of his fair moustache

with his white-gloved hands--now left, now right--harder, and harder,

and harder. He was marvellously industrious over it. The people in the

body of the church saw this white hand moving about under his nose, and

thought that he was playing some trick, or making signs to some one,

but, they could not find out to whom. The grand folk felt the

embarrassment of the situation to be most distressing, but, all the

same, they wanted to get a look at the woman with the child--she was so

devilish handsome, so foreign-looking. They strained their necks, they

craned forward; Consul Bernick himself made his neck as long and

distorted as that of a cockerel when it is learning to crow.

To the rest of these mishaps was added the Dean's non-appearance. The

vergers went in and out, in and out, with all the solemnity of intense

stupidity.

The organist's playing showed signs of impatience.

It seemed to him that it was rather long before Dean Green came and he

would be able to begin the hymn. He had exhausted the pompous style

long ago; he now turned to the sentimental, its direct opposite--from

the clear notes of the shepherd's pipe to the most impossible chirping

of a chicken. His fancy indubitably wandered among all the little ones

who were to spring from this marriage; he chased them with his fingers

saying hush, hush, to them in the treble.

At last Engel had recovered himself so far that he began to realise the

difference between the delicate and the coarse, between well-bred and

ill-bred individuals; to the latter he knew that nothing was so

delightful as scandal, but this was something altogether unheard of. It

needed a Kurt to have thought of this, to have created such a maddening

scene. His handkerchief was wet already, his white gloves were almost

grey. As he fanned himself and wiped away the perspiration, he glanced

anxiously at Milla. She hated him! He prayed to God. Yes, Consul Emil

Engel prayed fervently to God that their sins might not be visited upon

this poor innocent girl! They had deceived her, truly, but with the

best intentions in the world. God knew how true this was. But who could

have anticipated that so mad a thing should have been attempted as to

dishonour the sacred edifice.

Engel did not swear as a rule, he was too refined a man for that, but

almost simultaneously with his heartfelt communion with God, he desired

with his whole heart that the devil might take the lot of them.

He had recourse to his wet handkerchief again. At the same time the

thought was in Milla's mind, "Shall I go?"

Engel saw it in her eyes, in the way she moved on her chair. Fuerst saw

it also. Both felt it like a million electric shocks: but they could

not give up their last hope that Milla was too well-bred to increase

the scandal. Engel felt that, even if she remained, he should be, from

this time forward, a broken, discredited man; Fuerst felt that if only

Milla would go with him before the altar, a career would still be open

to him.

But still the Dean did not come! All thoughts centred on this; it

became intensely painful. All eyes were fixed on the vestry door. Was

he ill, or feigning to be so, so as not to come? Where was the deacon,

then? Make him come! Why did not Karl Vangen move? The women in the

chancel who had not got over the first fright (there were some who had

been obliged to grasp the seats of their chairs to prevent themselves

from trembling) were now made really ill by this fresh strain; several

began to cry. "Yes," thought Milla; "I am to be pitied, dreadfully to

be pitied! Oh, if mother had lived!" And she cried bitterly. Every one

had conspired against her, who had done nothing. Would old Green now

let her sit there so miserably on the stool of repentance before all

these horrid, horrid people!

She thus lost sight of the first and important question, and was so

tossed about by the feeling of desolation that, when the Dean did at

length appear, she felt it consolation, a reward from Heaven.

But if she had not, even for a moment, got sufficiently away from

herself to feel why this had been done, those had, who sat below the

chancel. Not only those who were in the secret, who were few in number,

not only their sympathisers who were numerous; no, every woman felt

that it would be shocking, if, after what had occurred, Milla could or

would go on. Even it she had been dragged up there--why did she not

rise, why did she not leave them? They expected her to do so from one

moment to another, but Milla remained seated. Could such a thing be

possible, after such a strong appeal to her conscience? Every good

woman, who is unfettered, involuntarily takes the part of the weak, of

the one who has been wronged. The minds of those in the church were

agitated like the waves of the sea. The stir became greater and

greater. Was it credible that she would go to the altar with the

wretch? Shame on those around her who could countenance such a thing.

Every one stared at the altar. Was not old Green coming? He must have

had scruples at the last moment about giving them the blessing of the

Church. Karl Vangen would never have done so. He was with her who was

betrayed and deceived. He was so simple-minded that he believed that

the Church's place was there. The grateful glances which his broad face

attracted during these few moments would have gilded the vaulted roofs

of several churches, or thousands of hymn-books and Bibles. At length

they saw by the stir in the chancel that old Green had come at last.

Really and truly!

Very slowly and feebly he came, very feeble indeed he looked. "A

thorough ecclesiastical compromise," it was whispered about. Just as he

reached the altar, the hymn began. All those in the chancel joined in

it. In their zeal, their relief, their gratitude to Providence, they

all sang; the bridegroom, Engel, the General and the Consul-General,

Bernick, Doesen, Riis, the celebrities, the Sheriff, all sang of the

first bride who was brought by God himself to the first bridegroom. Not

one of them believed it, but they sang so that it was a sin that the

organ overpowered them, for such singing of hymns ought to be heard.

Their wives' trebles chimed in; they were so startled that they could

not find the hymn, but they all knew it by heart. The one who was the

quickest to join in, and who sang the loudest in praise of marriage,

was Fru Garman.

Except these and the clerk, no one in the whole church joined in the

singing. The stir became so great and so general that a number could

not remain sitting, they stood up; those behind them wanted to see, and

stood up also. But Tora rose before anyone of them. What those around

her had felt, and were feeling with all its violence, was as nothing to

what she experienced, for when deeply moved she showed herself her

mother's daughter. The journey here had worked her up to a state of

excitement, which her constitution could hardly bear.

If for no other reason, still for her own sake, Milla must be prevented

from marrying the wretch. For this it was necessary that Tora should

show herself, she and her child; everything else might fail, but this

would force Milla to pause--she knew her!

This could only be done if Tora had the will and the courage for it.

And she had, for her friends had the will and courage to be with her.

It did not merely concern herself, it concerned the school, Milla, a

great cause; it concerned thousands!

No one, least of all herself, had had the slightest doubt but that to

stand up with her child in her arms before the bride, would be

sufficient. From the moment that Milla had burst into tears in the

chancel, but still remained in her place, until now, when old Green had

come, Tora's excitement had increased to such an extent that those

nearest to her were alarmed; it could be observed as well from the seat

opposite. They knew now that something must be done, upon which neither

they nor she had reckoned, before their object could be attained. Tora

was Tora, and would be true to herself.

Fuerst was already at the altar, accompanied by Consul Wingaard;

Engel had walked carefully across the carpet to lead his daughter

forward. She rose and allowed the bridesmaids to arrange her train and

veil--when Tora sprang forward from her seat.

Every one in the chancel was looking at the bride, who gave her hand to

her father and turned with him towards the altar. They did not see Tora

come up the steps. There was a sound behind them like the breaking of a

wave, and at the same moment something black passed quickly by. The

ladies shrieked, the gentlemen grew rigid with dismay. Those at the

altar turned round; Engel staggered backwards; Tora stood between him

and his daughter.

"Do you wish me to lay the child down before you, Milla? Will you have

it to kneel on?"

"No! No!" cried Milla in horror. She turned, and with her hands before

her she flew from the chancel, her veil streaming behind her.

Every one had risen. Tora had hastened at once to the vestry--she felt

that now her strength was exhausted--Miss Hall followed her there.

But when Milla had left the chancel, she did not know where to fly to;

some one ought to come to her, to be with her--her womanly instinct

told her that. She turned and looked round bewildered. The vestry door

was opened, a harsh cry was heard from it for just so long as was

needed for the opening and shutting of a door; but it was enough. Milla

began to cry too. An arm was put round her waist, she was led from the

church; it was Nora. From the moment that Milla had yielded, all

resentment was over, all anger vanished. Indeed, it was so with most of

them. Rendalen was quickly at her side, and then went on before them to

make way.

The organist, who had not seen what had gone before, but who, after the

first hymn, had expected to hear the words of the service, rose when

the movement became general. What was it? He saw the bride out in the

aisle, the others still in the chancel, the whole congregation standing

up. "_Aber das war kurios! Wird's nichts daraus? Ho--ho! Ich hab' meine

zwei tausend_."

And he began to play the organ. They tried to stop him, but he

answered, "What haf they don with the brite? The music shall do her

goot."

Hardly had the bellringers heard the organ before they thought, "Now

they are married," and began to ring the bells. Hardly had those on

board the saluting vessel heard the bells before the guns began to

thunder. They were to continue firing until the bride's carriage drew

up at the door of the house, and as they could not see this from the

ship, a signal was to be made to them. In the general confusion this

was forgotten, so on they went--bang, bang, bang! It seemed to them at

last that they had fired a great many rounds, but that was other

people's affair, so they thundered away as long as they had any powder;

for they also had been drinking considerably.

All this caused great amusement. The affair changed from the sublime to

the ridiculous. First among the crowd who left the church amid the

pealing of the organ, the clash of the bells, the thunder of the

cannon; their laughter was taken up in increasing measure by those in

the market-place, and from there it spread over the whole town. In the

memory of man there had not been so much laughter at one time as now

resounded from the river banks to the most remote houses on the

mountain, or out on the Point. The country people went laughing home

amid the roar of the cannon, and wherever they came there was laughter.

A gala day in town and harbour. Thunder of cannon and flutter of flags,

flags and cannon--and laughter!

At first the bridal party looked at each other with horror; by ones and

twos they made their way out of the church, but the laughter outside

was infectious; when they got home and read the _Spectator_, they

laughed too.

The Town Bailiff himself laughed!

Up the avenue walked Nora and Rendalen. The cannon thundered, and they

turned round and looked at the flags flying in the town and in the

harbour--and laughed. Karl Vangen hurried past them on his long legs;

Tora was at Niels Hansen's. She was terribly exhausted, but calm; he

was going to fetch the carriage--and off he went. No less than fifteen

girls passed them at once, going up to Fru Rendalen; another large

group was following them. They did not walk, they raced, and were

quickly past.

A little later Fru Rendalen came out on to the steps to meet her son

and Nora: they were just the opposite of every one else; they stopped

every moment. Now, just when she wanted them so much. How could they

forget her?

All at once she pulled off her spectacles and wiped them. Then put them

on slowly.

Rendalen said, as he walked along the avenue, that there had been a

great deal which was one-sided and obscure, too much of a fixed idea in

his first lecture, and that there was a great deal in his development

as well, which was but half accomplished. Still, "life is a school, and

first and foremost concerns schoolmasters." He did not say this in so

many words, he had not the least need for anything so stiff and cold.

To speak the plain truth, while they involuntarily flew the flags down

below for the success of his life's aim, he walked along here and paid

his court--to her with the "flickering" hair. It seemed to her that she

was quite unworthy, and she brushed a swarm of flies from her eyes. But

it was so absolutely impossible not to wish, and so----

They agreed about many, many, many things. The first was that if one

has confidence in a work, that confidence helps in its development; the

second was, that when there are two it goes on twice as quickly, or it

may be that the last was the first, and the first the last. They really

were not accountable.

But fifteen girls were up on the tower at once; they wanted to hoist

one flag to-day which would tell no lie, and also for a reason which

was without deception. They called down to ask leave; Rendalen was at

the foot of the steps, he laughed up to them. Nora had sprung away from

him--up the steps to Fru Rendalen. She pressed closely, oh, so closely,

to her--apparently to put her spectacles on better.

"No, no," called Rendalen up to the girls on the tower; "not

to-day--for Milla's sake, but we will do so very soon."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Pigerne Jens.]

[Footnote 2: Some parts of it have been used in the Introduction.]

[Footnote 3: Enchanting.]

[Footnote 4: Open hearth.]

[Footnote 5: Hired posting carriage.]

END OF VOL. II.