"Look, I want to show you something," said Fru Ingeborg.
It was the child in his bed--a boy, big and handsome, about a year old. He
frowned at me at first, but only for a moment. As soon as he was on his
mother's arm, he looked at me without fear.
How happy and beautiful the young mother looked! Peerless, indeed, with
her eyes full of an inscrutable graciousness she had not possessed before.
"What a fine little _man!_" I said, admiring the boy.
"I should think he was!" said the mother.
* * * * *
You get used to everything. The sea air no longer oppresses me; I can
speak without losing my breath to the woman who is now the mistress of
this house. She likes to talk, too, pouring out her words nervously, as
though it had been a long time since she last opened her mouth. What we
talked about? Well, we neither asked nor answered questions about
measuring angles or analyzing Shakespeare's grammar.
Had she ever thought her matriculation would land her up here, amid
livestock and Saturday cleaning?
Oh, that parody of an education! She had taken the first toddling steps in
a dozen sciences, but if she met someone with fully adult knowledge she
was lost. She had other things to think about now, her home and her family
and the farm. Of course there wasn't much livestock, now that Nikolai's
mother had taken half of it with her--
"Has Petra gone away?"
Married--to the schoolmaster. No, Petra hadn't wanted to stay when the
young wife took possession. One evening a strange man had come to the
house, and Petra had wanted to admit him, but Fru Ingeborg would not. She
knew who he was and wanted him to leave. So there were quarrels between
the older woman and the young one.
Petra was also dissatisfied with the young wife's work in the barn. It was
true she was not very skillful, but she was learning all the time, and
enjoyed improving her skill. She never asked questions; that, she saw,
would have been foolish, but she worked things out by herself, and kept
her eyes open when she visited neighboring farms. That didn't mean to say
she could learn everything. There were things she never learned properly
because she was not "to the manner born." Often the wives of rural
officials are from small towns, and have not learned the ways of the
country, though they must learn them in time. But they never learn them
well. They know only just enough for their daily needs. To set up a weave,
you must have grown up with the sound of the shuttle in your ears; to tend
the cattle as they should be tended, you must have helped your mother
since childhood. You can learn from others, but it will not be in your
blood.
Not everyone has a man like Nikolai to live with, either. The young wife
is very fond of her Nikolai, this sound, hearty bear who loves her in
return. Besides, Nikolai is not exacting; his wife seems to him peerless
in all she does. Of course she has taken great pains; it has left its mark
on her, too, and she is not gray for nothing. A few months ago she lost a
front tooth, too--broke it on some bird shot left in the breast of a
ptarmigan she was eating. She hardly dared look in the mirror now--didn't
recognize herself. But what did it matter as long as Nikolai....
Look what he'd brought her, this brooch, bought at the goldsmith's at the
market: wasn't it lovely? Oh, Nikolai was mad; but she would do anything
in the world for him, too. Imagine using some of the money for the horse
on a brooch! Where is he now, where's he gone to? She'll bet anything he's
stroking the mare again.
"Nikolai!" she called.
"Yes," his reply came from the stable.
She sat down again, crossing her legs. Her face had turned pink; perhaps a
thought, a memory, passed through her mind. She was suffused with
excitement and beauty. Her dress clung to her body, outlining its
contours. She began gently to stroke her knee.
"Is the child asleep?" I asked. I had to say something.
"Yes, he's asleep. And think of him!" she exclaimed. "Can you imagine
anything more wonderful? Excuse my talking like this, but.... You know
he's not a year old yet. I never knew children were such a blessing."
"Well, you see they are."
"Yes, I thought differently once; I remember that perfectly well, and you
contradicted me. Of course it was stupid of me. Children? Miracles! And
when you're old, they're the only happiness--the last happiness. I shall
have more; I shall have many of them, a whole row of them, like organ
pipes, each taller than the last. They're lovely.... But I wish I hadn't
lost my tooth; it leaves such a black gap. I really feel quite bad about
it, on Nikolai's account. I suppose a false one could be put in, but I
shouldn't dream of it. Besides, I understand it's quite dear. But I've
given up using any arts; I only wish I'd stopped earlier--I've gone on
much too long. Think of all I've missed by it: all my childhood, all my
youth. Haven't I idled away whole summers at resorts, even as a grown
woman? I needed a holiday from my school work, a rest, and immediately
turned it into sheer futility, every day a disgrace. I could cry with
regret. I should have been married ten years ago, and had my husband all
that time, and a home and many children. Now I'm already old, cheated out
of ten years of my life, with gray hair and one tooth gone--"
"Well, you've lost one tooth, but I've hardly got one left!"
No sooner had I consoled her thus than I regretted it. Why should I make
myself worse than I am? Things were bad enough anyhow. I was sick with
fury at myself, and grinned and grimaced to show her my teeth: "Here,
don't miss them, have a good look!" But I'm afraid she saw what a fool I
was making of myself; everything I did was wrong.
Then she consoled me in her turn, as people do when they can well afford
it:
"What, you old? Nonsense!"
"Have you met the schoolmaster?" I asked abruptly.
"Of course. I remember what you told me about him: a horse and a man came
riding along the road.... But he's got sense, and he's terribly stingy.
Oh, he's cunning; he borrows our harrow because ours is new and good.
They've built a house at the end of the valley, and take in
travelers--quite a big hotel, in fact, with the waitresses dressed in
national costume. Of course Nikolai and I both went to the wedding; Petra
really looked a charming and lovely bride. You mustn't think she and I are
still unfriendly; she likes me better now that I'm more competent, and
last summer they sent for me several times to interpret for some English
people and that sort of thing--at least I know how to say soap and food
and conveyance and tips in other languages!
"But I don't think I should ever have had any serious trouble with Petra
in the first place if Sophie hadn't come home--you know, the
schoolmistress in the town. She's always found plenty to criticize in me,
so I never liked her very much, I must admit. But when she came here, she
was very arrogant toward me, and lorded it over me, showing off all her
knowledge. I was busy trying to learn what I needed to know for the life
up here, and then she came along and made me look small, talking about the
Seven Years' War all the time. She was terribly learned about the Seven
Years' War, because that's what she had in her examination. And our way of
talking wasn't elegant enough for her; Nikolai used rough country
expressions sometimes, and she didn't like that. But Nikolai speaks quite
well enough, and I can't see what that fool of a sister of his has got to
put on airs for! And on top of that she came home to stay--for six months,
anyhow. She'd been engaged, so then she had to take a six months' holiday.
The baby's with Petra, with his grandmother, so he's well taken care of.
It's a boy, too, but he's hardly got any hair; mine has plenty of hair.
Well, in a way, of course, it's a pity about Sophie, because she'd used up
her legacy and her youth studying to be a schoolmistress, and then she
comes home like that. But she really was insufferable, thinking she was a
lot better than I because she hadn't been discharged, like me. So I asked
her to leave. And then they both left, Sophie and her mother. Anyhow, her
mother and I are quite reconciled.
"But you mustn't think we've had any help from her to buy the horse.
Nothing of the kind! We borrowed the money from the bank. But we'll
manage, because it's our only debt. Nikolai has made all the furniture in
here himself, the table and china cupboard and everything; we haven't
bought a thing. He's dug up the new field himself, too. And we'll be
getting more cattle; you ought to see what a handsome heifer we've got....
"Even the food wasn't good enough for Sophie. Tins saved such a lot of
trouble, she said; we ought to buy tinned food. It was enough to make you
sick to listen to her. I was just beginning to knit, too; I'd got one of
my neighbors to teach me, and I was knitting stockings for myself. But of
course Lady Sophie--well, she bought her stockings in the city. Oh, she
was charming. 'Get out!' I said to her. So they left."
Nikolai entered the room.
"Did you want me?"
"No--oh, yes, I wanted you to come upstairs with me. I need something to
hang things on in front of the fire, a clotheshorse--come along--"