declared he was going to America because he couldn’t put up with so
many relatives.
“And number nineteen and twenty, they were only fourteen and thirteen
when I last saw them.”
At that moment Fru Lagerlöf came in with her knitting, Anna appeared
with the lamp, and Mamselle Lovisa awoke.
“Thanks, thanks, dear Jungfru Anna,” said Fru Lagerlöf. “We shall never
forget this. It has been so very instructive to me and my children.”
VI
THE BRIDAL-CROWN
MAMSELLE LOVISA LAGERLÖF used to dress the brides. Not all the girls in
the parish who married came to her to be decked, only the daughters of
the best peasant families. Some years there were two or three brides,
and some none at all.
Formerly, when Mårbacka was a parsonage, it had been the duty of the
pastor’s womenfolk to deck the brides, especially those who were to be
married in the church.
Mamselle Lovisa’s mother and maternal grandmother and great-grandmother
before her had performed this same service. It was an old custom which
had been handed down.
She had inherited all the old bridal trumpery which in the course of
time had accumulated at Mårbacka. She had a large old cupboard, in a
drawer of which were treasured long strings of glass, coral, and amber
beads, a collection of tortoise-shell combs that stood up eight inches
from the head, and half-round pasteboard forms, covered either with
stiff white satin or hand-painted flowers, in use at the period when
coifs were worn. She had also a high pasteboard bridal-crown, the
points of which were covered partly with gilt paper and partly with
pink-and-green taffeta. There were wreaths of artificial roses and
yards on yards of green satin ribbon sewn with flowers of pink satin.
In the same drawer there were Jenny-Lind-ringlets, to be fastened on so
as to fall against the face, hair pins with dangle-buttons, long
ear-pendants of imitation pearls, an assortment of brass brooches,
bracelets, and shoe buckles set with glass rubies, amethysts, and
sapphires.
In the days when these things were in vogue it was a responsible and
laborious task to deck a bride. For days before the wedding the bride
dresser had to sit sewing flowered satin bands round the skirt and
sleeves of the wedding dress. Sometimes the crown had to have fresh
gilt paper and there were paper flowers to be made, and all the brass
things had to be polished till they shone like gold.
Though all the gewgaws were shoddy stuff, a peasant-bride with a high
crown and a broad flower wreath on her head, with strand on strand of
multi-colored beads hanging down from her neck, with flowered satin
sash round her waist, with a band of gay ribbon bordering her skirt,
with bangled wrists and buckled shoes, must have been the most dazzling
sight one could behold.
And it was also the most becoming array for a tall, bright-eyed,
rosy-cheeked peasant lass, whose figure had been developed by hard toil
and whose skin was tanned by sun and wind. Thus arrayed, she carried
herself with dignity and pride, as if for a space she were exalted
above her kind. To the bridegroom on the wedding day she looked a
queen, a veritable goddess of riches. She was the most gorgeous flower
in all the meadow, and to his eyes she glittered like a jewelled casket.
When Mamselle Lovisa dressed brides the old frippery was no longer in
use. Now it had to be a natty little crown of myrtle, a thin wreath,
also of myrtle, and a long white veil. Sometimes she would put a band
of red satin ribbon round the waist of a plain black dress, and lend
her brides her own gold brooch, gold bracelets, and watch and chain, to
relieve at least a little the severity of the attire.
She must indeed have sighed for the olden times, and felt that
something was lost by being so sparing with colours and ornaments, by
concealing the rugged, and sometimes rather coarse, features of the
peasant brides behind a sheer, white veil. That mode suited better the
pale delicate city maiden, who wished to appear before the bridegroom
as something ethereal and dreamlike. She conceded that this, too, was a
pretty fashion; but certainly the peasant brides would have looked much
better in the old, characteristic array.
Besides, it was difficult to procure fresh myrtle for the wreath and
crown. Mamselle Lovisa tried to raise a little myrtle herself, but
somehow it never seemed to grow for her, and the brides rarely had any
to help out with.
Once Mamselle Lovisa got into trouble. A middle-aged woman, one Kaisa
Nilsdotter, came and asked her if she would not dress her as bride. The
woman was of the poorer peasant class, while the prospective husband
was a schoolmaster. She felt that since she was making such an
advantageous marriage no less a person than Mamselle Lagerlöf should
deck her. And Mamselle Lovisa was quite willing. All she asked was that
the bride should help her find the myrtle.
“I am nearly out of myrtle,” she said, “and do not know where to
procure any.”
The woman agreed to furnish the myrtle for both crown and wreath. The
day before the wedding she sent a few twigs with leaves so blackened
and damaged they could hardly be used for a bridal-crown.
Here was a dilemma! Mamselle Lovisa stripped her own myrtles of every
bit of green; but this did not go very far. The maids ran over to see
what they could find on the neighbouring farms, and came back with only
a few poor sprigs. All the myrtle seemed to be sick that year; the
leaves were black, and dropped off if one but touched them.
It would never do to bind any green but myrtle into a bridal-crown.
Nice, fresh whortleberry is very like myrtle; but to wear a
bridal-crown of whortleberry green would be a terrible disgrace. The
bride might actually think she was not properly married.
Mamselle Lovisa laid the miserable little twigs in water to freshen
them a bit, and worked far into the night on the wreath and crown. It
looked a hopeless task, but she made the best of it. In the morning she
quietly slipped out to the woods, but returned as she had gone--empty
handed. Passing through the kitchen to her room she averred that never
had she had such difficulty trying to bind a pretty bridal-crown. The
maids felt sorry for her, and offered to run to still other cottages to
beg myrtle.
“No, thank you,” she said, “it’s too late now. The bride and groom may
be here at any moment.”
She went into her room and stuck a few more leaves into the crown and
wreath where they were the barest, then showed her work to the
housekeeper and the maids.
“How in the world did you do it, Mamselle Lovisa!” one exclaimed. “Why,
that wreath and crown are just as pretty as those you usually make,
though ’twas mostly bare sprigs and black leaves you had.”
Mamselle Lovisa then explained that she had freshened the leaves in
water, it was only smoke and dust that had blackened them.
Shortly afterwards the bridal pair arrived. The bride was decked in
Mamselle Lovisa’s room. Though no longer young, the woman had a good
and pleasing appearance. When she was all ready Mamselle Lovisa
conducted her into the parlour, that she might view herself in the
large mirror. And she was delighted.
“I never would have thought I could look that well!” she said. Then
she took out a bottle of cologne and a pretty box--gifts from the
groom. The box was filled with small candies, loaf-sugar, raisins, and
lozenges. These she passed round--first to Mamselle Lovisa, then to the
others. All had to dab themselves with a few drops of the cologne and
take a piece of candy or a raisin from the box. She looked more pleased
and happy than the young brides usually did, and every one complimented
her on her appearance.
In a few moments she and the bridegroom drove off to the parsonage to
be married, and from there to the bride’s home, to celebrate.
For a time Kaisa Nilsdotter was very happy in her married life.
Although her husband was much older than she, her respect for his
learning was so great that she took special pride in ministering to his
comfort and in making him a pleasant home. Then a rumour got afloat. It
must have been started by some person at Mårbacka; but who the author
was none could say. At all events, it travelled round the whole parish.
At last some kind friend no doubt whispered it into the ear of Kaisa
Nilsdotter.
“Mamselle Lovisa Lagerlöf bound your bridal-crown with whortleberry
green.”
At first she would not believe it. Such a thing was beyond credence.
But after a while she began to think back. Her bridal-crown had been as
pretty as anyone else’s. It had looked so fresh and green on her head.
She remembered how proud she had been because a fine Mamselle had put
it on her. But was the crown not much too green? The spring she
was married the myrtle had all been poor, she remembered, for she had
tried in vain to find some green sprays. Maybe Mamselle Lovisa had
thought it was not necessary to be so very particular with one who came
of such humble folk? She would never have dared offer a crown of
whortleberry to the daughter of a squire.
She brooded over this and talked with her husband about it. She
wondered whether they were really married, in case it was true that her
crown had been of whortleberry green.
The husband tried to reason with her, but she wept and was utterly
wretched, thinking herself disgraced and humiliated. Mamselle Lovisa
had thought she was not fine enough to be dressed by her, so she had
made her a crown of whortleberry, and now she and all the parish were
laughing at her. Her husband finally advised her to go to Mårbacka and
ask Mamselle Lovisa herself about it.
She chanced to come at a most inopportune time. There was a grand party
that day at Mårbacka, and when she stepped into the kitchen the maids
were too busy to give her more than a short how-do-you-do. She asked
for Mamselle Lovisa, who was inside with her guests, and they would not
call her out. She would have to excuse them, too, for there was such a
lot of company to serve. But, if she liked, she might step into
Mamselle Lovisa’s room, and wait there for her; which she did.
It was here the crown had been placed on her head. She remembered how
happy she was that day, and now it was hard to believe there had been
any deception.
Presently two maids passed through the room, each carrying a tray of
filled wine glasses. They left the door ajar so that she could see into
the dining room and parlour, which were full of people. It was indeed a
big party, she thought. In there were not only the gentry of Ämtervik,
but the Dean’s and the Doctor’s folk from Sunne and Pastor Hammargren
of Karlstad--the husband of Mamselle Lovisa’s sister. Feeling rather
embarrassed, she went to shut the door, when she caught a few words
that made her stop and listen.
Lieutenant Lagerlöf, with wine glass in hand, stood in the middle of
the floor announcing the betrothal of his sister Lovisa to Pastor
Milén, the clergyman at Ämtervik.
Then there was much toasting and congratulating. Everyone looked happy
and pleased, which was not surprising. Mamselle Lovisa was a woman of
forty, and her relatives had hardly expected that she would marry.
Pastor Milén was a widower with four small children who needed a
mother’s care. It was all so right and fitting.
Kaisa Nilsdotter had heard that when Mamselle Lovisa was young she
would not marry because she had not the heart to leave her parents. But
now that they were dead she wanted a home of her own. She had also
heard that Mamselle Lovisa did not care to go far from Mårbacka, and,
happily, the parsonage was but five minutes’ walk from there.
It sort of cut into Kaisa Nilsdotter that everything should go so well
for Mamselle Lovisa--she who had made a whortleberry crown for her.
Stepping back from the doorway, she saw the old housekeeper, who had
come in to hear the betrothal announcement, standing just behind her.
Kaisa Nilsdotter laid a heavy hand on the housekeeper’s shoulder.
“I came here to find out whether Mamselle Lovisa made my bridal-crown
of whortleberry green,” she said. “But maybe ’twouldn’t do to ask her
about it on a day like this?”
The housekeeper was rather startled, but she was not one to be easily
thrown off her guard.
“How can you say anything so idiotic, Kaisa!” she flouted. “Everyone in
the house knows what a lot of bother Mamselle Lovisa had with your
bridal-crown. We all ran about to every cottage around here, and begged
the myrtle.”
Kaisa stared at her as if searching her very soul to get at the truth.
“But the whole parish says so,” she declared.
The old housekeeper, whose sole thought was to pacify the woman and get
her out of the house, lest she disturb Mamselle Lovisa on this of all
days, said:
“But I tell you, Kaisa, that as sure as Mamselle Lovisa’s own
bridal-crown will be of myrtle was yours of myrtle, and of nothing
else.”
“I’ll bear those words in mind,” said Kaisa. “And when I see what
Mamselle Lovisa’s bridal-crown is bound with, then I’ll know how it was
with mine.”
“You can rest easy as to that,” the housekeeper assured her.
The two then went into the kitchen, and Kaisa, looking quite calm now,
put out her hand in farewell.
“I may as well be going,” she said. “Anyhow, I don’t suppose I could
see Mamselle Lovisa to-day to speak to.”
With that she was off. The housekeeper went back to her work, and, in
the rush and excitement, forgot about the woman. It was not till a day
or two afterward that she told Mamselle Lovisa what Kaisa Nilsdotter
had said and what she herself had replied.
Mamselle Lovisa went white as a sheet.
“Oh, Maja!” she cried, “how could you say that! It would have been
better to tell her that I put a few little sprays of whortleberry green
in her crown.”
“I had to ease her mind to get her to go,” the housekeeper explained.
“And so you said my crown would be of myrtle as surely as hers was. Now
you’ll see, Maja, there will be no bridal-crown for me!”
“Oh, you’ll be married right enough, Mamselle Lovisa. Pastor Milén is
not the man to jilt you.”
“Who knows? Something else might come up to prevent it.”
Mamselle Lovisa worried over this a few days, and then let it pass out
of mind. She had other things to think of. In six months the wedding
was to take place, and she must begin at once on the household linens
and the trousseau.
She set up looms, sewed, and worked monograms. She finally went to
Karlstad to shop, and returned with the fabric for a wedding dress and
a little wire frame of a crown, to be bound with myrtle. She did not
wish to use the old frame worn by so many brides, but wanted a
bridal-crown of her own.
But these purchases had no sooner been made than the unexpected
happened. Pastor Milén became ill and was confined to his bed a long
time. When he recovered sufficiently to be up and about he seemed
strangely changed. People noticed that he did not care to talk with his
betrothed, and never went the short distance to Mårbacka to see her.
When summer came he went away to a health resort. During his long
absence he never once wrote to Mamselle Lovisa. It was a time of
anxiety and distress for her. She inferred from his silence that he
wished to break with her, and sent him back his ring. The day this
happened she said to the old housekeeper:
“Now you see, Maja, that my bridal-crown will not be bound with myrtle,
either.”
* * * * *
One day, many years later, one of the young daughters of Lieutenant
Lagerlöf asked her Aunt Lovisa to lend her some of the old peasant
bridal things to dress up in. Mamselle Lovisa gave her the key to the
cupboard where the old treasures were kept and which had long since
been removed to the storeroom upstairs.
The young girl unlocked the cupboard and pulled out a drawer. She gazed
at the contents in astonishment. Before her lay not the usual gaudy
trumpery, but only a parcel of tulle, some coloured satin fabric, and a
little wire form of a bridal-crown. She saw at once that she had opened
the wrong drawer, the bridal things were in the next one. Just the
same, she stood a moment looking into the drawer. It wrung her heart to
think that poor, unhappy Aunt Lovisa had never come to use the things
lying there. She knew that for years her aunt had grieved in silence,
and would not be comforted. Then something came back to memory. One day
during the saddest period of her aunt’s unhappiness she had gone into
her room and had found her sitting before a heap of whortleberry green,
a little wire crown in her hand. Her aunt had cut off a few sprays and
was binding them round the crown, when Fru Lagerlöf came in.
“Why, Lovisa, whatever are you doing?” she had asked with a frightened
look on her face.
“I was thinking,” Mamselle Lovisa had said, dreamily, “that if I would
be content with a crown of whortle---- But that’s stupid!”
Then she had quickly jumped up, brushed aside the crown and the leaves,
and cried out: “I know it’s all ended.” Then pacing the floor and
wringing her hands the while, she had moaned: “There’s no help for it
now.”
“But, my dear Lovisa, it was only on account of his illness,” Fru
Lagerlöf had answered.
Mamselle Lovisa had continued to pace up and down, up and down, in
anguish and despair.
“If only I hadn’t put whortleberry in Kaisa Nilsdotter’s bridal-crown!”
she had wailed.
“Come, come, Lovisa, you mustn’t think that.” Just then Fru Lagerlöf
had caught sight of the child standing there, wide-eyed.
“Go into the other room, Selma,” she had said. “Aunt Lovisa has a
sorrow, and you children must not come here and disturb her.”
VII
“VACKERFELDT”[1]
[1] Vacker is the Swedish for pretty or handsome.
THE tinkle of a silver bell is heard from the road. Colour-Sergeant
Karl von Wachenfeldt comes driving....
Colour-Sergeant Karl von Wachenfeldt--was it not he who once on a time
was proclaimed the handsomest man in Värmland, if not in all Sweden?
Was it not he who was the idol of the Stockholm ladies the winter
season of 1820, when he visited the Capital to take some sort of
examination in land surveying? Was it not he who made up sleighing
parties and led cotillions with a dash that put all the _beaux
cavaliers_ of the _haute monde_ into the shade? Was it not he who
danced so divinely and conversed so enchantingly that his fine
relatives, who at first would not recognize the poor Värmland
under-officer, finally sent him letters of invitation, couched in the
humblest terms, because the young ladies could have no pleasure at a
ball not graced by his presence?
And was it not he who had such astounding luck at the gaming-table it
enabled him to live that winter in Stockholm like a Lieutenant of the
Guard? Was it not he, by the way, who hobnobbed with counts and barons,
and outshone them in gallantry and elegance? Was it not he who at a
private theatrical in the home of Admiral Wachtmeister played the
leading lover and sang his couplets so passionately that the next
morning he found a score of love letters in his post-box? Was not he
the first to drive through the streets of Stockholm with harness and
trappings adorned with chimes of silver bells? Was it not he who
was known to all Stockholm, so that wherever he appeared, whether
at the Royal Gardens or the Blue Gate, at the Opera or among the
moving throngs in the street, it was whispered: “Look! here comes
_Vackerfeldt._ Oh--oh, see! Here comes _Vackerfeldt!_”
Was it not he who, after his one and only memorable winter in
Stockholm, duplicated his triumphs at Karlstad and wherever else he
chanced to be? Was it not he who, with Sergeant Sellblad as companion
and Drummer Tyberg as valet, went down to Göteborg, where he passed
himself off as a Finnish baron, and for a whole fortnight spoke with a
Finnish accent, while running a gaming-house for the benefit of wealthy
merchants’ gay young sons? Was not he the only under-officer that had
ever got to dance with the haughty Countess of Apertin? And was it not
he who became so enamoured of the beautiful Mamselle Widerström, when
she sang in _La Preciosa_ at the Karlstad theatre, that he abducted her
and would have got over into Norway with her, had not her manager
happily overtaken them at Arvika? And, finally, was it not he who came
to Captain Wästfelt at Angersby as Adjutant something or other, and put
life into the young folk in Fryksdalen? Were ever such grand fair
balls, such merry Christmas feasts, such jolly crayfish parties, and
such delightful wanderings to picturesque places of interest! The
romantic wife of the Captain who lay on a couch all day reading novels,
did she not find in him the embodiment of her heroes of romance! And
her young daughters, were not their first love dreams of him?
On the neighbouring place, Mårbacka, where there was a houseful of
pretty daughters--what happened there? Could they resist a _beau
cavalier_ who manipulated the curling-tongs as skilfully as he did the
guitar, and had the nimbus of Amor shining above his fair, curled hair?
* * * * *
Colour-Sergeant von Wachenfeldt comes driving down the rocky road,
while the lone silver bell tinkles feebly and almost mournfully. In the
days of his power and glory the sixty silver bells which hung from the
harness and trappings jingled right merrily. They had, so to speak,
rung in his triumphs, had heralded the coming of a conqueror. But now
when there is only one solitary bell, it seems merely to announce the
approach of a man whose day of fortune and happiness is over.
The Colour-Sergeant rides behind his old horse, Kalle, which is so
noticeably small that everyone he meets in the road turns to look after
it. But, on the other hand, no one turns to look at the horse’s owner.
Driving past Gunnarsby Inn, he sees two young girls standing at the
well. He salutes them with a flourish of his whip, and from force of
habit gives them one of his most seductive smiles, but receives in
return an indifferent glance. The girls do not drop the well bucket in
wonder, or stand rapt with cheeks aglow, to gaze after him.
Colour-Sergeant von Wachenfeldt gives his horse a lash of the whip. He
is no fool. He knows that his hair is gray and his face full of
wrinkles, that his moustache is thin and faded, that one eye is filmed
with a gray cataract, while the other, having been operated upon, is
distorted by a magnifying monocle. He knows that he is old and nothing
to look at now; yet he feels that people should not entirely forget
what he once was. True, he has no better home nowadays than two hired
rooms at a farmhouse in Stor Kil Parish. His only possessions are a
horse, a carriole, a sleigh, and a few pieces of furniture, and his
only subordinate is a crotchety old serving woman. For all that, he
thinks it should not be completely forgotten that once he was
_Vackerfeldt_, the celebrated _Vackerfeldt._
He sits there in a mangy old fur coat and a still shabbier seal-skin
cap. He wears thick lynx mittens to protect his gouty hands, but
the distorted joints are noticeable even through the thick mittens.
Nevertheless it is he, Wachenfeldt--he who has held so many beautiful
women in his arms! The memory of that none can take from him. Who else
in these parts has lived such a life and been so adored?
Pressing his lips together he tells himself he has nothing to regret.
If he could live his life over again he would have it the same. All
that youth and health and good looks can give a man he has
enjoyed--love and adventure in fullest measure.
One thing perhaps Colour-Sergeant von Wachenfeldt wishes he had left
undone. He should not have married Anna Lagerlöf, the noblest woman he
had ever known. He had loved her madly, but he never should have
espoused her.
Was it fitting that a _Vackerfeldt_ should settle down to the prudent
management of a farm and not try to harvest gold in some easier and
pleasanter way? If his wife was adorable, must he needs think her the
only adorable one? Could he change his nature by marrying? Was it not
through his success as gambler and lover he had won his fame?
Yes, he regrets his marriage. His wife was not suited to him, but he
concedes that she was too good for him. She had wanted orderliness,
industry, tranquillity, and comfort, and had worn herself out trying to
make a home for them, such as she had had at Mårbacka.