Two years later, in the course of the winter, Ella was coming quickly
up from the ice with her skates in her hand. She wore her new
tight-fitting jacket for the first time; in fact, it was principally
this jacket which had tempted her out. The plait hung jauntily down
from under her grey cap. It was longer and thicker than ever; it
throve wonderfully.
As usual, she went round by "Andresen's at the corner." To see the
house was enough. Just as her eyes rested on it, Aksel Aarö appeared
in the doorway. He came slowly down the steps. He was at home again!
His fair beard lay on the dark fur of his coat, a fur cap covered his
low forehead and came down almost to his eyes; those large, attractive
eyes. They looked at one another; they had to meet and pass; he
smiled as he raised his cap, and she--stood still and curtseyed, like
a schoolgirl in a short frock. For two years she had not dropped a
curtsey, or done otherwise than bow like a grown-up person. Short
people are most particular about this privilege; but to him, before
whom she specially wished to appear grown-up, she had stood still and
curtseyed as when he had last seen her. Occupied by this mishap she
rushed into another. She said to herself, "Do not look round, keep
yourself stiff, do not look round; do you hear?" But at the corner,
just as she was turning away from him, she did look back for all that,
and saw him do the same. From that moment there were no other people,
no houses, no time or place. She did not know how she got home, or why
she lay crying on her bed, with her face in the pillow.
A fortnight later, there was a large party at the club, in honour of
Aksel Aarö. Every one wished to be there, every one wished to bid
their popular friend welcome home. He had been greatly missed. They
had heard from Hull how indispensable he had by degrees become in
society there. If his voice had had a greater compass--it did not
comprise a large range of notes--he would have obtained an engagement
at Her Majesty's Theatre; so it was said over there. At this ball, the
Choral Society--his old Choral Society--would again sing with him.
Ella was there; she came too early--only four people before her. She
trembled with expectancy in the empty rooms and passages, but more
especially in the hall where she had made "a spectacle of herself."
She wore a red ball-dress, without any ornaments or flowers; this was
by her mother's wish. She feared that she had betrayed herself by
coming so early, and remained alone in a side room; she did not appear
until the rooms had been fully lighted, and the perfume, the buzz of
voices, and the tuning of instruments lured her in. Ella was so short,
that when she came into the crowd, she had not seen Aksel Aarö when
she heard several whispers of "There he is," and some one added, "He
is coming towards us." It was Fru Holmbo for whom he was looking, and
to whom he bowed; but just behind her stood Ella. When she felt that
she was discovered, the bud blushed rosier than its calyx. He left Fru
Holmbo at once.
"Good evening," he said very softly, holding out his hand, which Ella
took without looking up. "Good evening," he said again, still more
softly, and drew nearer.
She was aware of a gentle pressure and had to raise her eyes. They
conveyed a bashful message half confident, half timid. It was a rapid
glance, by which no one was enlightened or scandalised. He looked down
at her, while he stroked his beard, but either because he had nothing
more to say--he was not talkative--or that he could not say what he
wished; he became absolutely silent. In the quiet way which was
peculiar to him he turned and left her. He was on at once by his
friends, and for the rest of the evening she only saw him now and
again, and always at a distance.
He did not dance, but she did. Everybody said how "sweet" she was (it
was said with all respect); and that evening she really did beam with
happiness. In whatever part of the room Aksel Aarö chanced to be, she
felt conscious of his presence, felt a secret delight in whirling past
him. His eyes followed her, his nearness made all and everything
resplendent.
Standing in the doorway was a heavy, sturdy fellow, who had
constituted himself the critic of the assemblage. He appeared to be
between thirty and forty; nearer the latter; he had a weather-beaten,
coarsely-moulded, but spirited face, black hair, and hazel eyes; his
figure approached the gigantic. Every one in the room knew him;
Hjalmar Olsen, the fearless commander of one of the largest steamers.
He scanned the dancers as they passed him, but gave the palm to the
little one in the red dress; she was the pleasantest to look at: not
only was she a fine girl, but her buoyant happiness seemed to infect
him. When Aksel Aarö approached, Hjalmar Olsen received a share of the
love glances which streamed from her eyes. She danced every dance.
Hjalmar Olsen was tall enough to catch glimpses of her in all parts of
the room. She also noticed him; he soon became a lighthouse in her
voyage, but a lighthouse which interested itself in the ships. Thus he
now felt that she was in danger so near to Peter Klausson's waistcoat.
He knew Peter Klausson.
Her tiny feet tripped a waltz, while the plait kept up an accompanying
polka. Certainly Peter Klausson did press her too close to his
waistcoat!
Olsen therefore sought her out as soon as the waltz was over, but it
was not so easy to secure a dance; a waltz was the first one for which
she was free, and she gave him that. Just as this was arranged, every
one pressed towards the platform, on which the Choral Society now
appeared. Ella felt herself hopelessly little when they all rushed
forward and packed themselves together. Hjalmar Olsen, who saw her
vain attempts to obtain a peep, offered to lift her up on to the bench
which ran along the wall, by which they were standing. She dare not
agree to this, but he saw that others were mounting the bench, and
before she could prevent it, she was up there too. Almost at the same
moment Aksel Aarö came in among his companions and was received with
the most energetic hand-clapping by all his friends--men as well as
women. He bowed politely though somewhat coldly, but the expressions
of welcome did not cease until his companions drew back a little,
while he came forward. First of all, the Society gave one of its older
songs. He kept his voice on a level with the others, which was
considered in very good taste. After this the conductor took his seat
at the piano, to accompany a song which Aarö wished to give alone. The
song was a composition of Selmer and much in fashion at the capital.
It could be sung by men as well as women, only in the last verse _her_
had to be substituted for _his_. Here it had never been heard before.
During the first song Aarö had searched the room with his eyes, and,
from the moment when he discovered where Ella stood, he had kept them
fixed there. Now he placed himself near the piano, and during the song
he continued to look in her direction. As he sang, his melancholy eyes
lighted up; his figure grew plastic.
I sing to one, to only one
Of all the listening throng;
To one alone is fully known
The meaning of my song.
Lend power, ye listeners, to each word.
But for that only one
Who in me woke sweet music's chord
My song had ne'er been sung.
Though deviously the path may run,
Passing through all hearts here,
Yet still is it the only one
Which to one heart is near.
Strengthen, oh, loving hearts, my song,
So that it still may swell
Through all love's choir; the only one
That in her heart may dwell.
His voice was captivating; no one had ever listened to such a
love-message. This time many beside Ella had tears in their eyes.
When the song ended, they all remained waiting for some moments, as
though expecting another verse; and there was a short silence, but
then applause broke forth such as had never been heard. They wanted to
have the song again, but no one had yet known Aksel Aarö to sing
anything twice running; so they relinquished the idea.
Ella had never heard the song; neither words nor music. When, with his
eyes turned in her direction, he had begun to sing, she felt as though
she should fall; such unheard-of boldness she had never imagined. That
he, otherwise so considerate, should sing this across to her, so that
all could hear! White as the wall against which she leaned for
support, she suffered such anguish of mind, that she looked round for
help. Immediately behind her, on the same bench, stood Fru Holmbo,
magnetised, beautiful as a statue. She no more saw Ella's distress
than she did the clock in the market-place. This absolute indifference
calmed her, she recovered her self-possession. The neighbourhood of
the others, which had been so terrible to her, was of no consequence,
so long as they did not perceive anything. She could listen now
without distress. More covertly, more charmingly, he could not have
spoken, notwithstanding that every one heard it. If only he had not
looked at her! If only she had been able to hide herself!
As soon as the last notes ceased, she jumped down from the bench.
Among all the shoulders her shyness returned--her happy dream, her
secret in its bridal attire. What was it that had happened? What would
happen next? All round her were sparkling eyes, applauding voices,
clapping hands--was it not as though they lighted torches in his
honour, paid him homage--was not all this in her honour as well?
Dancing began again at once, and off she went. Off as though all were
done for her, or as though she were the "only one!" Her partners
tried, one after another, to talk to her, but in vain. She only
laughed, laughed in their faces, as though they were mad, and she
alone understood the state of the case.
She danced, beamed, laughed, from one partner to another. So when
Olsen got his waltz it was as though he were received with a score of
fresh bouquets and a "Long live Hjalmar Olsen!" He was more than
flattered. When she laid her white arm on his black coat he felt that
at the bottom he was as unworthy as Peter Klausson. He certainly would
not sully her, he held her punctiliously away from him. When he
fancied that she was laughing, and wished to see the little creature's
merry face, down there near his waistcoat, and in the endeavour to do
so, thought that he had been indiscreet, Hjalmar Olsen felt ashamed of
himself, and danced on with his eyes staring straight before him, like
a sleep-walker. He danced on in a dream of self-satisfaction and
transport. Ella tried now and then to touch the floor; she wished to
have at least some certainty that she was keeping time. Impossible! He
took charge at once, of himself, her dance and his, her time and his,
she never got near the floor without an effort, all the rest was an
aerial flight. He could hear her laughing and was pleased that she
was enjoying it, but he did not look at her. Those with whom he came
into collision were less pleased, which was _their_ affair. He was
greatly put out when the music ceased; they were only just getting
into swing, but he was obliged to put her down at the compulsory
stopping-place.
Shortly afterwards there was some more singing, first by the Society
alone, then they and Aarö together sang Grieg's "Landfall." Finally,
Aarö sang to a piano accompaniment. This time Ella had hidden herself
among those at the back, but as they constantly pressed forward she
remained standing alone. This exactly suited her; she saw him, but he
did not see her, nor even look towards the place where she was
standing.
She had never heard this song, did not even know that it existed,
although when the first words were heard it was evident that it was
known to the others. Of course she knew that each word and note were
his, but as he had before chosen a story which would only reach the
one to whom he wished to sing, she did not doubt that it was the same
now. The first words, "My young love's veiled," could there be a truer
picture of concealed love? Once more it was for her! That the veil
should be lifted but for him and dropped as soon as any one else could
see. Was not that as it must be between them? That love's secrecy is
like a sacred place, that in it is hidden earth's highest happiness.
She trembled as she recognised it. The music swept the words over her
like ice-cold water, this perfect comprehension made her shiver, with
fear and joy at the same time. No one saw her, that was her safeguard.
She dreaded every fresh word before it came, and each one again made
her shiver. With her arms pressed against her breast, her head bowed
over her hands, she stood and trembled as though waves surged over
her. And when the second verse came with the line, "The greatest joy
this world can give," and especially when it was repeated, her tears
would well forth, as they had done once before. She checked them with
all her might, but remembering how little it had helped her then, her
powers of resistance gave way, she was almost sobbing when the very
word was used in the song. The coincidence was too superb, it swept
all emotion aside, she could have laughed aloud instead. She was sure
of everything, everything now. It thus happened that the last line in
its literal sense, in its jubilant sympathy, came to her like a flash
of lightning, like the stab of a knife. The song ran thus:
My young love's veiled to all but me,
No eyes save mine those eyes may see,
Which, while to others all unknown,
Command, melt, beam for me alone.
Down falls the veil, would others see.
In every good, where two are one,
A twofold holiness doth reign;
The greatest joy this world can give
Is when earth's long desires shall live,
When two as soul to soul are born again.
Why must my love then veiled be?
Why sobs she piteous, silently,
As though her heart must break for love?
Because that veil from pain is wove,
And all our joy in yearning need we see.
Startling, deafening applause! They must, they would have the song
again, this time Aarö's haughty opposition should be useless; but he
would not give way, and at last some of the audience gave up the
attempt, though others continued insistent.
During this interval several ladies escaped out of the crowd: they
passed near Ella.
"Did you see Fru Holmbo, how she hid herself and cried?"
"Yes, but did you see her during the first song? Up on the bench? It
was to her that he was singing the whole time."
Not long afterwards--it might have been about two in the morning--a
little cloaked figure flew along the streets. By her hood and wraps
the watchman judged that she must be one of the ladies from the ball.
They generally had some one with them, but the ball was not over yet.
Something had evidently happened; she was going so quickly too.
It was Ella. She passed near the deserted Town Hall, which was now
used as a warehouse. The outer walls still remained, but the beautiful
interior wood-work had been sold and removed. That is how it is with
me, thought Ella. She flew along as fast as she could, onward to
sleepless nights and joyless days.
In the course of the morning Aksel Aarö was carried home by his
companions, dead drunk. By some it was maintained that he had
swallowed a tumbler of whisky in the belief that it was beer; others
said that he was a "bout drinker." He had long been so but had
concealed it. Those are called "bout-drinkers" who at long intervals
seem impelled to drink. His father had been so before him.
A few days later Aksel Aarö went quietly off to America.