Another of those who had been at the ball, steamed about the same time
across the Atlantic. This was Hjalmar Olsen.
His ship experienced a continuous northwesterly gale, and the harder
it blew, the more grog he drank; but as he did so he was astonished to
find that a memory of the ball constantly rose before him--the little
rosy red one; the girl with the plait. Hjalmar Olsen was of opinion
that he had conducted himself in a very gentleman-like manner towards
her. At first this did not very much occupy his thoughts; he had been
twice engaged already, and each time it had been broken off. If he
engaged himself a third time he must marry at once. He had formed this
determination often before, but he did not really think very
seriously about it.
A steamer is not many days between ports, and at each there is plenty
of amusement. He went to New York, from there to New Orleans, thence
to Brazil and back, once again to Brazil, finally returning direct to
England and Norway. But often during the voyage, and especially over a
glass of punch, he recalled the girl with the plait. How she had
looked at him. It did him good only to think of it. He was not very
fond of letter-writing, or perhaps he would have written to her. But
when he arrived at Christiania, and heard from a friend that her
mother was dying, he thought at once: "I shall certainly go and see
her; she will think it very good of me, if I do so just now."
Two days later he was sitting before her in the parlour of the little
house near the hotel and market-place. His large hands, black with
hair and sunburn, stroked his knees as he stooped smilingly forward
and asked if she would have him.
She sat lower than he did; her full figure and plump arms were set
off by a brown dress, which he stared down on when he did not look
into her pale face. She felt each movement of his eyes. She had come
from the other room, and from thoughts of death; she heard a little
cuckoo clock upstairs announce that it was seven o'clock, and the
little thing reminded her of all that was now past. One thing with
another made her turn from him with tears in her eyes as she said, "I
cannot possibly think of such things how." She rose and walked towards
her flowers in the window.
He was obliged to rise also. "Perhaps she will answer me presently,"
he thought; and this belief gave him words, awkward perhaps, but
fairly plain.
She only shook her head and did not look up.
He walked off in a rage, and when he turned and looked at the house
again--the little doll's house--he longed to throw it bodily into the
sea.
He spent the evening, while waiting for the steamer to Christiania,
with Peter Klausson and a few friends, and it was not long before
they discovered on what errand he had been, and how he had sped. They
knew, too, how he had fared on former occasions. The amount which
Hjalmar Olsen drank was in proportion to his chagrin; and the next
morning he awoke on board the steamer in a deplorable condition.
Not long afterwards Ella received a well-written letter of excuse, in
which he explained that his coming at that time had been well meant,
and that it was only when he was there that he realised how foolish it
had been. She must not be vexed with him for it. In the course of a
month she again received a letter. He hoped that she had forgiven him;
he for his part could not forget her. There was nothing more added.
Ella was pleased with both the letters. They were well expressed and
they showed constancy; but it never occurred to her for a moment that
this indirect offer could be received in any other way than before.
She had gone to Christiania in order to perfect herself in the piano
and in book-keeping. She added the latter because she had always had a
turn for arithmetic. She felt altogether unsettled. Her mother was
dead; she had inherited the house and a small fortune, and she wanted
to try and help herself. She did not associate with any one in the
strange town. She was used to dreaming and making plans without a
confidant.
From Aksel Aarö came wonderful tidings. After he had sung before a
large party in New York a wealthy old man had invited him to come and
see him, and since then they had lived together like father and son.
So the story ran in the town long before there came a letter from Aarö
himself; but when it arrived, it entirely confirmed the rumour. It was
after this that Ella received a third letter from Hjalmar Olsen. He
asked in respectful terms if she would take it amiss if he were to pay
her a visit when he came home: he knew where she was living. Before
she had arrived at a conclusion as to how she should answer, a
paragraph appeared in all the Norwegian papers, copied from the
American ones, giving an account of how Hjalmar Olsen, in the teeth of
a gale, and at the risk of his own ship, had saved the passengers and
crew of an ocean steamer, the propeller of which had been injured off
the American coast. Two steamers had passed without daring to render
assistance, the weather was so terrific. Olsen had remained by the
vessel for twenty-four hours. It was a wonderful deed which he had
done. In New York, and subsequently when he arrived in Liverpool, he
had been fêted at the Sailors' Clubs, and been presented with medals
and addresses. When he arrived in Christiania, he was received with
the highest honours. Big and burly as he was, he easily obtained the
homage of the populace: they always love large print.
In the midst of all this he sought out Ella. She had hidden herself
away; she had but a poor opinion of herself since her discomfiture. In
her imagination he had assumed almost unnatural proportions, and when
he came and took her out with him, she felt as though she had once
more exchanged the close atmosphere of the house for free air and
sunshine. She even felt something of her old self-confidence. His
feelings for her were the same; that she noticed at once, as she
studied him. He knew the forms of society, and could pay attention and
render homage with dignity; he refrained from any premature speech.
She had heard that he was prone to take a glass too much, but she saw
nothing in that. A handsome fellow, a man such as one seldom sees, a
little weather-beaten perhaps, but most sailors are the same.
Something undefined in his eyes frightened her, as did his greediness
at table. Sometimes she was startled at the vehemence of his opinions.
If only she had been at home, and could have made inquiries
beforehand! But he was to leave very soon, and had said jestingly that
the next time that he proposed, he would be betrothed and married all
at once. This plain-speaking and precipitation pleased her, not less
than his energy and authoritative manner, although she felt
frightened--frightened, and at the same time flattered, that so much
energy and authoritativeness should bow before her, and that at a time
when all paid court to him.
Then an idea, which she thought very sensible, occurred to her. She
would, in the event of an offer, impose two conditions: she must
retain the control of her own property, and never be forced to
accompany him on his voyages. In case his energy and tone of authority
should chance to become intractable a limit was thus set, and she
would, from the outset, make him comprehend that, little as she was,
she knew how to protect both herself and her possessions.
When the offer came--it was made in a box at the theatre--she had not
courage sufficient to make her stipulation. His expression filled her
with horror--for the first time. She often thought of it afterwards.
Instead of acting upon this intuitive perception, she began to
speculate on what would happen if she were again to say No! She had
accepted his friendship although she knew what was coming. The
conditions, the conditions--they should settle it! If he accepted
them, it should be as he wished, and then there could be no possible
danger. So she wrote and propounded them.
He came the next day and asked for the necessary papers, so that he
could himself arrange both about the property and the contract. He
evidently looked upon it as a matter of business, and seemed
thoroughly pleased.
Three days later they were married. It was an imposing ceremony, and
there was a large concourse; it had been announced in all the papers.
Demonstrations of admiration and respect followed, much parade and
many speeches, mingled with witticisms over his size and her
smallness. This lasted from five in the evening till after midnight,
in rather mixed company. As time wore on, and the champagne
continually flowed, many of the guests became boisterous and somewhat
intrusive, and among them the bridegroom.
The next morning, at seven o'clock, Ella sat dressed and alone, in a
room next to their bedroom, the door of which stood open. From it she
could hear her husband's snores. She sat there still and deadly pale,
without tears and without feeling. She divided the occurrences into
two--what had happened and what had been said; what had been said and
what had happened: she did not know which was the worst. This man's
longing had been inflamed by deadly hate. From the time that she had
said No! he had made it the object of his life to force her to say
Yes! He told her that she should pay for having nearly made him
ridiculous a third time. She should pay for it all--she, who had dared
to make insulting conditions. He would break the neck of her
conditions like a shrimp. Let her try to refuse to go on board with
him, or attempt to control anything herself.
Then that which had happened. A fly caught in a spider's web, that was
what she thought of.
But had she not experienced such a feeling once before? O God, the
night of the ball! She had a vague feeling that that night had
fore-doomed her to this; but she could not make it clear to herself.
On the other hand, she asked herself if what we fail in has not a
greater influence on our lives than that which we succeed in.
Three or four hours after this, Hjalmar Olsen sat at the
breakfast-table; he was dull and silent, but perfectly polite, as
though nothing had happened. Perhaps he had been too drunk to be quite
accountable, or it might be that his politeness was calculated with
the hope of inducing her to come with him and visit his ship. He asked
her to do so, as he left the table, but neither promises nor threats
could induce her to go on board even for the shortest time. Her terror
saved her.
Some months later an announcement appeared in the papers that she
wished to take pupils both for the piano and book-keeping. She was
once more living in her own little house in her native town. She was
at this time enciente.
One day an old friend of Aksel Aarö's came to see her; he was to
remember Aarö very kindly to her, and to congratulate her on her
marriage. She controlled her rising emotion, and asked quietly how he
was getting on. Most wonderfully; he was still living with the same
old man, to whom, by degrees, he had entirely devoted himself. This
was the very thing for Aarö: it suited him to devote himself
completely to one person. He had gone through a course of treatment
for his inherited failing and believed himself to be cured.
"And how is Fru Holmbo?" asked Ella. She was frightened when she had
said it, but she felt an intense bitterness which would break out. She
had noticed how thin and pale Fru Holmbo looked--she evidently missed
Aarö, and that was too much!
The friend smiled: "Oh! have you heard that silly rumour? No, Aksel
Aarö was only the medium between her and the man to whom she was
secretly attached. The two friends had lived together abroad. Some
months ago there had been a talk about a business journey to
Copenhagen, and Fru Holmbo went there also. But there had undoubtedly
been something between them for a long time."
That night Ella wept for a long time before she fell asleep. She lay
and stroked her plait, which she had drawn on to her bosom. She had
often thought of cutting it off, but it was still there.