Josephine left the town, she took her boy with her to the west-country,
to have some sea-bathing; the minister was soon to follow them, he had
not had a holiday since he had taken holy orders. He had come here as
curate, directly after his examination, and had so completely gained
the good-will of his congregation, that when, two years ago, the town
and country parishes were separated, the congregation voted unanimously
for him, and he got the living. He had worked very hard for about six
years; he much required a little rest. Josephine went up to her
brother's house one day when he was not at home, she announced that she
was about to travel, said good-bye, and left a greeting for her
brother.
Ragni understood at once that this journey had simply been arranged so
as to escape the necessity of introducing her into society; they would
not help to smooth her path. She did not mention it to the unsuspicious
Kallem. He soon forgot the whole affair, for he got such an amount of
work to do. As Kent wished to go abroad, Kallem would have to take both
their practices, in consideration of his having attended to the
hospital before Kallem's arrival. The third doctor who belonged to the
place was a young military surgeon, he was now at the manœuvres. His
name was Arentz; he was possessed of a remarkably broad, powerful
chest. Kallem recognized, by the accuracy of his knowledge, the very
words of the books he had studied from; at first he had great
difficulty in not calling him Niemeyer, but he admired his upright and
honorable character. When Kallem found that this life passed on
highways and streets was becoming quite unbearable to him, he thought
of asking Arentz to help him; if he wished to become an independent
man, he must arrange things very differently.
Ragni saw him gulp his food down in the middle of the day and return
home in the evening. Sometimes he sat on the veranda with her for a
while, or took a turn arm in arm in the garden, or helped her if there
was anything she was busy with; but seldom--as he had to go in to his
books. A great change took place, however, when his colleague returned;
his only thought was that of regaining lost time, so now he was a
fixture in the laboratory or office. Ragni very soon installed herself
in this sanctum; she got her own chair, her own book-shelf; in fact,
the office became the sitting-room.
They each read their own book by the hour, scarcely exchanging ten
words. He had got into a long, self-engrossing study, and had no idea
what he looked like when he, at intervals during his reading, stretched
full length on the sofa, silently gazing at her; or, as was generally
the case, stood looking out of the windows. If he did move away a few
steps, it would only be to return again at once to his old place at the
window. He declared that there was no place where he could think with
so much ease as there; this was an inheritance from his father.
He was much attached to his home, and seldom returned to it without a
grateful feeling, and went about as happy and light-hearted as a bird.
After dinner he was very fond of listening to music; but did not always
as much as remark what Ragni was playing.
But she? Each day she bound herself faster and faster to the animate
and inanimate things of her home. She again called him her "white
pasha," her piano "a fairy tale." "Now for a fairy tale!" she said,
when she felt inclined to play, and soon taught him to do the same. She
called their bed-room, "amongst the stars." The pigeons which were
given her at Whitsuntide, she called "her Whitsuntide-lilies;" Sigrid
she called "the seven-armed woman." When she and Kallem were-sitting
reading in the office, she felt as if they were out sailing, each in
their own boat, each to their own country. "Shall we go in and have a
sail?" was what she called it.
He had discovered by her letters from America how fond she was of using
figurative language: "We are each working slowly toward each other at
opposite ends of a tunnel through the world," she wrote in one of her
letters, and always kept returning to the subject of the tunnel; at
last "they had reached so near to one another that she could hear him
speak!" About the steamers, "that swim above," passing each other with
their letters, she wrote that "the desire of the one attracted the
other after it."
One evening that they were sitting on the veranda (it was raining, but
they were protected by the projecting roof), she said: "A house like
this should have a head."
"A head?"
"Yes, a head between the wings as every worthy hen has."
"Oh, that's what you mean, is it?"
"I always feel as if I were under a pair of wings, being hatched."
"Tell me how it is that you did not use biblical figures of speech in
your youth?"
"Because I had a father who taught me what the origin of everything
was from my tenth year; plants, animals, and people all belong to
one family--that was a doctrine that I loved! After that I got a
step-father who was a clergyman, and insisted that the earth and human
beings had been created perfect from the beginning, and that everything
was made for the use of man; but I did not believe it. My own father
was a quiet, delicate man, I loved him dearly; I was afraid of my
step-father, he was such a strong, violent man."
Kallem asked her to give him a description of her childhood and
education, but she answered decidedly, no.
Kristen Larssen had got work to do at the doctor's, he had arranged his
laboratory and put up the ventilators, etc. Kallem had never had
anything to do with a more silent, suspicious man; but neither with a
more clever one. He came one Sunday morning in the beginning of August,
arrayed in his best clothes, a long-tailed brown cloth coat, with
extraordinarily tight sleeves, an old rusty waistcoat, much too short,
and a pair of gray trousers made of the so-called English leather. He
went about bare-headed, as a rule; but on grand occasions he carried a
hat in his hand; he could not bear anything on his head, unless the
weather were fearfully cold. There he stood in the office, tall, thin,
with closely-cropped hair, well-scrubbed face with black stubby beard.
His whole appearance was lightened up by a white collar spread over a
red-striped scarf. The doctor asked him to sit down, and inquired what
was the matter with him. His answer was--first an inquiring glance, and
then that he had not complained of his health.
Kallem remarked by the answer he had just given him, that it was not
easy to tell him what he wanted; but he thought to himself: Now, my
friend, you may be content.
At last he said that he knew that "the doctor's wife" had been five or
six years in America; and that perhaps she might have some English
books to lend him. As he had taught himself a little English, perhaps
she would tell him how to proceed further.
Was he thinking of emigrating? Oh, that would not be freedom; "to go
and be a slave for the Norwegians ... over there too; no, I don't feel
drawn toward that."
"How old are you?"
"About forty, or rather more."
He looked over fifty.
"I daresay my wife would with pleasure teach you English, Larssen,
maybe in the evenings."
No, he would not hear of that on any account. Kallem, however,
explained to him that pronunciation must be learned by ear; Ragni
happened to come in at that moment, and Kallem told her that if Kristen
Larssen knew English, it would be like giving him a pair of wings. She
blushed, for it was not the first time that her husband had given her
some tiresome work to do; of course, he thought she had not sufficient
occupation. She, however, would have preferred not to agree. But as she
stood looking at Kristen Larssen, she remembered that her husband had
never met a cleverer man; she began to feel a certain amount of
compassion for him. He was studying an English book at that moment, and
could barely understand what it was about. She not only proposed to
help him, but tried to persuade him to accept her proffered help. On
that very same afternoon, about five o'clock, they began; they sat
spelling through a very easy book. When Kallem came home he found them
with their heads close together, poring over the same book, the one
black and rugged, the other small and well-formed with reddish hair;
the one a stiff, grubby face with furrows and wrinkles; the other
possessed warm bright eyes and dazzling colouring, and was full of
spirit. She held her handkerchief to her mouth, it was evidently a
struggle for her to sit beside him at all. Kallem then remembered that
he himself had remarked that Kristen Larssen's breath was not of the
sweetest. Kallem at once arranged that they were each to have their own
book and sit at opposite sides of the table. As soon as ever she could,
she escaped. To make up for this Kallem invited Larssen to spend the
evening with them, and tried to thaw him up a little; but no, he was
just as stiff and wary when he left as when he came. Kallem's thoughts
were much taken up by him. Who in all the world could he be, and how
had he managed to become like this?
One day Kallem had occasion to go to his house. There he found a thin,
stiff-looking woman who was Kristen Larssen's wife, her head wrapped in
a black shawl; if the husband had too little covering on his head, she
certainly had too much. No children. No fire on the hearth; she said
she cooked the food for many days at a time. She went about knitting
with a shrewd and suspicious air. Kallem began to think they had agreed
to live as cheaply as possible, so as to scrape as much money together
as they could for the journey they wished to take. As he wanted an
excuse for this visit, he had taken a revolver with him that would not
go off; it was in its case, so he had taken case and all with him, but
only remarked now that the ammunition for the revolver was in it too.
He showed it to her.
"Oh, there are many of that kind here," she answered, and took it up
without the slightest fear. "What a charming weapon," she said, and
laid it down, locked it, and put the case on a shelf over her husband's
work-table. Both the shelf and the table were covered with things
waiting to be mended.
"He has too much work out just now," said she, "such trifles must
wait."
Work-room, kitchen, and bed-room were all comprised in this one
apartment. A bell hung on the wall, a table, a bed, a long bench, and
three wooden chairs; otherwise the room was completely bare--then a
nasty strong smell.
He went home past Sören Pedersen, the saddler's shop. Kallem had helped
him to begin this shop, he was getting on well. There stood Kristen
Larssen, with a glass in one hand, a bottle in the other, and Sören
Pedersen and his wife were screaming or singing in front of the glass
and bottle; it sounded like the long melancholy howling of a dog.
Kristen Larssen laughed with a laugh that came from the very essence of
his being. There was an unctuous satisfaction in this outburst, the
exposure of a malicious heart's innermost feelings, an explorer's
hallelujah of wildest delight. Was it that he took an interest in these
two people? Who knows? Did he repeat this every day?
Ragni soon had cause again to feel Kallem's talent of making work for
everyone.
They were to meet old Pastor Meek and his granddaughter, Tilla Kraby,
at a small party given by Dr. Kent; they had just returned from a trip
abroad, but were to start again immediately. They had been made much of
during this short, and in all probability last, visit to these parts of
the country; this party was given for them, and Kallem and his wife,
who otherwise did not go out much, went to it solely to have a look at
them. The guests of the evening were very late in coming, but in the
meantime a very stout lady, barely thirty years of age, was introduced
to Ragni; she was bright and good-looking. She startled Ragni by
saying: "I don't know whether it will be a disagreeable piece of news
to you to hear that I am Sören Kule's sister." As she remarked how very
uncomfortable Ragni looked, she quickly took her aside: "Pray do not
think otherwise than that I should have acted exactly as you did," she
whispered. "And particularly if I had met a man like your husband"--she
pressed Ragni's arm. She was clever and free and easy, and had little
idea that she was torturing the delicate feelings of the being whose
arm she held. The fact that her face and figure had a resemblance to
the "whale tribe" was enough; Ragni recognized everything, even the
peculiarity of the "swimmers;" she could not help thinking of pork. At
last old Pastor Meek and his grand-daughter appeared; their host and
his sister--Dr. Kent was not married--went to receive them with almost
all the rest of the company after them. One could distinguish amongst
the "How do you do's" and "Welcomes" of the foremost, remarks from
those who were behind. "How good-looking he is!" "What a traveller
Tilla is!" In the meanwhile, Kallem and Ragni stood by and wondered who
it was they were like; they seemed to recognize their faces.
Pastor Meek was a man of medium height, broad-shouldered, but rather
stout. He carried his head high, it was broad and glistening, encircled
by thick white hair. "Now I know!" whispered Ragni, "I am sure they are
related to that young man we met the first day we were here. Of course
you remember him, he was so good-looking."
"Yes, of course, that's it! The same arched face. They might perfectly
belong to the Bourbons."
The old man thanked the company for their welcome in a low voice, but
he spoke slowly. His eyes were not cheerful, on the contrary, they were
wistful and resigned. He did not give one the impression of being a
determined man, but of being kind-hearted and thoughtful. When any of
the officials of high standing spoke to him, he put on a stiff,
ceremonious manner, quite in the old style.
"The new doctor" was introduced, and Fru Lilli Bing said to Ragni, as
if she knew all about it: "Oh, how you two must suit each other! May I
introduce you Fru Kallem, Fröken Kraby?" They bowed to one another
rather shyly, but began to talk of the young man whom Fröken Kraby was
like; he was her nephew and was very musical. This led to their
speaking of music, and they never left one another's side for the rest
of the evening.
Ragni had seldom--one may say never--with the exception of Kallem,
found anyone who had so entirely taken up her thoughts. This quiet, and
yet at the same time bright, blondine was so charming, and all she said
was the expression of her own thoughts. Alas! she had to leave the town
in a few days forever! That this was the first, and perhaps the last,
time they were ever to meet, drew them with a kind of melancholy
sweetness to each other. Ragni agreed on this account to play when her
host, later in the evening, in his chaffing way, asked her to do so;
she wished her new friend to learn to know her as well as possible.
"Do stand so that I may see a face I know," she whispered, and then
began Solveig's song from "Per Gynt." They had probably expected a
showy piece, not such a simple melody; but when the piano had finished
"singing," they were all so charmed that the town magistrate, who was
general spokesman on such occasions, begged her to repeat it; which she
readily did. Then followed the Wizard's March, so unutterably weird;
directly after that Selmer's "Child's Frolics," such a delicate,
charming contrast; she played it with the same clear understanding and
feeling of the smallest nuances; then came a quiet, old-fashioned song
by Sinding, each note like a separate word; then a bright, lively song
by Svendsen; and finished up with a festival march by Selmer. She was
not at all nervous to-day, her eyes flashed out volumes to Tilla, and
from her to many others, volumes of all sorts of enchanted tales. The
company was much entertained; the town magistrate marched about like a
braying trumpet. Old Meek came up to her with old-fashioned gallantry;
Tilla whispered to her: "Grandfather is so musical."
An hour later, old Pastor Meek went away; he never stayed longer than
that at a party; his grand-daughter left with him, and Kallem and Ragni
joined them.
The evening was mild, considering that it was the end of August, when
there were always such sudden changes after sunset; still it was not so
mild but what they were obliged to have on both cloaks and overcoats.
There were people out walking everywhere. When they came to the
Kallem's house, Ragni, who otherwise was so very retiring and shy,
asked if they would not go in with them for a little while, and the old
man answered politely that if there was the slightest hope of hearing
some more music, the invitation was only too acceptable. So the lamps
were lighted in the room, the piano opened, and an Italian barcarole
went rowing away out through the open windows. Old Pastor Meek was
delighted, and ventured to ask whether his grand-son, who was at the
school here, might come and hear Fru Kallem play--of course only if it
was quite convenient. Unfortunately, he was so taken up with his music
that he had reached the age of nineteen without having passed his
student's examination; but as there was no help for it, it was just as
well he should hear good music. Ragni replied that it would be a
pleasure to her. Kallem asked if he should go to him and tell him he
could come? The old man was most grateful to him, and would be still
more so, if at the same time the doctor would examine him and see what
was the matter with him; there was something wrong. Kallem said that he
had noticed it too, and thought he would be able to find out what it
was.
The old man sat down to the piano:
"Now you shall hear one of his songs," said he. And with fingers not so
stiff as might have been expected, and with a low voice, as though one
were fingering a church bell--particularly with a peculiar use of
head-voice, he hummed:
When does the morning dawn?
When golden rays are floating
O'er the snow-covered heights
Deep down in the dark rifts,
Lifts
The stem that turns to the light
Till it feels like an angel with wings.
Then it is morning,
Bright clear morning.
But in stormy weather,
And when my heart is sad,
There's no morn for me,
None.
Surely the morning has dawned
When the flowers have burst into bloom,
And the birds having broken their fast,
Are chirping a promise that
The woods
Shall have fresh green crowns as a gift,
The brook have a sight of the sea.
Then it is morning,
Bright, clear morning.
But in stormy weather,
And when my heart is sad,
There's no morn for me,
None.
When does the morning dawn?
When the strength that glows through
Sorrow and storm, awakens
The sun in thy soul, so thy bosom
Warmly
Embraces the world in this cause:
To be truly good to each and all!
Then it is morning,
Bright, clear morning.
The greatest strength thou knowest,
And the most dangerous too--
Is it that thou would'st have?
Yes.
Both voice and accompaniment were peculiar. Ragni exclaimed: "Oh, how
it all floats away!"
Kallem asked whose words they were--evidently a woman's? Tilla answered
that it was taken from a newspaper; it was doubtless a translation. But
when the others had left them, Ragni confided to Kallem that the
"woman's words" was one of her translations! His cousin had got it into
a Norwegian-American paper; and from that it had gone further still.
This coincidence was sufficient to make Kallem go the very next day to
Karl Meek--and three days later the latter, with his piano, books, and
clothes, was established up in a large attic in Kallem's house, the one
that looked out to the park. Kallem had overcome Ragni's strongest
opposition.