The whole of that night and the next day there was a tremendous fall of
snow, and toward evening the wind rose to a perfect storm; it drifted
and piled up the newly fallen snow in great heaps. The storm passed
away; but the snow fell on with equal violence. People from the country
who were going to the ball got the snow-plough to drive right down to
the town; in the town itself they were driving it about for the second
time that day. To the ball! to the ball! The first large ball at
Christmas-tide.
To the ball! to the ball! In those larger towns, where dancing is a
business kept up by the young people in turn at different houses and
assemblies, no one there can have any idea of the upset caused in a
small town by the prospect of the first Christmas ball, and especially
amongst those young people from the country who drive in, ready-dressed
for the ball underneath their furs. But just as the snow-plough
good-naturedly pushes the superfluous snow to both sides, so does this
old-established custom and their natural shyness do away with more
than the half of all they had been romancing about together. A nice,
well-behaved flock appears, who at first seem hardly to know each
other.
Kallem was lying on the sofa, and was in capital spirits. That
excellent woman, Sissel Aune, was recovering, the husband was going
about to-day drunk with happiness, and with brandy, which the
neighbours forced on him. The children had been there to dinner,
although the servant did not approve of it; in that respect she was
like Ragni, those two were like each other in many ways.
The children were not quite so shy as Andersen's children, who were
also of the party. Kallem had played the piano for them, indifferently
enough, but he had walked on his hands to perfection, and the saddler
had had much to say about the mason Andersen's death. It was truth had
killed Andersen; so many there are who live by lying that it is
necessary some should be killed by truth, and more of such like
rubbish, which Aase thought wonderful.
A long and very cheery letter from Ragni lay spread out on Kallem's
stomach; he had been reading it through for the second time. Karl had
enclosed a report of her state after the doctor's departure, and that
was amusing too, especially a description of her first attempt at using
snow-skates (which also proved to be the last). Through it all one
could see her innate cowardice.
Now he was going to a ball where a minister's wife was to be patroness!
She and her smart friend, Lilli Bing. Was Josephine doing this against
her husband's wishes? It was a public secret that such was the case;
Lilli Bing had betrayed it to him. The minister's wife was the first
ball-room lady in the town! The gentlemen fought for the chance of
merely whirling her once round in a cotillon tour. He could see her in
fancy, tall, bare-necked, dark-eyed, warm and glowing from dancing.
Yes, he would have a dance with her too. He felt a longing to see her,
he could not conceal the fact. He put Ragni's letter on one side,
Karl's too, and the book he had been reading, then he got up, turned
down the lamp, told the servant he meant to go out, then went up to
dress.
It was quite extraordinary the quantity of snow that fell; not the
star-like flakes, but broad big ones, chasing one after the other. If
there had been the slightest wind it would have been impossible to find
one's way. The lamps were dim, the light hardly reached beyond the
glass, and there was not a sound all round. Rain has a sound, and has
too a scenery of its own, but snow envelops and hides away everything,
never does one feel so utterly alone as in the midst of a fall of snow.
Kallem had not even a garden fence to guide him, he did not stumble
over a single stone by the way, none of the trees in the garden either
bowed or inclined their heads for him; he could no longer even see
them, they were wrapped up and sent away. The church still stood there,
but it was transformed into a heap of stones with a white staff up it.
He and the church, and the church and he, there was none besides.
The houses down the street seemed to retreat in the background; they
looked like so many great wizards sitting there with huge paws in
front; once those paws had been stairs. A couple of boats lay up-turned
down on the sand at the end of the beach street; they looked like white
elephants at rest. The sea was like a sea of snow; but strange to say
the island had floated loose and drifted away, it was no longer
visible. It was full moon, according to the almanac, and it certainly
was not dark, although the moon was snowed away from the bewitched
world.
He trudged along like a sugar-loaf turned upside down. The falling snow
and he were the only moving things. It was barely ten o'clock, but
still there were no eyes of fire glaring from out the house. Everything
was shut up, extinguished, and snowed over. Nothing but the dimly
burning lights in the lanterns bore witness that once there had been a
living town there.
There, now he heard a clarinet squeak and a double-bass scrape--just as
if somewhere a fox and a polar bear were hopping about together. There
was tripping and there was tramping, the snowflakes were falling and
the houses were deserted.
He advanced so far till he saw a smoking fiery mist round about a large
house; it was from there the squeaking and scraping came. And thither
he directed his steps.
Had he made a mistake? He fell, or nearly so, down into a restaurant,
down into an atmosphere of tobacco, punch, and food. He saw some stout
men sitting there like so many pigs buried in their fat. They were not
in ball-room dress, but here came some who were. And when at last he
found his way to the right stairs, several gentlemen in evening dress
passed him on their way in search of tobacco and punch. Kallem hated
and despised both tobacco and punch and all tavern life, and especially
those men who could not dance without requiring stimulants.
No one ought to come late to a ball. He looked at the clock, it was
past eleven and not only just ten as he had thought; either he had got
home too late or he had stayed reading too long. A few young men,
heated and perspiring who just came out through the smoke--each time
the door was opened there was a good deal of smoky fog--wished him
good-evening, thereby settling the fact of his arrival, so he pursued
his way mechanically and took off his outdoor garments. In the passages
were more heated and perspiring people. The one seemed to be running
away just because the other ran, their conversation was meaningless,
their eyes wild, their laughter like a tum-rum-tumming. There came
ladies, too, three and four together, looking very much like full-blown
roses; they laughed about nothing, talked about nothing, quite ready to
be carried off through music and chattering. The instruments were worn
out, the lights were in a hazy mist, the chandeliers a gold red color.
The ball was overcrowded; it was difficult to make one's way through
all the men who stood disengaged near the door; they were all together
in a clump, a mixture of coarse and fine--a truly Norwegian mixture.
A waltz was being danced, part of the cotillon. Tall as Kallem was, he
could soon see, now that his glasses were dry again, that his sister
was not among the dancers, probably not in the room at all. But he
forgot her, for in some respects this was an entirely new sight for
him; he knew nothing of Norwegian life but the west country and
Christiania. A ball in a little Norwegian provincial town is a peculiar
thing. Ladies and gentlemen who would adorn any grand Parisian ball,
move easily and lightly about among young people who take things
heavily in daily life, never having learnt the art of dancing, but
pound away in time with unabashed honesty. Men in tail-coats, men in
frock-coats, women in low-necked ball-dresses, women in plain black
stuff dresses, some elderly, some quite young, everyone enjoying
themselves in his or her own particular way.
From the moment that Kallem had been so unfortunate as to find his way
down into the restaurant or its vicinity, thereby plunging into the
smell of punch and of tobacco-smoke, which he detested, from that
moment he was out of temper and looked at things from the dark side.
However, this passed away when he found himself in the ball-room and
surrounded by so much joyful independence on all sides. A couple
waltzed past him, he in frock-coat, she in a dark woollen dress
fastened with a clasp; they had a firm hold of each other and never
stopped but went on twirling carefully and solemnly round. A tall, fair
young fellow in a short jacket brushed past them, probably a young
sailor home for Christmas; he was dancing with a woman over forty,
doubtless his own mother; she was still quite capable of holding her
own through a regular topsail breeze. There went a well-known railway
man, a thin individual in a tail-coat, with upturned face and hopping
about with body swaying from side to side; if he hopped on his right
foot, the whole body went to the right, if on the left, then he bent to
the left, always keeping time in the most conscientious way, and so
happy--as happy as one of his own whistling engines; his partner
laughed all the time but not in a shy way; on the contrary she was
enjoying herself. And they kept on dancing, starting afresh almost the
moment after they sat down. Then a business man swept by, directly
after him an officer, both irreproachably got up, and with young, fresh
partners in proper ball-dresses; then followed a mad-looking individual
with long floating hair, dancing with a tall, dark woman. They dashed
through the middle of the long ball-room, up and down, everyone was
afraid of them and got out of their way as if they had been horses.
Then came twirling round a tower-like man, a broad, round, high tower
with a little thin lady leaning against him as though she were a
ladder. The upper part of the tower did not move, only twirled round;
if anyone had put a plate of soup upon the top, not a drop would have
spilled. Then there were two who held out their arms like sails, two
tall people, taking up as much room as three ordinary couples. But it
seemed to be the established ball-room custom that everyone had a right
to just as much room as they could manage to take up, and just as much
speed as they wished, and in the way and style they preferred. Here
everyone danced on their own account, and not for dancing's sake only,
but to enjoy themselves.
But look at these two coming, they can dance! They came out from a
side-room, a good-looking beardless cavalry lieutenant and a tall....
Josephine! She was in red silk trimmed with black, her firm neck, her
rounded arms with their warm colouring, her luxuriant hair fastened in
the usual knot, her wild-looking eyes, for they were wild, and that
figure--truly, she was queen of the ball! How she danced! It was now
the strength and natural suppleness of her body showed itself. And now
the Irish blood in her came out strongly. Her brother pressed forward,
almost breathless. And it seemed to him, that all stood staring at
these two, who swung round now to the right, then to the left, then
twirled round on the same spot, then dashing right round the room. No
fresh couples joined them, all were looking on, and little by little
many stopped who were dancing; they wished to look on too. There was
this drawback about the cavalry officer, that he was no taller than his
partner, but he was a strong, manly-looking fellow who danced
splendidly. For these two thoroughly healthy people dancing was a
passion and intoxication; or it had that appearance. And it intoxicated
others. Kallem could not resist it. He felt that he must dance, and
with her too, and if possible immediately. The next time they went
swinging past him he looked at her--looked at her in such a way that he
knew she would be forced to look over in his direction. And she did so.
She stood still, just as though someone had taken her round the waist
and stopped her. "Many thanks!" said she to her partner.
Instantaneously her brother stood beside her; but at the same time came
her friend Lilli Bing. "Come and sit down beside me!" said she, and
then, turning at once to Kallem, "How delightful to see you here!"
"I must thank you for the invitation," answered he, addressing them
both. "But I have such a wish to dance with you, Josephine." He drew on
his gloves. "Will you allow me?" and he bowed to the lieutenant who
politely returned his bow. "Would _you_ like it?" he said to Josephine.
She was rather breathless after the rapid dancing; but her dark eyes
beamed. "Yes," answered she, softly.
The floor was again crowded with dancers, so they stood a little and
waited. But as there seemed no chance of better room he put his arm
round her waist so as to start.
"It will never do!" whispered she.
"Oh, yes it will!" said he, and started off, passing by everyone
without either knocking them or letting himself be stopped; if there
was danger he carried her rather than guided her past it. But soon he
perceived that it was quite unnecessary; she bent and glided to the
slightest pressure of his arm. They were not so alike that they quite
suited, nor yet so unlike that they clashed; they became interesting
for one another and enjoyed a moment's reconciliation before the fight.
They looked at one another from time to time, always simultaneously, he
very red, she very pale.
Now the lamps shone brightly, the music was lively, the people happy
and unaffected, and the ball-room splendid. They had not danced
together since the days when he was the first cavalier of the balls,
and she a disagreeable school-girl whom he graciously condescended to
dance a few turns with now and again. But the way they held themselves
and kept time, their pace, too, it was all like one, their dancing was
light and graceful, they were so happy. But all they were thinking
about could not now be discussed while they thus held each other
entwined; it had all somehow got mixed up. They belonged to one another
with all the strong connecting power of their natures, especially now
that the depth of that nature had been reached. All that seemed to
separate them fell away like some foreign or chance element. And as all
the life they had spent together had been in the days of their
childhood, and in another country, they felt themselves carried back
there by the recollection of it. In the burning heat over there, by sea
and shore, they rode on their little ponies, one on each side of that
strange father, he had always looked so well on horseback.
The brother--taller than his sister--looked down on her broad-shaped
head, he seemed to see his father's head again. She thought about her
father, too, when she looked up into his sharp-featured face. All the
same, he was more like their mother than she was; she recognized again
in him all that had been so clever and good in their mother, although
it was largely mixed with the stormy elements that had been their
father's. She could have lain in his arms as though he were her mother,
sure of him to the very end, in fact, just like that last evening they
were together in their own town on the bay. And in all the world she
had no greater longing than this.
Then the waltz came to an end.
Arm in arm they walked to the place Lilli had invited them to; they
felt warm and grateful. They met Lilli with the cavalry lieutenant, she
quite done up on account of her being so stout, but he, as always,
stiff, correct, and respectful.
Not long after this Kallem found himself in his overcoat, sealskin
boots, his hands deep down in the huge pockets, and away out in the
falling snow.
Either the brother and sister must now be left to themselves, or else
he must leave. It had moved him greatly. He was very fond of her, and
she, perhaps, even more fond of him. At this moment, when her spirit
seemed to amalgamate with his, everything was left to shape itself as
it best could and would. Something evidently weighed her down in daily
life; it could hardly be religion; but what was it then? She always did
exactly as she pleased, without reference to anyone; and yet she seemed
to be more heavily burdened than most people.
It went on snowing and snowing; still there was light from the moon,
although it was not visible. His sister seemed to be standing in the
air in front of him, bare-armed and bare-headed, and with eyes of fire;
in the distance he heard the music.
But when he found himself back in his own white bedroom, which the
attentive servant had kept warm, then the dancing seemed all to be
going on up in the forest district. There was Ragni borne along by the
heavy wood-owner, so that she barely touched the floor with the tips of
her toes; she whirled round with the small children, or hopped away
with the "black-cock," or some dashing young fellow from the
metropolis; he could see her delight after each dance, and could hear
her: "Oh, how I am enjoying myself, Edward!" and so he fell asleep.
And the day after, just after he had dined alone and had gone into the
big room from force of habit, for it was there that Ragni used to play
for him, the door was opened and in came Ragni. He could hardly believe
his own eyes! There she was, buried in all her furs! and he undid
everything and dragged her out, plump, milk-white, and bewitching. He
carried her off.
"Oh, well," said she, when they had calmed down after a little, "it was
just always the same thing over again up there and I longed for you."
"Your nose is crooked!"
"And you, who have been to a ball!"
"Your nose is crooked!"
"It is hardly seen. But do you know that Karl is not at all nice? I
must tell you."
"Karl?"
"Oh, not to me! To me he is always delightful; you can't imagine how
nice. But totally different to his brothers and sisters; hasty,
fearfully hasty, and capricious, a self-opinionated gentleman."
"I can imagine that of him."
"Do you know that was why I came away. We will be alone now, may we
not? We have always had him hanging over us."
"Well, I never! Are you now tired of him, too?"
"I never said that. But to have him always about us, it
is--really--tiresome."
"Well, perhaps it is rather tiresome, that's true enough."
"Yes, but now listen to me, I am going to ask one thing more; but you
must be good, and not call me an æsthetic!"
"Well, what is it?"
"Don't let Kristen Larssen know that I have come back. Please not! Let
us really have a little peace."
"But I have just got some children who----"
"No, no! No children either! oh, no!" and she began to cry.
"But my dear, darling Ragni----"
"Yes, yes, I know it is so selfish of me; but I cannot do it; it is not
at all in my line."
Shortly after the piano was heard sending forth in chords of richest
harmony a hymn of joy for her homecoming. Spirits of beauty took
possession of the house. They flew up to the roof, to the windows and
doors; up to the bedroom, out in the kitchen; into the office, singing,
singing, singing all the while, so the tubercular bacilli that the
doctor was studying danced straight away to meet the song that was to
deal them their death-blow; they sang right up to the kitchen door, so
the whole scullery seemed to dance, the coffee-kettle boiled over and
the new dress which Sigrid had got as a Christmas present from her
mistress, ready-made, with velvet trimmings, and an upper skirt looped
up with cord and tassels, fell to thinking of balls and dancing, up
there under the roof, the highest thing in all the house.