Kristen Larssen's house remained without a tenant, no one cared to
either buy or rent it; the gloom that had fallen over it spread even to
his friends. It was lucky for Sören Pedersen that his customers were
principally from the country, and not from the town, otherwise it would
have fared badly with him. Ragni did not know that she was more watched
and talked about now than ever; she was not at all careful. The very
fact that the minister's family refused all intercourse with them, made
her a target for evil tongues; her character could not bear any more.
She was quite defenceless against the things they accused her of, as
she did not know what they were. If she and Karl Meek held each other's
hands on the ice; or if he made her laugh whilst putting her skates on;
or if she tried to push him off when they stood each on one of the
runners behind the doctor's sledge; or if they ran together with the
hand-sledge, or played duets for some visitors--someone had always
noticed a look that could not be mistaken, heard words that had some
hidden meaning, or seen liberties taken that only those could take who
were accustomed to take still greater ones. It was so with the last
lodger, now again with this one; what else could Kallem have expected?
It was only his just punishment.
Sören Kule's relations were the ring-leaders; they were numerous in
this part of the country, and had fertile imaginations--particularly
about immoral things.
It was choice to hear Lilli Bing describe how Ragni Kule that was, went
in "every evening" to the student Kallem's room; it was in the same
passage. "Dear me, what harm could there be in that, as they loved each
other? Who could have gone on living with that disgusting Sören?"
She insinuated that Kallem's present wife did not even require to cross
the passage. One of her remarks was, "What harm can there be in it, as
she never gets children?"
How was it that none of those whom it concerned never heard anything?
That none of the usual anonymous letters ever reached them? The first
can only be explained by the fact that they scarcely ever associated
with anyone, and the second, that people probably thought that Kallem
would not take the least notice of them; free-thinkers generally have
rather loose ideas about morality. Toward the beginning of spring,
Kallem was seen accompanying his wife and Karl Meek to the steamer;
they were to cross to the other coast; he was seen to fetch them again
on the pier, Monday forenoon. They knew that he was out all day, and
that the other two were together in house and garden all day long.
Karl's examination went off satisfactorily, but of course with much
anxiety; the day was near at hand when he was to leave them. On the
whole, it had been pleasant to Ragni to have him there, but his
unstability gave her much trouble, and his passionate nature grew with
his bodily strength. His great devotion to her kept this in subjection;
but the way it often showed itself was a great trial to her; she loved
stability and peace. She prophesied that the day would come when things
would not go well with him; he carried too much canvas.
She longed to be able to be alone again; she said so to Kallem, who
teased her by saying that in three weeks she would have to do without
Karl. He was first to be at home for the summer holidays, but from
there travel down to Germany to study music. Although he had accustomed
himself to live and think under Ragni's eye, in strife with her, in
subjection to her, in constant adoration; still he liked the idea of
being independent. The separation would not be difficult.
But it so happened that, on one of the last days, he was at a
friend's house--the only one he now and then saw since he came to the
Kallems--and in speaking of his departure his friend said:
"How do you stand with regard to Kallem's wife?"
Karl did not grasp his meaning, and began singing her praises
ecstatically. The other interrupted:
"Yes, I know all about that; but to make a clean breast of it, are you
her lover? People say so."
Karl asked how he dared to say such a thing? He should be answerable
for his words! But it was his friend's intention seriously to warn
Karl; he had only just heard the report himself, it had not got about
much yet. He bore Karl's raging patiently, and told him that he could
scarcely expect otherwise than that people would think there was
something in it, as they had been so very imprudent.
They could not at all understand at the Kallems what was the matter
with Karl, all of a sudden. He had hardly been in to them the last few
days, was seldom at home, and had become every bit as silent, shy, and
gloomy as when he first came. The probability was that he was in
despair at the prospect of parting from them, and especially from
Ragni; but it was strange that this despair should have begun exactly
between three and five o'clock on Wednesday afternoon. At three o'clock
they had played duets together and had been in the best of spirits; at
five o'clock she had fixed to go through some of the last remaining
work for his examination with him, but he came home so hopelessly
absent and inattentive, that they were obliged to give it up. From
that day he had been always like that. Kallem teased Ragni, and told
her the youth was in love; it had come over him suddenly, just before
the "bitter hour of parting." Kallem sang: "Two thrushes sat on a
beech-twig," and prophesied that she would very shortly receive a
declaration, probably in verse; he himself had done the very same in
his day. May-be he would shoot himself. She need not imagine that
anyone at his age could escape the charms of her crooked nose without a
little heart-chill.
When the youth sat staring down on her in alarming silence, neither
eating nor uttering a word; when he played in the most melancholy
style, and always left them to seek solitude; then Kallem said: "How
black is life!" He imitated the youth's languishing eyes at her, went
sighing upstairs, passing his hands through his hair and crying. But to
Karl himself he was excessively kind.
When the hour of parting came, there was an end to all joking, for Karl
was in such a state of despairing grief that no one could speak to him;
they only tried to hurry him away. Ragni would not go with them to the
station, his exaggerated manner quite alarmed her. But when Karl saw
that she was still standing on the steps, he jumped down from the
carriage and rushed up to her again. She retreated, but he followed
her, looked at her, and cried so bitterly, that the servant who stood a
little behind them felt so sorry for him, that she began to cry too.
Ragni remained cold and silent; she could have no idea that Karl was
then doing the noblest deed he had done--feeling more deeply than ever
before in his life.
There were people at the station who noticed his great despair, as well
as Kallem's serious face. Especially did they notice that Ragni was not
of the party. Had Kallem heard anything?
This conclusion to their intercourse with Karl Meek left an
uncomfortable feeling. They did not willingly speak about him; in fact,
they both felt a doubt as to whether they had done right in having him
in the house; they ought to have foreseen that it would end like that.
But nothing was said about this either by one or the other of them.
Their own life together drew them closer and closer to each other;
never before had Kallem been so much at home, or taken such an interest
in all her doings.
The whole summer was devoted to the "fever pavilion;" they were never
tired of watching the building, or of seeing it all arranged and put in
complete order. And now that all the summer tents stood there, the good
arrangement and order of the hospital was quite the talk of the place.
But whilst they were thus alone, dividing their time between the
hospital, their studies, the garden, and the piano; indeed, just
because they were alone, something seemed to affect all their moods,
something they had both thought of for long, and that grew and grew for
that very reason that they never mentioned it. Soon they could hardly
be together without fancying they read something about it in the
other's eyes.
Why could they have no children? Was the fault Ragni's? Would she do
nothing in the matter?
By degrees he had found out that she was too shy to allow of his being
the one to mention it. Would she not venture to speak about it herself?
Not even show a wish to say something, so that he could help her out
with it? What was the reason? Was it terror of an examination--an
operation? He seldom saw her now without feeling that she was thinking
about it. And she for her part thought: he misses a child.
The end of August, Ragni got a great big letter with the Berlin
postmark on, from Karl Meek! It was most welcome to both of them, more
than they would at first allow.
Karl had been to the festival at Bayreuth, he depicted his impressions
in glowing colours and enthusiastic language. The whole letter was
taken up by that, and four or five lines of thanks and greetings--and
at the end a question: "May I be allowed to write to you again?" They
both felt at once that the real letter consisted of these four or five
lines, all the rest was just an intellectual envelope. Kallem quite
approved, and was anxious that she should begin a correspondence with
him; it might in more ways than one benefit him while he was abroad.
Without feeling particularly inclined--as had often been the case when
she and Karl studied together--but more in a spirit of obedience and
good nature, she sat herself down and wrote humorously, as she got over
it best in that way, and had an answer from him--first one, then
another, long, long letters, whole diaries.
Ragni was in the garden one day, early in October, gathering fruit and
things for the kitchen. She went across to the railing by the church
road as a carriage came driving slowly upwards. A very stout man sat on
the seat, swaying about with the jolting of the carriage, like milk in
a pail. Ragni's pigeons were winging their homeward flight from the
church roof and flew just over the carriage; the peculiar flapping of
the wings made him turn his head in the direction they were flying.
"Are those pigeons?" asked he, and the coachman answered.
Ragni was just going to climb up on a ladder to gather some apples, but
she had to hold fast; that heavy voice, that drawling dialect, and that
north country monotony, all that belonged to Sören Kule! His blind eyes
were partly turned to where the pigeons were, and partly to where the
answer had come from, as he was driven slowly rumbling away.
Sören Kule here? Surely a blind, half-paralyzed man does not go
travelling about? The inheritance which twice had fallen to his share,
could it be that, that had brought him here?
Shortly after, Kallem arrived. She saw directly that he too had met
Kule, and he saw at once that she had retreated into the big room to
hide herself; they met there, she laid her head on his shoulder; it
seemed to her there were evil spirits in the air.
Kallem said to himself: If Sören Kule has come to take possession of
one of the places bequeathed to the family, and is going to move up
here, then Josephine must have had a hand in it; her "spirit of
justice" has been on the alert.
The only person in the whole world whom he thought he had not treated
well, and to whom he had not tried to make amends, was this blind man.
I will go and seek him out, he thought; I will speak openly with him. I
can at the same time make it clear to him, that for Ragni's sake he
must not remain here.
He soon heard where Kule lived: in the house just behind theirs; in the
park, next to the hospital!
So this share of the inheritance had fallen to him; and were they to
have him here every day?
He walked about a long time trying to gain some control over himself;
but when he stood in front of the house, he was still so indignant that
he had difficulty in keeping calm. It was a little stone house two
stories high and with a garden in front; in the passage he could hear
sounds of washing up from the kitchen, and looked in there first. There
stood the Norland giant kitchen-maid with tucked-up sleeves, as
unchanged as if they had parted yesterday. As the door opened, she
looked over her shoulder and recognised directly the tall man with the
spectacles, with hooked nose and bushy brows; she smiled and turned
round to him. "Surely that is Kal-lem?" she sang out.
"Yes."
"I was told yesterday that you lived here," she smiled still more.
Oh, you sly fish, thought he, you have known it a long time.
"When did you come here?"
"We came yesterday."
"From Kristiania?"
"From Kristiania; Kule has inherited this house, and folks say living
is cheap here." A door opened at Kallem's back, he turned round; a
squarely built man with small, clever, but suspicious looking eyes, put
his head cautiously out at the door. Kallem shut the kitchen door, the
other then came quite forward and shut the room door; so they stood
opposite to each other. But the kitchen door was opened again, and the
Norland servant girl looked out and smiled to the man. Kallem guessed
there was some sweet secret.
"Is that your husband?"
"Yes, since last sum-mer." The man looked like a sailor.
"Can I see Kule to speak to?"
The square man put on a very solemn expression; he would go in and ask.
He stayed away a long time, Kallem heard them arguing, now Kule's
monotonous drawl, now the other's short, dry Trondhjem dialect, both
voices lowered. Meanwhile Oline told him all about her husband, that he
had been pupil at a seminary, had passed a mate's examination, spoke
Spanish, and was now Kule's secretary and right hand. Then she told him
about the "children," that they were at Fru Rendalen's school in the
west country; though for that matter, said she, the school belongs no
longer to Fru Rendalen, but to the son, "who used to live with us."
And then all at once: "And your wife? How is your wife? So you made her
your little wife, eh? Oh, how delightful it will be."
The door was opened, the square man stood aside and let Kallem pass in
to Kule. He sat in the very same big roller-chair, with the same board
before his legs, with the same Spanish pictures round him, the same
furniture, only it had another and very faded covering. The piano and
the children's toys were missing.
The man himself was very gray and had grown much stouter. The
"swimmers" lay as usual on the arms of the chair; a long pipe stood
beside him, quite empty.
Kallem gave his name; Kule did not answer, but a slight movement of the
healthy hand and some deep groans showed that he was agitated. Kallem
too had difficulty in keeping quiet. To cut short the agony, he
remarked at once, that Kule was perhaps not aware that they were
neighbours?
Yes, he was.
"I should not have thought so," replied Kallem, clearly showing by his
tone of voice what he thought. Kule was silent.
"Shall you remain living here?"
"Yes."
Kallem looked at the blind countenance; it was cold and impenetrable.
Kallem felt it would be useless to expect him to have a shadow of
regard for Ragni; he was seized with a terrible loathing. "Then I have
nothing more to say," said he, and got up.
The kitchen door stood ajar. "Be so good as to give my respects to your
wife!"
It was only when he found himself outside that Kallem remembered the
original object of his visit; but Kule's increased brutality freed him
from any obligation. Consequently, in future he was to be their
neighbour. They must therefore try and bear their own past, as others
did. He hurried on, away from the town; he dared not at once go home.
She could not bear anything bad or wicked in any shape whatever; he
must think over the best way of taking this.
When he at last reached home again, Ragni was in the office and had lit
the lamps there. At once she read her doom in his face--ay, had even
heard it in his footstep. She sank down in her chair and felt as though
there never more could be any happiness in life.
He tried to make it clear to her that, as she was not to blame, she
ought not to be afraid; she shook her head, for it was not that. No, it
was the cruelty of it, that was what she could not stand; the cold
chillingness. She reminded him of what he himself had said by Kristen
Larssen's grave.
But surely they could not compare themselves to Kristen Larssen? They
had so much of all that gave warmth. Yes, certainly--but a good name!
"In depriving me of that, they shut out all warmth." And again, in a
little while: "This is the cold chill." She did not weep, as she
usually did.
"Then we will go away from here!" exclaimed Kallem.
As though she had long since been considering the matter, she answered:
"What doctor is rich enough to buy up all that you have sunk in this
place? And your work? Work that you live for and that gives you so much
happiness? No, Edward!"
"But I can do nothing, if you are going to be unhappy," and he kissed
her. She did not answer.
"What are you thinking of?"
"Yes, I believe you can."
"What is it that I can?"
"Work and be happy without me," answered she, and burst into tears. He
folded her in his arms and waited quietly; she must feel that she had
wounded him. "In reality I am not suited to you."
"But, Ragni dear!"
"Oh, yes, as your good friend and comrade, the best you have in the
world; would that I might be it for long!"
She pressed closer in to him, as though wishing to put a seal on his
silence.