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MAGNHILD
DUST
WORKS OF
BJOeRNSTJERNE BJOeRNSON
PATRIOTS EDITION
MAGNHILD
DUST
_Translated from the Norse_
_By_
RASMUS B. ANDERSON
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
Copyright, 1882,
BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
_All rights reserved._
PREFACE.
"Magnhild" was planned during the summer of 1873, while the translator
accompanied Mr. Bjoernson on a journey across Norway. The story is
located in Laerdalen and Skarlie's home is in Laerdalsoeren, a small town
at the head of one of the branches of the far-famed Sognefjord on the
west coast. I well remember with what care the author made his
observations. The story was written the following winter in Rome, but
was not published until 1877, when it appeared in the original in
Copenhagen and in a German translation in the _Rundschau_
simultaneously.
The reader will see that "Magnhild" is a new departure, and marks a new
epoch in Bjoernson's career as a writer of fiction. It is but justice to
say that Mr. Bjoernson himself looks upon this as one of his less
finished works, and yet I believe that many of his American readers will
applaud the manner in which he has here championed the rights of a woman
when she has become united with such a man as Skarlie.
The celebration, on the 10th of August, 1882, of the twenty-fifth
anniversary since the publication of "Synnoeve Solbakken," was a great
success. The day was celebrated by his friends in all parts of
Scandinavia and by many of his admirers in Germany, France, and Italy.
At Aulestad (his home in Norway), more than two hundred of his personal
friends from the Scandinavian countries were assembled, among whom may
be mentioned the eminent Swedish journalist Hedlund, the Danish poet
Drachmann, and the Norwegian author Kristofer Janson. Over Aulestad,
which was handsomely decorated, floated Norwegian, Danish, Swedish, and
American flags. There was a great banquet, at which speeches and poems
were not wanting. Mr. Bjoernson received a number of valuable presents
and countless telegrams from Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Germany, France,
Italy, England, and America.
This volume closes the present series of translations of Bjoernson's
works. The seven volumes[1] now published contain all the novels and
short stories that Bjoernson has written. His other works are, as shown
in the biographical introduction to "Synnoeve Solbakken," chiefly dramas.
Being thus about to send my last Bjoernson manuscript to the publishers,
I desire to express my hearty thanks to the press and to the public for
the generous reception they have given these stories as they have
appeared one by one. Those who are acquainted with Bjoernson's original
and idiomatic style can appreciate the many difficulties his translators
have had to contend with. I am fully conscious of my shortcomings and am
particularly aware of my failure to transmit the peculiar national
flavor of Bjoernson's style, but I have done my best, and have turned his
phrases into as good English as I could command. Others might have been
more successful, but they could not have taken more pains, nor could
they have derived more pleasure from the work than I have found in it.
To Auber Forestier, who has kindly assisted me in the translation of the
whole series, I once more extend my hearty thanks. Without her able help
the work could not have progressed so rapidly. Finally, I commend
"Magnhild" to the tender mercy of the critic and to the good-will of the
reader, and say adieu!
RASMUS B. ANDERSON.
ASGARD, MADISON, WISCONSIN.
_November, 1882._
[1] The first edition of Bjoernson's writings, from which the present
edition is arranged, was in seven volumes. "Magnhild" formed the
seventh volume, and the present preface is reprinted as it there
stood.
MAGNHILD.
CHAPTER I.
The landscape has high, bold mountains, above which are just passing the
remnants of a storm. The valley is narrow and continually winding.
Coursing through it is a turbulent stream, on one side of which there is
a road. At some distance up the slopes farms are spread; the buildings
are mostly low and unpainted, yet numerous; heaps of mown hay and fields
of half ripe grain are dotted about.
When the last curve of the valley is left behind the fjord becomes
visible. It lies sparkling beneath an uplifting fog. So completely is it
shut in by mountains that it looks like a lake.
Along the road there jogs at the customary trot a horse with a
cariole-skyds.[2] In the cariole may be seen a waterproof coat and a
south-wester, and between these a beard, a nose, and a pair of
spectacles. Lashed to the back seat is a trunk, and seated on this, with
her back to the cariole, is a full-grown "skyds"-girl, snugly bundled up
in a kerchief. She sits there dangling her coarsely-shod feet. Her arms
are tucked in under the kerchief. Suddenly she bursts out with:
"Magnhild! Magnhild!"
The traveler turned to look after a tall woman in a waterproof cloak who
had just walked past. He had caught a glimpse of a delicately-outlined
face, beneath a hood which was drawn over the brow; now he saw the owner
standing with her forefinger in her mouth, staring. As he was somewhat
persistent in his gaze, she blushed.
"I will step in just as soon as I put up the horse," called out the
skyds-girl.
They drove on.
"Who was that, my dear?" asked the traveler.
"She is the wife of the saddler down at yonder point," was the reply.
In a little while they had advanced far enough to gain a view of the
fjord and the first houses on the point. The skyds-girl reined in the
horse and jumped down from the trunk. She first attended to the animal's
appearance, and then busied herself with her own toilet. It had ceased
raining, and she removed her kerchief, folded it, and stowed it away in
a little pocket in front of the cariole. Then thrusting her fingers
under her head-kerchief she tried to arrange her hair, which hung in
matted locks over her cheeks.
"She had such a singular look,"--he pointed over his shoulders.
The girl fixed her eyes on him, and she began to hum. Presently she
interrupted herself with,--
"Do you remember the land-slide you passed a few miles above here?"
"I passed so many land-slides."
She smiled.
"Yes; but the one I mean is on the other side of a church."
"It was an old land-slide?"
"Yes; it happened long ago. But that is where once lay the gard
belonging to her family. It was swept away when she was eight or nine
years old. Her parents, brothers and sisters, and every living thing on
the gard, perished. She alone was saved. The land-slide bore her across
the stream, and she was found by the people who hastened to the
spot,--she was insensible."
The traveler became absorbed in thought.
"She must be destined to something," said he, at last.
The girl looked up. She waited some time, but their eyes did not meet.
So she resumed her seat on the trunk, and they drove on.
The valley widened somewhat in the vicinity of the point; farms were
spread over the plain: to the right lay the church with the churchyard
around it; a little farther on the point itself, a small town, with a
large number of houses, most of which were but one story high and were
either painted white and red or not painted at all; along the fjord ran
the wharf. A steamer was just smoking there; farther down, by the mouth
of the river, might be seen a couple of old brigs taking in their
cargoes.
The church was new, and showed an attempt at imitating the old Norse
wooden church architecture. The traveler must have had some knowledge of
this, for he stopped, gazed a while at the exterior, then alighted, went
through the gateway, and into the church; both gate and door stood open.
He was scarcely inside of the building when the bells began to ring;
through the opening he saw a bridal procession coming up from the little
town. As he took his departure the procession was close by the
churchyard gate, and by this he stood while it moved in: the bridegroom,
an elderly man, with a pair of large hands and a large face, the bride,
a young girl, with a plump, round face, and of a heavy build. The
bridesmaids were all clad in white and wore gloves; not one of them
ventured to bestow more than a side glance at the stranger; most of them
stooped, one was hump-backed; there was not one who could truly be said
to have a fine form.
Their male friends lagged behind, in gray, brown, and black felt hats,
and long frock coats, pea-jackets, or round-abouts. Most of them had a
lock of hair drawn in front of the ear, and those who had beards wore
them to cover the entire chin. The visages were hard, the mouths usually
coarse; most of them had tobacco stains about the corners of their
mouths, and some had cheeks distended with tobacco-quids.
Involuntarily the traveler thought of her in the waterproof cloak. Her
history was that of the landscape. Her refined, unawakened face hung as
full of yearning as the mountains of showers; everything that met his
eye, both landscape and people, became a frame for her.
As he approached the road, the skyds-girl hastened to the wayside where
the horse was grazing. While she was tugging at the reins she continued
to gaze fixedly at the bridal procession.
"Are you betrothed?" asked the stranger, smiling.
"He who is to have me has no eyes yet," she replied, in the words of a
proverb.
"Then, I suppose, you are longing to get beyond your present position,"
said he, adding: "Is it to America?"
She was surprised; that query was evidently well aimed.
"Is it in order that you may more speedily earn your traveling expenses
that you have gone into the skyds line? Do you get plenty of fees? Hey?"
Now she colored. Without uttering a word in reply, she promptly took her
seat on the trunk with her back to the stranger, before he had stepped
into the cariole.
Soon they had neared the white-painted hotels which were situated on
either side of the street close by the entrance to the little town. In
front of one of these they paused. By the balustrade above stood a group
of carriers, chiefly young fellows; they had most likely been watching
the bridal procession and were now waiting for steamer-bound travelers.
The stranger alighted and went in, while the girl busied herself with
unstrapping the trunk. Some one must have offered her help, for as the
traveler approached the window he saw her push from her a great lubberly
boy in a short jacket. In all probability some impertinence had also
been offered her and had been repaid in the same coin, for the other
carriers set up a shout of laughter. The girl came walking in with the
heavy trunk. The traveler opened the door for her, and she laughed as
she met him. While he was counting out her money to her, he said,--
"I agree with you, Roennaug, you ought to be off to America as soon as
possible."
He now handed her two specie dollars as her fee.
"This is my mite for your fund," said he, gravely.
She regarded him with wide-open eyes and open mouth, took the money,
returned thanks, and then put up both hands to stroke back her hair, for
it had again fallen out of place. While thus engaged she dropped some of
the coins she held in one half-closed hand. She stooped to pick them up,
and as she did so some of the hooks in her boddice gave way. This
loosened her kerchief and one end fell out, for a knot in one corner
contained something heavy. While readjusting this she again dropped her
money. She got off at last, however, with all her abundance, and was
assailed with a volley of rude jests. This time she made no reply; but
she cast a shy glance into the hotel as she drove the horse past, full
trot.
It was the traveler's lot to see her once more; for as he passed down to
the steamer, later in the day, she was standing with her back turned
toward the street, at a door over which hung a sign-board bearing the
inscription: "Skarlie, Saddler." As he drew nearer he beheld Magnhild in
the inner passage. She had not yet removed her waterproof cloak,
although the rain had long since ceased. Even the hood was still drawn
over her head. Magnhild was the first to espy the stranger, and she drew
farther back into the house; Roennaug turned, and then she too moved into
the passage.
That evening Roennaug's steamer ticket was bought; for the sum was
complete. Magnhild did not undress after Roennaug had gone home late in
the evening. She sat in a large arm-chair in the little low room, or
restlessly paced the floor. And once, with her heavy head pressed
against the window pane, she said half aloud,--
"Then she must be destined to something."
[2] Conveyance.