She had heard these words before.
The first time it was in the churchyard that blustering winter day her
fourteen relatives were buried,--all whom she had loved, both parents
and grandparents, and brothers and sisters. In fancy she saw the scene
again! The wind had here and there swept away the snow, the pickets of
the fence stood out in sharp prominence, huge rocks loomed up like the
heads of monsters whose bodies were covered by the snow-drifts. The wind
whistled behind the little group of mourners through the open church
porch whose blinds had been taken out, and down from the old wooden
belfry came the clanging toll of the bell, like one cry of anguish after
another.
The people that were gathered together were blue with the cold; they
wore mittens and their garments were closely buttoned up. The priest
appeared in sea-boots and had on a skin suit beneath his gown; his hands
also were eased in large mittens, and he vigorously fought the air
round about him with these. He waved one of them toward Magnhild.
"This poor child," said he, "remained standing on her feet, and with her
little sled in her hand she was borne downward and across the frozen
stream,--the sole being the Lord saw fit to save. To what is she
destined?"
She rode home with the priest, sitting on his lap. He had commended her
to the care of the parish, and took her home with him "for the present,"
in order to set a good example. She nestled up to his fur overcoat, with
her small cold hands inside of his huge mittens, beside his soft, plump
hands. And all the while she kept thinking: "What am I destined to, I
wonder?"
She presumed that her mind would become clear on this point when she got
into the house. But nothing met her eye here she had not seen before
until she entered the inner room, where a piano which some one was just
playing in the highest degree attracted her.
But for that very reason she forgot the thought she had brought in with
her.
In this household there were two daughters, heavy-looking girls, with
small round heads and long, thick braids of light hair. They had
recently been provided with a governess, a pale, though fleshy person,
with her neck more exposed and her sleeves more open than Magnhild had
ever seen in any one before. Her voice sounded as though it needed
clearing, and Magnhild involuntarily coughed several times; but this was
of no avail. The governess asked Magnhild's name and inquired if she
knew how to read, to which Magnhild replied in the affirmative. Her
whole family had been noted for their love of reading. And then the
governess proposed, still with the same husky after-tone in her voice,
that she should be allowed to share the instructions of the little
girls, in order to spur them on. Magnhild was one year older than the
elder.
The mistress of the house was sitting by, engaged with her embroidery.
She now glanced up at Magnhild and said, "With pleasure," then bent over
her work again. She was a person of medium size, neither thin nor stout,
and had a small head with fair hair. The priest, who was heavy and
corpulent, came down-stairs after removing his gown; he was smoking, and
as he crossed the floor, he said, "There comes a man with fish," and
passed out of the room again.
The youngest girl once more attacked her scales. Magnhild did not know
whether she should remain where she was, or go back to the kitchen. She
sat on the wood-box by the stove tormented with the uncertainty, when
dinner was announced in the adjoining room. All work was put aside, and
the little one at the piano closed the instrument. Now when Magnhild was
alone and heard the rattling of the knives, she began to cry; for she
had not yet eaten a morsel that day. During the meal the priest came out
from the dining-room; for it had been decided that he had not bought
enough fish. He opened the window and called out to the man to wait
until dinner was over. As he turned to go back into the dining-room he
espied the little one on the wood-box.
"Are you hungry?" asked he.
The child made no reply. He had lived long enough among the peasants to
know that her silence meant "yes," and so taking her by the hand he led
her to the table, where room was silently made for her.
In the afternoon she went coasting with the little girls, and then
joined them in their studies and had a lesson in Bible history with
them; after this she partook of the afternoon lunch with them, and then
played with them until they were called to supper, which they all ate at
the same table. She slept that night on a lounge in the dining-room and
took part the next day in the duties of the priest's daughters.
She had no clothes except those she had on; but the governess made over
an old dress for her; some articles of old linen belonging to one of the
little girls were given to her, and a pair of their mother's boots. The
lounge she had slept on was removed from the dining-room, because it
occupied the space needed for some shoemakers who were to "see the
household well shod." It was placed in the kitchen, but was in the way
there; then in the bed-room of the maid-servants, but there the door
continually struck against it; finally it was carried up to the nursery.
Thus it was that Magnhild came to eat, work, and sleep with the priest's
daughters; and as new clothes were never made for her she naturally fell
to wearing theirs.
Quite as much by chance she began to play the piano. It was discovered
that she had more talent for music than the daughters of the house, so
it was thought best that she should learn, in order to help them.
Moreover, she grew tall, and developed a fine voice for singing. The
governess took great pains in teaching her to sing by note; she did so
at first merely in the mechanical way she did everything, later because
the remarkable skill in reading at sight which her pupil developed under
her guidance proved a diversion to them all in their mountain solitude.
The priest could lie on the sofa (the place he most frequently occupied)
and laugh aloud when he heard Magnhild running all sorts of exercises up
and down like a squirrel in a tree. The result of this, so far as
Magnhild was concerned, was that the young girl learned--not more music,
as one might have supposed, but--basket-making.
The fact was that about this time there spread, like an epidemic among
the people, the idea that skill in manual industries should be
cultivated among the peasants, and propagators of the new doctrine
appeared also in this parish. Magnhild was chosen as the first pupil;
she was thought to have the most "dexterity." The first thing taught was
basket-making, then double spinning, then weaving, especially of the
more artistic kinds, and after this embroidery, etc., etc. She learned
all these things very rapidly, that is to say, she learned zealously as
long as she was gaining an insight into each; further development did
not interest her. But as she was henceforth expected to teach others,
grown people as well as children, it became a settled habit for her to
repair twice each week to the public school where many were assembled.
When anything had once become part of her daily routine she thought no
more about it. The house that had given her shelter was responsible for
this.
The mistress of the house made her daily regulation visits to the
kitchen, cellar, and stables, the rest of the time she embroidered; the
whole house was covered with embroidery. She might be taken for a fat
spider, with a little round head, spinning its web over chairs, tables,
beds, sledges, and carts. Her voice was rarely heard; she was seldom
addressed by any one.
The priest was much older than his wife. His face was characterized by
its small proportion of nose, chin, and eyes, and its very large share
of all else belonging to it. He had fared badly at his examination, and
had been compelled to support himself by teaching until, when he was
advancing in years, he had married one of his former pupils, a lady with
quite a nice property. Then he betook himself to seeking a clerical
appointment, "the one thing in which he had shown perseverance," as he
was himself in the habit of playfully remarking. After a ten years'
search he had succeeded in getting a call (not long since) to his
present parish, and he could scarcely hope for a better one. He passed
most of his time in lying on the sofa reading, chiefly novels, but also
newspapers and periodicals.
The governess always sat in the same chair in which Magnhild had seen
her the first day, took the same walk to the church and back each day,
and never failed to be ready for her duties on the stroke of the clock.
She gradually increased in weight until she became excessively stout;
she continued to wear her neck bare and her sleeves open, furthermore to
speak in the same husky voice, which no effort on her part had ever yet
been able to clear.
The priest's daughters became stout and heavy like their father,
although they had small round heads like their mother. Magnhild and they
lived as friends, in other words, they slept in the same room, and
worked, played, and ate together.
There were never any ideas afloat in this parish. If any chanced to find
their way there from without they got no farther than the priest's
study. The priest was not communicative. At the utmost he read aloud to
his family some new or old novel that he had found diverting.
One evening they were all sitting round the table, and the priest,
having yielded to the entreaties of the united family, was reading aloud
the "Pickwick Club."
The kitchen door slowly opened and a large bald head, with a snub nose
and smiling countenance, was thrust in. A short leg in very wide
trousers was next introduced, and this was followed by a crooked and
consequently still shorter one. The whole figure stooped as it turned on
the crooked leg to shut the door. The intruder thus presented to the
party the back of the before mentioned large head, with its narrow rim
of hair, a pair of square-built shoulders, and an extraordinarily large
seat, only half covered by a pea-jacket. Again he turned in a slanting
posture toward the assembled party, and once more presented his smiling
countenance with its snub-nose. The young girls bowed low over their
work, a suppressed titter arose first from one piece of sewing and then
from another.
"Is this the saddler?" asked the priest, rising to his feet.
"Yes," was the reply, as the new-comer limped forward, holding out a
hand so astonishingly large and with such broad round finger tips that
the priest was forced to look at it as he took it in his own. The hand
was offered to the others; and when it came to Magnhild's turn she burst
out laughing just as her hand disappeared within it. One peal of
laughter after another was heard and suppressed. The priest hastened to
remark that they were reading the "Pickwick Club."
"Aha!" observed the saddler, "there is enough to make one laugh in that
book."
"Have you read it?" asked the priest.
"Yes; when I was in America. I read most of the English writers; indeed,
I have them all in my house now," he answered, and proceeded to give an
account of the cheap popular editions that could be obtained in America.
The laughter of young girls is not easily subdued; it was still ready to
bubble over when, after the saddler was furnished with a pipe, the
reading was resumed. Now to be sure there was a pretext. After a while
the priest grew tired and wanted to close the book, but the saddler
offered to continue the reading for him, and was allowed to do so. He
read in a dry, quiet manner, and with such an unfamiliar pronunciation
of the names of the personages and localities introduced that the humor
of the text became irresistible; even the priest joined in the laughter
which no one now attempted to restrain. It never occurred to the girls
to ask themselves why they were all obliged to laugh; they were still
laughing when they went up-stairs to go to bed, and while undressing
they imitated the saddler's walk, bowed and talked as he did, pronounced
the foreign words with his English accent. Magnhild was the most adroit
in mimicking; she had observed him the most closely.
At that time she was fifteen, in her sixteenth year.
The next day the girls passed every free moment in the dining-room,
which had now been transformed into a work-shop. The saddler told them
of a sojourn of several years in America, and of travels in England and
Germany; he talked without interrupting his work and with a frequent
intermingling of jests. His narratives were accompanied by the incessant
tittering of his listeners. They were scarcely aware themselves how they
gradually ceased laughing at him and laughed instead at the witty things
he said; neither did they observe until later how much they learned from
him. He was so greatly missed by the girls when he left that more than
half of their time together was occupied in conversation about him; this
lasted for many days after he was gone, and never wholly ceased.
There were two things which had made the strongest impression on
Magnhild. The first was the English and German songs the saddler had
sung for them. She had paid little attention to the text, unless perhaps
occasionally; but how the melodies had captivated her!
While singing hymns one Sunday they had first noticed that Skarlie had a
fine voice. Thenceforth he was obliged to sing for them constantly.
These foreign melodies of his fluttering thither from a fuller, richer
life, freer conditions, larger ideas than their own, clung to Magnhild's
fancy the entire summer. They were the first pictures which had awakened
actual yearning within her breast. It may also be said that for the
first time she comprehended what song was. As she was singing her
interminable scales one day, before beginning her studies in singing
from note, she came to a full realization of the fact that this song
without melody was to her like wings beating against a cage: it
fluttered up and down against walls, windows, doors, in perpetual and
fruitless longing, aye, until at last it sank like the cobwebs, over
everything in the room. She could sit alone out of doors with _his_
songs. While she was humming them, the forest hues dissolved into one
picture; and that she had never discovered before. The density, the
vigor in the tree-tops, above and below the tree-tops, over the entire
mountain wall, as it were, overwhelmed her; the rushing of the waters of
the stream attracted her.
The second thing which had made so deep an impression on her, and which
was blended with all the rest, was Skarlie's story of how he had become
lame. In America, when he was a young man, he had undertaken to carry a
boy twelve years old from a burning house; he had fallen with the boy
beneath the ruins. Both were extricated, Skarlie with a crushed limb,
the boy unscathed. That boy was now one of the most noted men of
America.
It was his lot to be saved, "he was destined to something."
This reminder again! The thought of her own fate had heretofore been
shrouded in the wintry mantle of the churchyard, amid frost, weeping,
and harsh clanging of bells; it had been something sombre. Now it
flitted onward to large cities beyond the seas, among ships, burning
houses, songs, and great destinies. From this time forth she dreamed of
what she was destined to be as something far distant and great.