Late in the autumn all three girls were confirmed. This was such a
matter of course to them all that their thoughts were chiefly busied
with what they should wear on the day of the ceremony. Magnhild, who had
never yet had a garment cut out and made expressly for herself, wondered
whether an outfit would now be prepared for her. No. The younger girls
were furnished with new silk dresses; an old black dress that had become
too tight for the priest's wife was made over for Magnhild.
It was too short both in the waist and in the skirt; but Magnhild
scarcely noticed this. She was provided by the governess with a little
colored silk neckerchief and a silver brooch; she borrowed the every-day
shawl of the mistress of the house; a pair of gloves were loaned her by
the governess.
Her inner preparations were not much more extensive than the outer ones.
The day glided tranquilly by without any special emotion. Religious
sentiments at the parsonage, as well as elsewhere in the parish, were
matters of calm custom. Some tears were shed in church, the priest
offered wine and a toast at table, and there was a little talk about
what should now be done with Magnhild. This last topic so affected
Magnhild that after coffee she went out and sat down alone. She gazed
toward the broad rocky path of the land-slide on the verdure-clad
mountain, then toward the mighty mass of debris in the midst of the
plain, for it was there her home had stood.
Her little brothers and sisters appeared before her, one fair, bright
face after another. Her mother came too; and her melancholy eye dwelt
lingeringly on Magnhild; even the lines about the mouth were visible.
The fine psalm-singing of her mother's gentle voice floated around
Magnhild now. There had been sung in church that day one of the hymns
her mother used to sing. Once more, too, her father sat on the bench,
bowed over the silver work in which he was a master. A book or a
newspaper lay at his side; he paused in his work now and then, stole a
glance at the page before him, or turned a leaf. His long, delicately
cut face inclined occasionally toward the family sitting-room and its
inmates. The aged grandparents formed part of the home circle. The
grandmother tottered off after some little dainty for Magnhild, while
the old grandfather was telling the child a story. The dog, shaggy and
gray, lay stretching himself on the hearth. His howl had been the last
living sound Magnhild had heard behind her as she was carried downward
across the stream. The memory of that awful day once more cast over her
childhood the pall of night, thunder, and convulsions of the earth.
Covering her face with her hands, she burst into tears.
The saddler's ballads came floating toward her, bringing a sense of want
with their obscure dream images. And there drifted past her a motley
throng of those half-comprehended songs and the anecdotes upon which she
had often placed false interpretations, until, exhausted by the
thoughts, emotions, and yearnings of the day, with an aching void within
and a dull feeling of resignation, she feel asleep.
In the evening Roennaug, with whom they had become acquainted during the
confirmation instructions, made her appearance; she was out at service
in the neighborhood and had a holiday in honor of the occasion. She
brought with her a whole budget of gossip concerning the love affairs of
the parish, and the inexperienced girls sat with wondering eyes
listening. It was she who caused the youngest girl to tear her new silk
dress. Roennaug could roll down hill with such incomprehensible speed
that she was induced to repeat the feat several times, and this finally
led the priest's daughter to try her skill.
Hereafter Roennaug often dropped in of an evening when her work was done.
They all took delight in her wild exuberance of spirits. She was as
hearty and as plump as a young foal; she could scarcely keep the clothes
on her back because she was all the time tearing them to tatters, and
she had never-ceasing trouble with her hair, which would keep falling
over her face because she never had it done up properly. When she
laughed, and that was nearly all the time, she tossed back her head, and
through two rows of pearly teeth, white as those of a beast of prey,
could be seen far down her throat.
In the autumn Skarlie came again. There was a difference between the
reception now given him and the former one. The three girls surrounded
his sledge, they carried in his luggage, notwithstanding his laughing
resistance, their laughter accompanied him as he stood in the passage
taking off his furs.
Questions without number were showered like hail upon him the first
time they sat with him in the work-room; the girls had an accumulation
of treasured-up doubts and queries about things he had told them on his
previous visit, and many other perplexing themes which they considered
him able to solve. On very few topics did Skarlie hold the prevailing
opinions of the parish, but he had a way of deftly turning the subject
with a joke when pressed too closely for his precise views. When alone
with Magnhild he expressed himself more freely; at first he did so
cautiously, but gradually increased his plainness of speech.
Magnhild had never viewed her surroundings with critical eyes; she would
now laugh heartily with Skarlie over the priest's last sermon, or his
indolent life; now over the spider-like activity of the mistress of the
house, because it was all described so comically. At the "fat repose" of
the governess, even at the "yellow, round heads" of her young friends,
Magnhild could now laugh; for the humor with which everything was
delineated was so surprisingly original; she did not perceive that this
jesting was by degrees undermining the very ground she stood upon.
The quite usual amusement in the country of teasing a young girl about
being in love was, meanwhile, directed rather unexpectedly toward
Magnhild; she was called "the saddler's wife," because she passed so
much time in his society. This reached Skarlie's ears and immediately he
too began to call her his "wife," his "tall wife," his "blonde wife,"
his "very young wife."
The following summer the priest's daughters went to the city for
increased opportunities of culture. The governess remained "for the
present" at the parsonage.
The saddler came once more in the autumn to complete his work. Magnhild
was now, of course, more frequently alone with him than before. He was
merrier than ever. One joke that was often repeated by him was about
journeying round the world with "his young wife." They met with an
immense number of traveling adventures, and they saw many remarkable
sights, all of which were so accurately described by Skarlie that they
attained the value of actual experiences. But the most ludicrous picture
he drew represented the two tramping through the country: Skarlie
limping on before with a traveling satchel, Magnhild following in a
waterproof cloak and with an umbrella in her hand, grumbling at the
heat, dust, and thirst, weary and heartily disgusted with him Then,
having reached their journey's end, they rested in Skarlie's little home
in the little town, where Magnhild had everything her own way and lived
like a princess all the rest of her life.
* * * * *
It would be impossible to describe the countenance of the priest when
the saddler appeared in his study one evening, and taking a seat in
front of him asked, after a few cordial, pleasant remarks by way of
introduction, whether the priest would object to his marrying Magnhild.
The priest was lying on the sofa smoking; his pipe dropped from his
mouth, his hand sank with it, his fat face relaxed until it resembled a
dough-like mass, in which the eyes peeped forth as wholly devoid of
thought as two raisins; suddenly he gave a start that set a quantity of
springs beneath him to creaking and grating, and the book that lay
upside down on his knee fell. The saddler picked up the volume smiling,
and turned over the leaves. The priest had risen to his feet.
"What does Magnhild have to say to this?" asked he.
The saddler looked up with a smile.
"Of course I should not have asked if she were not likely to give her
consent," said he.
The priest put his pipe in his mouth, and strode up and down the floor,
puffing away. Gradually he grew calmer, and without slackening his
speed, he observed:--
"To be sure I do not know what is to become of the girl."
Once more the saddler raised his eyes from the book whose leaves he was
turning over, and now laying it aside, he remarked:--
"It is, you know, rather a sort of adoption than a marriage. Down yonder
at my house she can develop into whatever she pleases."
The priest looked at him, took a puff at his pipe, paced the floor, and
puffed again.
"Aye, to be sure! You are, I believe, a wealthy man?"
"Well, if not precisely wealthy, I am sufficiently well provided to get
married."
Here Skarlie laughed.
But there was something in his laugh, something which did not quite
please the priest. Still less did he like the tone of indifference with
which Skarlie seemed to treat the whole affair. Least of all did he like
being so taken by surprise.
"I must speak with my wife about this," said he, and groaned. "That I
must," he added decidedly, "and with Magnhild," came as an
afterthought.
"Certainly," said the other, as he rose to take leave.
A little while later, the priest's wife was sitting where the saddler
had sat. Both hands lay idly open on her lap, while her eyes followed
her spouse as he steamed back and forth.
"Well, what do you think?" he urged, pausing in front of her.
Receiving no reply, he moved on again.
"He is far too old," she finally said.
"And surely very sly," added the priest, and then pausing again in front
of his wife, he whispered: "No one really knows where he comes from, or
why he chooses to settle here. He might have a fine workshop in a large
city--wealthy, and a smart dog!"
The priest did not use the choicest language in his daily discourse.
"To think she should allow herself to be so beguiled!" whispered the
wife.
"Beguiled! Just the word--beguiled!" repeated the priest, snapping his
fingers. "Beguiled!" and off he went in a cloud of smoke.
"I am so sorry for her," remarked the wife, and the words were
accompanied by a few tears.
This touched the priest, and he said: "See here, mother, we will talk
with her, both of us!" then strode heavily on again.
Ere long Magnhild stood within the precincts of the study, wondering
what could be wanted of her. The priest was the first to speak:--
"Is it really true, Magnhild, that you have agreed to be the wife of
this fellow, the saddler?"
The priest often used the general term "fellow" instead of a proper
name.
Magnhild's face became suffused with blushes; in her whole life she
could never have been so red before. Both the priest and his wife
interpreted this as a confession.
"Why do you not come to us with such things?" asked the priest, in a
vexed tone.
"It is very strange you should act so, Magnhild," said the mistress of
the house,--and she wept.
Magnhild was simply appalled.
"Do you really mean to have him?" asked the priest, pausing resolutely
in front of her.
Now Magnhild had never been accustomed to being addressed in a
confidential tone. When questioned thus closely she had not the courage
to give a frank statement of all that had occurred between her and
Skarlie, telling, how this talk of marriage had commenced as a jest,
and that although later she had had a misgiving that it was becoming
serious, it was so continually blended anew with jests that she had not
given herself the trouble to protest against it. How could she, with the
priest standing thus before her, enter on so long a story? And so
instead she burst into tears.
Well now, the priest did not mean to torment her. What was done could
not be undone. He was very sorry for her, and in the goodness of his
heart merely wanted to help her lay a solid foundation to her choice.
Skarlie was a man of considerable means, he said, and she a poor girl;
she certainly could not expect a better match, so far as that went.
True, Skarlie was old; but then he had himself said that he designed
rather a sort of adoption than a marriage; his only object was
Magnhild's happiness.
But all this was more than Magnhild could bear to listen to, and so she
rushed from the room. In the passage she fell to crying as though her
heart would break; she was obliged to go up to the dark garret in order
to avoid attracting attention, and there her grief gradually assumed
definite shape. It was _not_ because the saddler wanted her that she was
in such distress; it was because the priest and his wife did not want
her.
This was the interpretation she had put on their words.
When the governess was informed of the affair she differed entirely from
the mistress of the house, who could not comprehend Magnhild, for the
governess could comprehend the young girl perfectly. Skarlie was a man
of fine mind and very witty. He was rich, jovial, rather homely, to be
sure, but that was not of such great consequence down at the Point. And
she adopted this tone in talking with Magnhild when she finally
succeeded in getting hold of her. Magnhild was red with weeping, and
burst into a fresh flood of tears; yet not a word did she say.
Somewhat curtly the priest now informed the saddler that as the matter
was settled he might as well proceed with the preparations. The saddler
desired this himself; moreover, he was now quite through with his work.
Eagerly as he strove for an opportunity to speak with Magnhild, he even
failed to catch a glimpse of her. He was therefore forced to take his
departure without having an interview with her.
During the days which followed Magnhild neither appeared in the
sitting-room nor at table. No one attempted to seek her and talk with
her; the governess deemed it quite natural that in the face of so
serious a step the young girl should wish to be alone.
One day the members of the household were surprised by the arrival
through the mail of a letter and large package for Magnhild. The letter
read as follows:--
In order to complete our delightful joke, dear Magnhild, I came
down here. My house has been painted this summer, within and
without, a joke which now almost looks like earnest--does it
not?
Beds, household furniture, bedding, etc., are articles that I
deal in myself, so these I can purchase from my own stores. When
I think of the object I have in view, this becomes the most
delightful business transaction I have ever entered into.
Do you remember how we laughed the time I took your measure in
order to prove accurately how much too short in the waist your
dress was, how much too wide across the shoulders, and how much
too short in the skirt? Just by chance I took a note of your
exact measurement, and according to it I am now having made:--
1 black silk dress (Lyons taffeta).
1 brown (cashmere).
1 blue (of some light woolen material).
As I have always told you, blue is the most becoming color that
you can wear.
Such orders cannot be executed without some delay; but the
articles shall be sent as speedily as possible.
For other garments that you may perhaps require I telegraphed to
Bergen immediately upon my arrival here; such things can be
obtained there ready-made. You will most likely receive them by
the same mail which brings you this letter.
As you see (and shall further continue to see), there are sundry
jokes connected with this getting married. For instance, I made
my will to-day, and in it designated you as my heiress.
With most respectful greetings to the priest and his honored
family, I now subscribe myself
Your most obedient jester,
SKARLIE.
Magnhild had taken refuge in the garret, with both the letter and the
large package. She had plunged forthwith into the letter, and emerging
from its perusal perplexed and frightened, she tore open the package and
found many full suits of everything pertaining to feminine under
garments. She scattered them all around her, blushing crimson, angry,
ashamed. Then she sat down and wept aloud.
Now she had courage to speak! She sprang down-stairs to the priest's
wife, and throwing her arms about her neck, whispered, "Forgive me!"
thrust the letter into her hand, and disappeared.
The priest's wife did not understand Magnhild's "Forgive me!" but she
saw that the young girl was crying and in great excitement. She took the
letter and read it. It was peculiar in form, she thought; yet its
meaning was plain enough: it indicated a sensible, elderly man's prudent
forethought, and deserved credit. An old housewife and mother could not
be otherwise than pleased with this, and she carried the letter to the
priest. It impressed him in the same way; and he began to think the girl
might be happy with this singular man. The mistress of the house
searched everywhere for Magnhild, in order to tell her that both the
priest and herself were of the opinion that Skarlie's conduct promised
well. She learned that Magnhild was in the garret, and so throwing a
shawl round her (for it was cold) she went up-stairs. She met the
governess on the way and took her with her. Magnhild was not visible;
they saw only the articles of clothing strewn over floor, chests, and
trunks. They collected these together, discussed them, examined them,
and pronounced them admirable. They well knew that such a gift was
calculated to embarrass a young girl; but then Skarlie was an elderly
man whose privilege it was to take things in a fatherly way. This they
told Magnhild when they finally found her. And she had no longer the
courage to be confidential. This was because the priest's wife,
sustained by the governess, spoke what they deemed sensible words to
her. They told her that she must not be proud; she must remember that
she was a poor girl who had neither relatives nor future of her own. In
the days which followed, Magnhild fought a hard fight in secret. But she
lacked energy for action. Where could she have gained it? Where could
she go since the priest's family had so evidently grown tired of her?
A little later there arrived a chest containing her dresses and many
other articles. Magnhild allowed it to stand untouched, but the
governess, who so well understood this bashfulness, attended to having
it opened. She and the priest's wife drew forth the contents piece by
piece, and not long afterwards Magnhild was trying on dress after dress
before the large mirror in the family sitting-room. The doors were
locked, the priest's wife and the governess full of zeal. Finally they
came to the black silk dress, and Magnhild gradually ceased to be
indifferent. She felt a blushing gratification in beholding in the glass
her own form encompassed in beautiful fine material. She discovered
herself, as it were, point by point. If it chanced to be the face, she
had not before this day so fully observed that those she beheld at her
side were without distinct outline, while hers--Her vision had been
rendered keen by the sense awakened, in the twinkling of an eye, by a
handsome, well-fitting garment.
This picture of herself floated before her for many days. Fearing to
disturb it she avoided the mirror. Once more she became absorbed in the
old dreams, those which bore her across the sea to something strange and
great.
But the marriage? At such moments she thrust it from her as though it
were a steamer's plank, to be drawn ashore after serving its purpose.
How was this possible? Aye, how many times in the years that followed
did she not pause and reflect! But it always remained alike
incomprehensible to her.
She could neither be persuaded to put on one of the new dresses the day
Skarlie came, nor to go out to meet him; on the contrary, she hid
herself. Later, and as by chance, she made her appearance. With
unvarying consistency she treated both the marriage and Skarlie as
though neither in the least concerned her.
Skarlie was in high spirits; the fact was both the priest and his wife
took pains to make amends for Magnhild's lack of courtesy, and he
reciprocated in the most winning manner. The governess declared him to
be decidedly amiable.
The next evening Magnhild sat in the dining-room arranging some articles
belonging to the industrial school that must now be sent back. She was
alone, and Skarlie entered softly and smiling, and slowly closing the
door behind him took a seat at her side. He talked for some time on
indifferent subjects, so that she began to breathe freely again; she
even ventured at last to look down on him as he sat bent over smoking.
Her eyes rested on the bald head, the bushy brows, and the extreme end
of the snub-nose, then on his enormous hands and their very
singular-looking nails; the latter were deeply set in the flesh, which
everywhere, therefore in front also, encompassed them like a thick round
frame. Under the nails there was dirt, a fact to which the governess,
who had herself very pretty hands, had once called the attention of her
pupils as a deadly sin. Magnhild looked at the reddish, bristling hair
which completely covered these hands. Skarlie had been silent for a
little while, but as if he felt that he was being scrutinized, he drew
himself up, and with a smile extended to her one of his objectionable
hands.
"Aye, aye, Magnhild!" said he, laying it on both of hers. This gave her
a shock, and in a moment she was like one paralyzed. She could not stir,
could not grasp a single thought except that she was in the clutches of
a great lobster. His head drew nearer, the eyes too were those of a
lobster; they stung. This she had never before observed, and she sprang
hastily to her feet. He retained his seat. Without looking back Magnhild
began to busy herself where she stood with another lot of the industrial
work. Therefore she did not leave the room, but a little while later
Skarlie did.
The governess decked her in her bridal finery the next day; the mistress
of the house too came to look on. This gave her great pleasure, she
said. Magnhild let everything be done for her without stirring, without
uttering a word and without shedding a tear.
It was the same in the sitting-room. She was motionless. A feeling akin
to defiance had taken possession of her. The men-servants and the
house-maids sat and stood by the kitchen door, which was ajar, and just
inside of it; Magnhild saw, too, the heads of little children. The
deacon started the singing as the priest came down-stairs.
Magnhild did not look at the bridegroom. The priest touched on tender
chords; his wife shed tears, and so too did the governess; but
Magnhild's icy coldness chilled both him and them. The discourse was
brief and dealt chiefly in mere generalities. It was followed by
congratulations, and a painful silence; even the saddler had lost his
smile. It was a relief when they were summoned to dinner.
During the repast the priest, desiring to propose a toast, began: "Dear
Magnhild! I trust you have no fault to find with us,"--he got no
farther, for here Magnhild burst into such convulsive weeping that the
priest's wife, the governess, aye, even the priest himself became deeply
affected, and there arose a long and painful silence. Finally, however,
the priest managed to add: "Think of us!" But these words were followed
by the same heart-rending weeping as before, so that no toast was
drunk. What this really signified was not clear to any of those
present, unless perhaps to the bridegroom; and he said nothing.
While they were at dessert one of the young girls approached the bride
and whispered a few words in her ear. Roennaug was outside and wished to
say farewell; she had been waiting ever since the company had gone to
table and could stay no longer. Roennaug was standing on the back porch,
benumbed with the cold; she did not wish to intrude, she said. She
examined the bride's dress, thought it extraordinarily fine, and drawing
off one mitten stroked it with the back of her hand.
"Yes, I dare say he is rich," said she, "but if they had given me a gown
of silver I would not"--and she added a few words which cannot be
repeated here, and for which Magnhild, her face flaming, administered a
good sound box on the ear. The kerchief softened the blow somewhat, but
it was seriously meant.
Magnhild returned to the dining-room and sat down, not in her place at
the bridegroom's side, but on a chair by the window; she did not wish
anything more, she said. It was of no avail that she was entreated to
sit with the others at least until they had finished; she said she could
not.
The departure took place shortly after coffee was served. An incident
had meanwhile occurred which suppressed all emotion, of whatever nature
it might be. It was that the bridegroom suddenly appeared, looking like
a shaggy beast, carrying a fur cape, fur boots, a short coat, a hood,
fur gloves, and a muff. He let them fall in front of Magnhild, saying
with dry earnestness,--
"All these I lay at your feet!"
There burst forth a peal of laughter in which even Magnhild was forced
to join. The whole bridal party gathered about the things which were
spread over the carpet, and every one was loud in praise. It was
evidently not displeasing to Magnhild either, in the face of a winter
journey,--for which she had been promised the loan of a variety of
wraps,--to have such presents lavished upon her.
In a few moments more Magnhild was attired in her blue dress, and she
was enough of a child or rather woman to be diverted by the change.
Shortly afterwards the new traveling wraps were donned, piece by piece,
amid the liveliest interest of all, which reached its height when
Magnhild was drawn before the mirror to see for herself how she looked.
The horse had been driven round, and Skarlie just now came into the
room, also dressed for traveling, and wearing a dog-skin coat, deer-skin
shoes and leggings, and a flat fur cap. He was nearly as broad as he was
long, and in order to raise a laugh, he limped up to the mirror, and,
with dry humor in his face, took his stand beside Magnhild. There
followed a burst of laughter, in which even Magnhild herself joined--but
only to become at once entirely mute again. Her silence still hung over
the parting. Not until the parsonage was left behind did she become
again dissolved in tears.
Her eyes wandered listlessly over the snow-covered heap of ruins on the
site of her childhood's home; it seemed as though there were that within
herself which was shrouded in snow and desolation.
The weather was cold. The valley grew narrower, the road led through a
dense wood. One solitary star was visible.
Skarlie had been cutting figures in the snow with his whip; he now
pointed the latter toward the star and began to hum, finally to sing.
The melody he had chosen was that of one of the ballads of the Scottish
highlands. Like a melancholy bird, it flitted from one snow-laden
fir-tree to another. Magnhild inquired its meaning, and this proved to
be in harmony with a journey through the depths of a forest. Skarlie
talked further about Scotland, its history, his sojourn there.
Once started, he continued, and gradually broke into such merry
anecdotes that Magnhild was astonished when they stopped to rest;
astonished that she had been able to laugh, and that they had driven
nearly fourteen miles.
Skarlie helped her out of the sledge and ushered her into the inn, but
he himself went directly out again to feed the horse.
A stylish looking young lady sat by the hearth in the guest-room warming
herself, scattered over the benches around were her traveling-wraps;
they were of such fine material and costly fur that Magnhild grew
curious and felt obliged to touch them. The traveling-suit the lady
wore, so far as material and style was concerned, made the same
impression on Magnhild as she might have gained from a zooelogical
specimen from another quarter of the globe. The lady's face possessed
youth and a gentle melancholy; she was fair and had languishing eyes and
a slightly-curved nose. Her hair, too, was done up in an unfamiliar
style. Pacing the floor was a slender young man; his traveling boots
stood by the hearth and his feet were cased in small morocco slippers,
lined with fur. His movements were lithe and graceful.
"Are you Skarlie's young wife?" inquired the hostess, quite an old
woman, who had placed a chair by the hearth for Magnhild. Before
Magnhild could reply, Skarlie came in with some things from the sledge.
The bald head, half protruding from the shaggy furs, the deer-skin
shoes, sprawling like monstrous roots over the floor, attracted the
wondering gaze of the young lady.
"Is this your wife?" repeated the hostess.
"Yes, this is my wife," was the cheerful reply, as Skarlie limped
forward.
The young man fixed his eyes on Magnhild. She felt herself growing fiery
red beneath his gaze. There was an expression entirely new to her in his
face. Was it scorn? The lady, too, now looked at her, and at the same
moment the hostess begged Magnhild to take a seat by the fire. But the
latter preferred remaining in the dark, on a bench in the farthest
corner.
It was fully ten o'clock when the Point was reached, but every light
there had been extinguished, even in the house in front of which the
sledge stopped. An old woman, awakened by the jingling of the bells,
came to the street door, opened it and looked out, then drew back and
struck a light. She met Magnhild in the passage, cast the light on her
and said finally, "I bid you welcome."
A strong smell of leather filled the passage; for the work-room and shop
were to the left. The loathsome odor prevented Magnhild from replying.
They entered a room to the right. Here Magnhild hastily removed her
traveling-wraps;--she felt faint. Without casting a glance about her, or
speaking to the woman who was watching her from behind the light, she
then crossed the floor and opened a door she had espied on coming into
the room. She first held the light in, then stepped in herself and
closed the door after her. The woman heard a rumbling within and went to
the door. There she discovered that one of the beds was being moved.
Directly afterward Magnhild reappeared with the candle. The light
revealed a flushed face. She looked resolute.
She now told the woman she had no need of her services.
The saddler did not come in for some time; for he had been seeing to the
horse, which he had borrowed for the journey. The light was still on the
table. There was no one up.