BEDSTEFAR'S FUNERAL.
The day before Bedstefar's funeral Jens and Alan came down from the
mountain-lake laden with nearly two hundred pounds of trout, and the
cotters' children finished their task of bringing in all the multebaer
they could find; for no Norwegian entertainment, taking place at this
season of the year, would have been considered complete without this
much-loved fruit; and certainly it would seem that multebaer had a
softening effect on the strange and somewhat hard Norwegian temperament.
As Tante said, from her own personal observations of the previous days,
multebaer spelt magic!
"Ibsen has not done justice to his country," she told Gerda. "He ought
at least once to have described them as being under the influence of
these berries. Then a softer side of their nature would have been made
apparent to all. Why, the Sorenskriver himself becomes a woolly lamb as
he bends over his plate of cloudberries-and-cream. He ought to have his
photograph taken. No one would recognise him, and that is what
photographs are for!"
They all helped to decorate the Gaard inside and out with branches of
firs and birches. Bedstefar's black house was decorated too, and the
whole courtyard was covered with sprigs of juniper and fir. A beautiful
arch of fir and birch was raised over the white gate through which he
would pass for the last time on his way down to the old church in the
valley.
Katharine, together with Ragnhild and Ingeborg, spent many hours making
strips of wreathing from twigs of the various berry-shrubs up in the
woods. Karl used these for lettering; so that stretched from side to
side of the arch ran the words, "Farvel, kjaere Bedstefar."
When he had finished, every one came out to see his work, and Mor Inga,
turning to Tante, said proudly:
"My Karl is clever, isn't he?"
And she whispered:
"Three years ago he did that for our eldest son, and bitterly we were
weeping then. I go about thinking of that now."
Then Tante and Mor Inga took a little stroll away from the others,
outside the gate and down the road towards the great cowhouse. Part of
this road, too, had been planted with tall fir-branches, so that
Bedstefar would pass under the archway and through an avenue of green
until he reached the outer white gate, which was the entrance to the
Gaard enclosure. And here Mor Inga and Tante lingered, whilst the proud
Norwegian heart gave vent to its sadness, and the kindly Danish heart
beat in understanding sympathy, and the dead son's dog Jeppe came and
whined softly in token that he too was mourning in remembrance of the
past.
So the night, the bright Norwegian night, beginning to realise that its
brightness was being threatened, seeing that the birches were counting
their yellow leaves, even as we, no longer young and not yet old, count
our grey hairs, this summer night passed almost imperceptibly into
morning, and the activities of the next day began early.
Bedstemor, reinstated in her former _rôle_ of leading lady of the Gaard,
was in a state of feverish excitement. She was dressed in black, and
wore over her bodice a fine black silk shawl one hundred years old. Her
head was encased in a sort of black silk night-cap, edged with old white
lace: so that her pretty face was framed in white. A slight flush on her
cheeks made her look strangely youthful. She sat in the porch waiting to
receive the guests; and by special request of Mor Inga and Solli
himself, Tante, Gerda, and Katharine sat there too. They felt awkward
at first, knowing themselves to be there in the capacity of sightseers
rather than that of mourners; but Bedstemor's cheerful spirits put them
at their ease. She was much interested in Katharine's dress-material,
feeling the texture and comparing it with her own.
"It is very good," she said thoughtfully, "but not so good as mine!"
All the same, that dress-material worried her; she fingered it several
times, nodded mysteriously, and seemed lost in thought; whether about
Bedstefar or the dress-material, no one could of course decide. But,
later, she spoke of some wreaths which had been sent, and she said
quaintly:
"Min mand did not want any flowers. But it does not matter much what he
wanted. He won't know, stakkar, will he?"
At last the guests began to arrive, some in carioles, some in
stol-kjaerres, and some few in ordinary carriages. They all brought
funeral-cakes in large painted baskets. As each conveyance drove up into
the courtyard, one of the daughters, either Ragnhild, or Ingeborg, or
Helga, went out to meet it, greeted the guests, and bore away the cake
into the kitchen. It seemed to be the etiquette that the cake should be
received in person by one of the family. The horses, most of them the
knowing little Norwegian yellow Nordfjord pony, or else the somewhat
bigger Gudbrandsdal black horse, were unharnessed and led away by the
cotters. The guests advanced awkwardly to the porch, greeted Bedstemor,
and turned to the strangers shyly, but were at once reassured by Tante's
genial bearing and Katharine's friendly smile. Gerda, too, was at her
best, and was feeling so cheerful that Tante feared she was going to
break into song. Quaint, strange-looking people crossed that threshold,
shook hands with every one in the porch, and passed into the house to
find Bedstemor, who had disappeared into the hall, and was seated in a
corner drinking port wine with an old friend. Wine and coffee were
served at once, as a sign of welcome to the Gaard. The flag, which had
been lowered to half-mast since Bedstefar's death, was now hoisted
full-mast to welcome the guests to the proud Solli homestead. The women,
some of them beautiful in feature, were ungraceful in form and bearing;
they dressed no longer in the picturesque Gudbrandsdal costume, but were
all clothed in ill-fitting black dresses, with no remnant of the
picturesque anywhere: queenly-looking women, some of them born, one
would think, to be mothers of Vikings; and most of them with proud
pedigrees which would excite envy in many a royal breast: shy and
awkward, most of them, even with each other. The men had perhaps a
little more _savoir faire_, but it was easy to see that they all led
lonely lives, and were part and parcel of that lonely land on which
Nature has set a seal of mystic melancholy. Some of the men were fine
fellows, but none as handsome as Solli, Karl, and Jens; but the Solli
tribe had long been celebrated for their good looks, and old Bedstefar
in his time had been voted the best-looking man in the whole of the
Gudbrandsdal. The guests were nearly all Bönder (landowners),
representing the best blood in the valley; most of them having the
largest Gaards, and the best-decorated pews in the churches of the
different districts. Then there was the Lensmand (bailiff), a weird old
man, rather feeble of gait, but acute in wit. He seemed much taken with
Katharine, and came several times to shake hands with her, pretending to
be a newcomer each time. But he had to keep more in the background when
his superior officer, the Foged (under-magistrate), appeared on the
scene. This gentleman was, of course, a local personage, and he brought
a very large wreath and wore an important black satin waistcoat. There
was also the doctor, Distriktslaege[R] Larsen, famous for his rough ways
and disagreeable temper, but also for his skill in mending broken arms
and legs during the "ski" season. He seemed rather scornful of the whole
scene, but not of the port wine. And there was a Tandlaege[S] (dentist),
from Christiania, a nephew of the Sollis, who wore a very long black
frock-coat and the most fashionable pointed boots. He was their
representative man of the world and fashion, and they prized him
greatly. There were yet two other precious persons--a member of the
Storthing,[T] Bedstemor's nephew, and his wife, rather a fine lady, who
at first kept herself in 'splendid isolation,' but soon forgot that she
was a Storthingsmand's wife with a Parisian dress, and threw her lot in
with her un-Parisian-clothed relations. She was a little suspicious of
the Englishwoman, perceiving indeed a formidable rival in well-cut
garments; but directly Katharine and she began to speak to each other in
an ingenious mixture of German and broken English, suspicions gave way
to approbation, and she said to her husband:
"Surely the English cannot be such brutes if this is a specimen of
them?"
"Pyt!" he said scornfully. "They are barbarians and brutes, all of
them."
Nevertheless he found his way over to the Englishwoman, and was not at
all eager to leave her company to join the cheerful contingents of
guests who were now strolling over to the black house to take leave of
poor Bedstefar's face. When at last he was obliged to go, he even asked
her to come too; but as Tante bravely said, they had all seen poor dead
Bedstefar often enough to satisfy the most punctilious Gaard etiquette.
Soon the Praest arrived, a short man, with a kindly, uninspired
countenance. He was accompanied by his wife and two daughters and the
Klokker (clerk), who carried in a bag the Calvin ruff and gown still
used by the Norwegian and Danish clergymen. For it was due to the
position and dignity of the Sollis that most of the funeral service
should be conducted in the Gaard itself. If Bedstefar had been of no
special standing, he would have been taken without any preliminaries to
the churchyard, and in the absence of the clergyman, the clerk would
have said the prayers and sung the hymns, and when the clergyman had
returned from his parochial duties in some other quarter, he would have
thrown the earth and said the final words of committal over perhaps five
or six patiently waiting coffins. But Bedstefar being who and what he
was, had all possible honour shown him in his death, as in his marriage
and at his birth.
The Praest took port wine, chatted with his friends, and went with
Bedstemor to say farewell to Bedstefar. And then, at last, at last the
coffin was closed and borne through the great hall into the inner
sitting-room, preceded by the Praest, now in his vestments, and
Bedstemor, who walked bravely by his side. The nearest relations were
grouped round the coffin. The women-guests sat in the outer room; the
men stood together in the hall. The cotters, their wives, and the
servants of the house stood, some on the stairs, and some in the porch.
Tante, Katharine, and Gerda, not remembering the custom that the men and
women should be separate, sat in the hall, and were able to see through
into the inner room, where Bedstemor, still gallantly comporting
herself, joined in the dismal singing led by the clerk, and Mor Inga,
thinking of the last time that the clerk led the singing in that very
room, wept silently, and drew little Helga closer to her side. When the
singing and prayers were over, the Praest gave a long funeral discourse,
dwelling on poor Bedstefar's virtues, which he was known not to have
possessed in overflowing measure: nevertheless tears flowed, and grim
old men said, "Ja, ja," and the Praest was considered to have preached
appropriately, and Bedstemor seemed gratified. Then the cotters raised
the coffin, bore it out, and placed it on the low cart which had been
painted black for the occasion; and Svarten, the clever black horse who
never slipped, never failed in duty or intelligence, and knew every inch
of that winding and awkward way down to the valley, Svarten drew his
burden through the decorated gate.
"Farvel, Bedstefar," said every one.
Bedstemor stepped briskly into the carriage, together with the Praest,
Solli, and Mor Inga. The daughters remained at home to preside over the
final preparations for the feasting. The sons followed in a cariole, and
all the other men-guests helped to harness their horses and started off
leisurely in the procession, a long, straggling, dust-raising line of
about fifty conveyances. The women stayed behind, drank coffee, and
strolled about the house, examining everything, as Ragnhild predicted;
peering into the huge old painted and decorated chests full of fine
linen, looking at the old painted sledge and cradle, dating back from
1450, precious Solli possessions, and casting an eye on the old silver
tankards, and on the famous old carved door and sides of a pulpit,
formerly belonging to an old church which had been swept away by the
falling of an avalanche some hundred and fifty years previously. Then
there were the old painted cupboards and the queer-shaped old Norwegian
chairs and stools, and the old-fashioned, richly-carved mangles, and the
old-world slit of a recess in the wall for the Langeleik, and a fine old
Hardanger violin which Bedstefar was reported to have played with
uncommon skill; having been specially clever at giving descriptive
improvisations of Nature in her many moods, and of things mystic, such
as the song of the Huldre, and things human, such as the ringing of
marriage-bells. Alas, alas, that old-world ways were dying out and
old-world music too! Still there was much of the old atmosphere in the
Solli Gaard, and no other homestead in the whole valley could boast of
so many old-time treasures curiously mixed up with modern importations.
So that the lady funeral-guests had much with which to amuse themselves,
and they roamed into the different bedrooms, examined Tante's
possessions, and Katharine's belongings, and did not seem at all abashed
when Tante and Katharine discovered them in the very act. Of course not,
for it was a day of entertainment; and as a sweet little old lady, a
pocket edition of Bedstemor, said, with a twinkle in her eye:
"Thou knowest we are here to enjoy ourselves. We have come a long way.
And there have not been many funerals or weddings in the valley lately."
Knutty of course understood perfectly, and exerted herself heroically to
amuse every one, drinking coffee with every one in a reckless fashion,
and even flirting with the one man who was left behind, an aged
Gaardmand (landowner) of about ninety years. So the time passed away
cheerily for all; and when Bedstemor, Solli, and the Praest arrived home
from the churchyard, followed in due time by the others, the feasting
began. It seemed to be the etiquette that the women should eat
separately from the men. They gathered together in the parlour, where
rich soup was served to them sitting; and after this opening ceremony,
they were expected to stroll into the great dining-room, where a huge
table, beautifully decorated with leaves, was spread with every kind of
food acceptable to the Norwegian palate: trout, cooked in various ways;
beef, mutton, veal, sauces, gravies, potatoes, even vegetables (a great
luxury in those parts), _compots_, and of course the usual accompaniment
of smoked mysteries. The plates, knives, and forks were arranged in
solid blocks, and the guests were supposed to wait on themselves and
take what they wished. They walked round the table on a voyage of
inspection and reflection, carrying a plate and a fork; and having into
this one plate put everything that took their fancy, they retired to
their seats, and ate steadily in a business-like fashion. There was
scarcely any talking. When the women were served, the men came and
helped themselves in the same way, retiring with their booty either into
the hall or the adjoining room. All of them made many journeys to the
generous table, returning each time with a heaped-up plate in their
hands, and in their minds a distinct, though silent, satisfaction that
the Sollis were doing the thing in a suitable style. Every one made a
splendid square meal; but Bedstemor took the prize for appetite. She was
very happy and excited. Hers was the only voice heard. As Knutty said,
it was refreshing to know that there was at least one cheerful person
amongst those solemn one hundred and twenty guests! Knutty herself rose
to the occasion with characteristic readiness. She ate nobly
without intermission, as though she had been attending Norwegian
peasant-funerals all her life; and she gave a mischievous wink to Gerda
and Katharine every time Bedstemor rose from her seat and strode
masterfully to the table in search of further fodder. No one offered any
courtesy to any one else. It seemed to be the custom that each person
should look after herself; and there was a look of puzzled amusement on
some of the faces when Katharine attempted to wait on one or two of the
guests. Nevertheless, the attention, once understood, was vaguely
appreciated; and the pretty little old lady whom Katharine had found in
her bedroom, soon allowed herself to be petted and spoiled by the
visitors. Indeed she abandoned all her relatives, and always sat with
Knutty.
This meal came to an end about four o'clock, when there was another
relay of coffee. Some of the guests strolled about and picked
red-currants off the bushes in Bedstemor's garden. Knutty found her way
to the cowhouse and learnt from her favourite Mette that all the
servants and cotters were having a splendid meal too.
"Ja, ja," Mette said, "I have eaten enough to last for two years. And
the young ox tasted lovely! Didst thou eat of him? Ak, there is old Kari
crying her heart out because the young ox had to be killed. Thou knowest
she was fond of him. Ak, nobody has cried for Bedstefar as much as old
Kari has cried for the young ox. And she wouldn't eat an inch of
him--only think of that, Fröken, isn't it remarkable?"
"It certainly is," said Knutty, with a twinkle in her eye. "For most of
us generally do eat up the people we love best--beginning with the
tenderest part of them."
For one moment Mette looked aghast, and then light broke in upon her.
"Nei da," she said brightly, "but as long as we don't really eat them,
it doesn't matter, does it?"
"It is supposed not to matter," answered Knutty, moving off to comfort
old Kari, who was not only mourning for the young black ox, but also
continuing to feel personally aggrieved over her disappointment about
Clifford's ghost.
"Ak, ak, the young black ox!" cried Kari, when she saw her Danish
friend. "Eat him? Not I, dear Fröken, I was fond of him. Ak, ak!"
"Be comforted, Kari," said Knutty soothingly. "You loved him and were
good to him and didn't eat him up. What more do you want?"
"Will you tell me whether he tasted good?" asked Kari softly. "I should
like to know that he was a success."
"He was delicious," said Knutty, "and I heard the Praest and the doctor
speaking in praise of him. Of course they must know."
Kari nodded as if reassured, and disappeared into the cowhouse, Tante's
concert-room, wiping her moist eyes with her horny hands. She came back
again, and stood for a moment in the doorway.
"I cannot believe that it was not the Englishman's ghost," she said,
shaking her head mysteriously. "I felt it was a ghost. I trembled all
over, and my knees gave way."
"But you surely believe now that my Englishman is alive, don't you,
Kari?" asked Tante, who was much amused.
"I cannot be sure," replied Kari, and she disappeared again; but Tante,
knowing that she always carried on a conversation in this weird manner,
waited for her sudden return.
"That is Ragnhild's sweetheart," she said in a whisper, pointing to a
tall fair young man who had come down with another guest to take a look
at the horses. "Nei, nei, don't you tell her I told you. He is a rich
Gaardmand from the other side of the valley."
"But I have seen them together, and they don't speak a word to each
other," Knutty said.
"Why should they?" asked old Kari. "There is nothing to say."
And she disappeared finally.
"My goodness!" thought Knutty, "if all nations only spoke when there was
anything worth saying, what a gay world it would be."
Then Tante took a look at the guests' horses, some of them in the
stable, and others tethered outside, and all eating steadily of the
Sollis' corn. For the hospitality of the Gaard extended to the animals
too; and it would have been a breach of etiquette if any of the guests
had brought with them sacks of food for the horses; just as it would
have been a breach of etiquette not to have contributed to the
collection of funeral-cakes which were now being arranged on the table
in the dining-room, together with jellies, fancy creams, and many kinds
of home-made wines. Alan was sent by Mor Inga to summon Tante to a
private view of this remarkable show. Some of the cakes had crape
attached to them and bore Bedstefar's initials in icing. They were of
all imaginable shapes, and looked rich and tempting. Tante's mouth
watered.
"Ak," she cried, "if I could only eat them all at one mouthful!"
Every right-minded guest had the same desire when the room was thrown
open to the public. And all set to work stolidly to fulfil a portion of
their original impulse. Bedstemor again distinguished herself; but Alan
ran her very close. Katharine and Gerda did not do badly. In fact, no
one did badly at this most characteristic part of the day's feasting.
Then every one went up and thanked Solli and Mor Inga, saying, "Tak for
Kagen" (Thanks for the cakes). Indeed, one had to go up and say "Tak"
for everything: after wine and coffee, dinner, dessert, and supper,
which began about nine o'clock. No sooner was one meal finished than
preparations were immediately made for the next, etiquette demanding
that variety should be the order of the day. The supper-table was
decorated with fresh leaves arranged after a fresh scheme, the centre
being occupied by all the funeral gifts of butter, some of them in
picturesque shapes of Saeters and Staburs.
Cold meats, dried meats of every kind, cold fish, dried fish, smoked
fish, and cheeses innumerable were the menu of this evening meal. The
guests did astonishing justice to it in their usual business-like
fashion; perhaps here and there Knutty remarked 'an appetite that
failed,' but, on the whole, there was no falling off from the excellent
average. Bedstemor was tired, and was persuaded to go to bed. But she
said up to the very end that she was bra', bra', and had had a happy
day. Her old face looked a little sad, and Knutty thought that perhaps
she was fretting for Bedstefar after all. Perhaps she was.
So the first day's feasting in honour of Bedstefar came to an end. The
second day was a repetition of the first, except that the guests began
to be more cheerful. Those who lived in the actual neighbourhood, had
gone away over night and returned in the morning; but most of them had
been quartered in the Gaard itself. Knutty talked to every one, and
continued her flirtation with the ancient Gaardmand of ninety years,
who, so she learnt, had been noted as an adept at the Halling dance.
She had made him tell her of the good old times and ancient customs,
and once she succeeded in drawing him on to speak of the Huldre. She had
to use great tact in her questionings; but, as she always said to
herself, she had been born with some tact, and had acquired a good deal
more in dealing with two generations of icebergs. So she sat amongst
these reserved Norwegians, and little by little, with wonderful patience
and perseverance, dug a hole in their frozen heart-springs. They liked
her. They said to Mor Inga:
"The fat old Danish lady is bra', bra'."
And Mor Inga whispered to her:
"Thou art a good one. They all like thee. There was a calf born last
night. We have settled to call it after thy name--Knuttyros."
"I am sure I do not deserve such an honour," Tante said, trying to be
humble.
"Yes, thou dost," Mor Inga answered with grave dignity, as she went off
to her duties as hostess.
But Tante did not understand until Clifford explained to her that a
great mark of Norwegian approval had been bestowed on her.
"Then I suppose it is like your new order of merit in England," she
said; "'honour without insult.' Ah, Clifford, I hope some day, in the
years to come, that your name will be found amongst the favoured few."
"Not very likely, Knutty," he said. "I belong only to the rank and file
of patient workers and gropers, whose failures and mistakes prepare the
way for the triumph of brighter spirits."
"Sniksnak!" said Knutty contemptuously. "Don't pretend to me that you
are content with that. And don't talk to me about patience. I hate the
word. It is almost as bad as balance and self-control. Balanced people,
self-controlled people, patient people indeed! Get along with them! The
only suitable place for them is in a herbarium amongst the other dried
plants."
"But, Tante," said Gerda, who always took Knutty seriously, "there would
and could be no science without patience."
"And a good thing too!" replied Knutty recklessly, winking at Katharine.
"Tante's head is turned by the unexpected honour of being chosen as
god-mother to a Norwegian cow," Clifford said. "We must bear with her."
Knutty laughed. She was always glad when her Englishman teased her. She
watched him as he went back into the hall and sat down near the doctor
and clergyman.
"My Clifford begins to look younger again," she thought.
She watched him when Alan came and stood by him for a moment, and then
went off with Jens.
"Yes," she thought, "it is all right with my icebergs now."
She glanced across to Katharine, who was doing her best to make friends
with the women in the parlour.
"Dear one," she thought, "will you remember, I wonder, that I told you
he will never be able to speak unless you help him?"
She watched her when Alan came in his shy way and sat down near her.
"Dear one," she thought, "the other iceberg is in love with you too, and
I am not jealous. What a wonderful old woman I am! Or is it you who are
wonderful, bringing love and happiness to us all? Ah, that's it!"
So the second day's feasting in honour of Bedstefar came to an end; and
on the third day the men played quoits in the courtyard, and smoked and
drank more lustily. The Sorenskriver, who had had various quiet disputes
on the previous days with the doctor, the Foged, and the Storthingsmand,
now broke forth into violent discussions with the same opponents, and
was pronounced by Knutty to be at the zenith of happiness because he was
at the zenith of disagreeableness! All the men were enjoying themselves
in one way or another; but the women sat in the big parlour looking a
little tired and bored. It was Katharine who suggested that Gerda should
sing to them.
"Sing to them their own songs," she said. "You will make them so happy.
If I could do anything to amuse them, I would. But if one does not know
the language, what can one do?"
"You have your own language, kjaere," Gerda answered, "the language of
kindness, and they have all understood it. If Tante was not so
conceited, she would know that you have really been sharing with her the
approval of the company."
"Nonsense," laughed Katharine. "Why, they think I am a barbarian woman
from a country where there are no mountains and no Saeters! Come now,
sing to them and to me. I love to hear your voice."
"So does my Ejnar," said Gerda. "Ak, I wish he were here! He would
pretend not to care; but he would listen on the sly. Well, well, it is
good to be without him. One has one's freedom."
So she sat down and sang. She began with a little Swedish song:
"Om dagen vid mitt arbete" ("At daytime when I'm working").
AT DAYTIME WHEN I'M WORKING.
At the day-time when I'm working, Thou reignest in my thoughts;
At night when I am sleeping, Thou reignest in my dreams;
At dawn when I a-wak-en, I yearn with long-ing sore,
For my be-lov-ed sweet-heart, So far, so far a-way.
[Illustration: Sheet music of 'At day-time when I'm working.']
"That is one of my Ejnar's favourites," she said, turning to Katharine.
The company began to be mildly interested. It was not the Norwegian
habit of mind to be interested at once. Still, one or two faces betrayed
a faint sign of pleasure; and one of the men peeped in from the hall.
Then she sang another Swedish song, "Oh, hear, thou young Dora." It was
so like Gerda to feel in a Swedish mood when she ought to have been
feeling Norwegian.
The company seemed pleased. They nodded at each other.
Another man peeped in from the hall. Bedstemor strode masterfully into
the room, and sat down near the little pocket edition of herself.
"That is another of my Ejnar's favourites," Gerda whispered, turning to
Katharine again.
She paused for a moment, thinking. No one spoke.
Then she chose a Norwegian song--Aagot's mountain-song. This was it:
AAGOT'S MOUNTAIN-SONG.
O'er the hills the sun now glides, Shad-ows lengthen out;
Night will soon come back a-gain, Fold-ing me in her embrace;
In the sta-ble stand the cat-tle, At the Sae-ter door stand I.
[Illustration: Sheet music of 'Aagot's mountain-song.']
There was a stir of pleasure in the company. Mor Inga and Solli slipped
in. Then she sang one of Kjerulf's songs, "Over de höje Fjelde."[U]
"Fain would I know what the world may be
Over the mountains high.
Mine eyes can nought but the white snow see,
And up the steep sides the dark fir-tree,
That climbs as if yearning to know.
Ah! what if one ventured to go!"
"Up, heart, up! and away!
Over the mountains high.
For my courage is young and my soul will be gay,
If no longer bound straitly and fettered I stay,
But seeking yon summit to gain,
No more beat my wings here in vain."
The Sorenskriver came in and sat down by Katharine.
"Yes," he said, more to himself than to her, "I remember having those
thoughts when I was a young boy. What should I find over the mountains?
Ak, and what does one find in exchange for all one's yearning?"
Gerda had sung this beautifully. The natural melancholy of her voice
suited to perfection the weird sadness of Norwegian music. The company
was gratified. They knew and loved that song well, and some of them
joined in timidly at the end of the last verse. The old Gaardmand crept
into the room and sat near Knutty.
"I could sing as finely as I could dance the Halling," he said to
Knutty, with a grim smile.
"Thou shouldst have heard me sing," said Bedstemor to Knutty. "I had a
beautiful voice."
"And so had I," said the pocket edition of Bedstemor, clutching at
Knutty's dress.
"Yes," answered Knutty sympathetically, "I can well believe it."
And she added to herself:
"We all had a voice, or think we had. It amounts to the same when the
past is past. A most convenient thing, that past--that kind of past
which only crops up when you want it!"
Then Gerda sang:
"Come haul the water, haul the wood."
This time the audience which, unbeknown to Gerda, had grown to large
proportions, joined in lustily, led by Bedstemor's cracked old voice.
She beat time, too, still playing the _rôle_ of leading lady. Katharine,
sitting by Gerda's side, but a little in front of the piano, saw that
the hall was full of eager listeners, and that at the back of the guests
were the servants of the Gaard, including Thea and the dramatic Mette,
and some of the cotters, and old Kari. The music which they knew and
loved had gathered them all together from courtyard, kitchen, and
cowhouse. There was no listlessness on any face now: an unwilling
animation, born of real pleasure, lit up the countenances of both men
and women--an animation all the more interesting, so Katharine thought,
because of its reluctance and shyness. It reminded her of Alan's
shyness, of Clifford's too; she remembered that Clifford had said to her
several times:
"I believe I am a Norwegian in spirit if not in body; I have always
loved the North and yearned after it."
She glanced at him and caught him looking fixedly at her. He was
thinking:
"To-morrow, when she and I go off to Peer Gynt's home together, shall I
be able to speak to her as I spoke to her in my dream up at the Saeter?"
He turned away when he met her glance, and retired at once into himself.
Then Gerda sang other Norwegian songs, every one joining in with
increasing enjoyment and decreasing shyness: songs about cows, pastures,
Saeters, sweethearts, and Huldres, a curious mixture of quaint, even
humorous words, and melancholy music.
Finally the Sorenskriver, scarcely waiting until the voices had died
away, stood up, a commanding figure, a typical rugged Norwegian, and
started the national song:
"Yes, we cherish this our country."
Long afterwards Katharine remembered that scene and that singing.
No voice was silent, no heart was without its thrill, no face without
its sign of pride of race and country.
[Footnote R: _Laege_, doctor (leech).]
[Footnote S: _Tandlaege_, tooth leech.]
[Footnote T: _Storthing_, National Assembly.]
[Footnote U: Björnson's words from Arne, translated by Walter Low. By
kind permission of Mr. William Heinemann.]