“Merry Christmas!”
“Thanks; the same to you!”
All the folks shouted to each other, smiled and bowed; no one could
salute with his hat, loaded with bundles as they were.
Within the delicacy shops and toy-booths two or three rows of people
were standing and leaned over each other, and the salesmen jumped about
behind the counter almost like madmen.
Out on the streets it was just as crowded with children staring into
the windows, although at the finest shops just where there was the most
to see the window panes were so dewy from the heat inside that one had
to peep in at the stripes after the drops which ran down, if he wanted
to see anything.
There was a Santa Claus with snow-white beard who held a little
Christmas tree on which tiny real candles were flaming. He was the most
wonderful one could behold; but then there was a fastidious, half-grown
girl who had been inside herself; she said it was not real snow that
was scattered over the man and glistened so prettily in the tree, but
only white powdered sugar, for she had tasted it.
That spoiled the Santa Claus for most of them, and there was an
abnormal rush to the next most remarkable thing, a carousel which
turned around. And here the group of children became so compact that
the grown people could hardly get their own loose; and yet they must
hurry home. The bells were no longer ringing; it was past six; they
must go home and dress and then only would come the pleasantest of all!
But could anything in the world be pleasanter than to walk about in
the bright streets, among all the friendly people, who shouted “Merry
Christmas!” For it was not only at the windows that there was something
to see, but while you walked along there was a commotion, and it turned
out to be a heavy man who had fallen, for it was so dreadfully slippery.
And all the bundles which were scattered around him! You would have
thought that the man was a big toy-man to be shut up, full of bundles,
which now poured out because he flew open when he fell.
“Lord! Poor fellow! Let me brush you off!”
“Did you hurt yourself?”
“Oh, a little,” responded the fat man, and rubbed himself.
“It is dangerous to fall backwards,” said one.
“Especially for heavy people,” added another.
“You were lucky to get off so easily,” said a third.
“All’s well that ends well,” said the first, who was the wittiest.
“Merry Christmas,” said they all.
“Thanks; the same to you!” answered the fat man; and all helped him
with the bundles, which were all presents; and the bundles were all in
good condition except those which he had had in his rear pocket; but
that no one could help.
“Now, we will go home,” said the larger children, and took the little
ones by the hand.
Of course they would go home. There was to be the nicest of all
there; the Christmas tree, the presents, the surprises; but yet--this
happiness must be long. It was so nice to have such a dreadfully good
time and yet have the very best to come, so that one could hardly be
very anxious to reach the best of all; for then it would soon be over.
But when they came home and were dressed and washed--with little
water in honor of the day--a solemnity fell upon them. The fever of
expectation which had been gathering through their wild dreams for
weeks and months was now at its height, had come up to the keyhole
which glowed like a tiny star from all the candles which had just been
lighted on the Christmas tree inside. Now there was only the door to be
opened--the door to be opened--there was now nothing else which parted
them from the great, the wonderful things, except this door--this door
yet to open; some one was approaching from within--there was a rattle
at the lock--it was moving--the door! The door was moving--it flew
open--right up against the white wall they threw the door--Oh!
At Ellingsen & Larsen’s store they were as busy as ever; those who
came now were little folks for the most part, who made necessary and
unnecessary purchases for Christmas. Now and then the heavy trap door
in the floor back in the room opened, and the youngest of the shop boys
ran down to get a new supply of one thing or another.
Loppen and the others had just come inside the cellar door when the
trap door was opened; the others drew out in a hurry; but she remained
standing stiff from fright.
But when she saw the boy’s legs as he came down, she yet had
self-possession enough to throw herself in among some sacks of flour.
While she lay there--silent, almost without breathing--she felt
completely undone. Through her poor head ran in cruel clearness her
whole life from fall to fall, until she lay there--degraded to the
lowest stage among thieves and robbers. Now she had to die, she felt
that clearly; empty and thin as she was from starvation and days of sin
the fright had palsied her; she fainted. The shop boy must certainly
have seen or heard something there by the door; for he looked that way
all the time. But as his courage gave out, he ran up again and shut the
door.
The mechanic shook Elsie; she remained on the floor.
“I thought so,” he muttered with a coarse oath. “What business had we
with her?”
He stood a moment at a loss what to do; Svend and the tinker came in
too. Suddenly the mechanic seized a flask on the shelf where he knew
the liquors were, snapped the neck off with a dexterous blow, and
poured a few drops into Elsie’s mouth.
She awakened, disturbed, surprised; then she seized the bottle and
drank again.
“There, now--take a heart-strengthener. You shall have two hams under
your shawl for Puppelena;” with which the mechanic went to work,
loading Svend and the tinker.
What was it she was drinking? She had never tasted anything like it
before. It was sweet and strong like the other liquor; but it was
roses--it was roses she was drinking; roses which had followed her
through youth, but which had until now been so far away. They had now
come back to her once again--she drank them in long, fragrant draughts.
Like warm clothes it laid itself about her frozen limbs; all at once
she became strong, her hunger was appeased, and stood up erect while a
delightful, warm current streamed through her. A boundless joy welled
up in her; she did not realize where she was; she thought of nothing;
but there was not the faintest cloud upon the bliss she felt.
Whenever she drank it seemed as if she was sinking deeper and deeper
into warm, fragrant rose-leaves, until they came together overhead, and
swung her to and fro under lofty arches where roses sang and the music
was fragrant with long, roseate tones which understood her misery and
came to comfort her.
But the cellar door was opened from without and Olkonomen hove in sight
pale and breathless. The shop boy must have noticed something, for
a message had gone for the police, and two officers were already at
Madame Ellingsen’s corner.
The mechanic was gone in a trice as if he had sunk in the earth. The
tinker, too, ran off with what he had; Olkonomen went next, and there
at the corner by the bank the long legs of Jorgen Tambur running away,
were visible.
But Svend would not leave Elsie, who was standing with the empty bottle
in her hand; he drew her with him toward the outlet through the alley
which was yet free.
Suddenly she halted and pressed her hands tight against her bosom. Her
eyes were brighter than ever; her lips were red with blood--she had cut
herself on the neck of the bottle--and all her youthful beauty seemed
for a moment to have returned to the little, delicate countenance;
Svend stood utterly spell-bound; so beautiful she had never been.
Then she began to laugh, capriciously and merrily at first as when they
were friends and all was well; then louder and louder until it was
Loppen’s old laughter; that which could run up stairs and down stairs
and right into people’s hearts; but constantly wilder and wilder she
laughed until it went through him like a knife through the marrow of
his bones.
Svend seized her to make her be quiet; but she then once more pressed
her hands to her bosom, her face grew ashen, and with a long, quivering
sigh she slid out of his arms and fell with her face in the snow.
Just then a policeman came running, and Svend took to his heels in the
opposite direction.
* * * * *
“Merry Christmas,” said the wife of the police-chief.
“Thanks; the same to you!” answered Mrs. Bentzen.
They were standing under the big gas-light before Consul With’s
entrance. There was a broadening of the streets, almost like a small
market, between the consul’s house on the one side and Ellingsen &
Larsen’s on the other. And as that was the central point of the town’s
traffic, little by little several ladies gathered there, who had
completed their purchases and their distributions. Mrs. With herself,
who had just come home from the city, alit from her carriage and joined
the group to exchange greetings and talk over the day.
There were not only ladies there from the Institution for Fallen Women
of St. Peter’s Parish, but from the various associations of the town;
and the conversation was lively indeed; partly a little triumphant,
occasionally too a trifle envious, when it came to defending or
advancing their own institutions, as to how much they had had to
distribute. But at bottom the tone was benevolent; each was done and
had a good conscience.
“Yes, you are right; it is nice to be done,” said one.
“It was such a busy day; I thought I should never be rid of my last
bodice; everybody had a bodice; there were too many bodices this year.”
“But then we know too that we have accomplished something,” said Mrs.
With on her side.
“Yes, there our pastor is right,” exclaimed Mrs. Bentzen. “It is just
the blessed thing about Christmas that one has done his duty, given to
the poor. To-day no one can complain, and it is so nice to think of it
when we are enjoying ourselves.”
“And it is not less pleasant to take with us to our homes the thanks
and blessings of the poor,” gently added the police-chief’s wife.
The chaplain looked with admiration at the handsome lady, and in the
lofty Christmas spirit in which he found himself he would have liked
at the close to address a few edifying words to the listening group of
ladies, but just then Dr. Bentzen came across the street.
The old gentleman smiled with his ill-humored grin, while he said:
“Merry Christmas, ladies! Great robbery over at Ellingsen & Larsen’s.
The police have just caught a couple of them.”
“Robbery! Steal! Oh, my God! Steal on Christmas Eve! Impossible!
Who--who? does any one know them?”
“It can’t be any one from our town,” declared the ironing-board
majestically.
“It is ‘the gang’ from Madam Speckbom’s Ark,” retorted the doctor
spitefully.
“The gang!”--yes, “the gang” no one thought of; those abominable people
were indeed a disgrace to the whole town.
It made a very disagreeable impression. The chaplain gave up his little
speech and only sighed briefly over “the hardened sinners;” and then
they parted to hasten home and to seek to recover from that blow upon
Christmas festivity.
The police-chief’s wife said to Mrs. Bentzen as they walked home
together:
“See how distrait I am. When your husband said: ‘Madam Speckbom’s gang’
I came within a hair of saying, ‘You mean Miss Falbe’s gang.’”
“There’s something in that, too,” responded Mrs. Bentzen and looked at
the younger lady admiringly.
Miss Falbe really was running around through the town; she was hunting
for Loppen. When she came home at half-past six, Christian had gone
out; the whole house was empty and dark and Elsie nowhere to be found.
It was a bitter disappointment to Miss Falbe; she had been so happy in
expectation of that evening, and it had never occurred to her to doubt
that Elsie would come when she had promised so earnestly.
But then she happened to think that Elsie might possibly have been at
the Ark at six o’clock but had gone away again as there was no light.
And then she inflicted upon herself severe reproaches that she had
allowed herself to remain with the woman at the mill, and especially
that she had let Elsie slip away from her when she once had her hands
upon her.
The streets were becoming deserted. Before the windows stood only two
or three pauper children freezing; the shops were closed, except the
hucksters’, which were still full of people.
As Consul With was going home, loaded down with bundles--he always had
the costliest presents for his wife--he met three policemen who were
carrying something long and dark between them.
“What is it, Hansen?” asked the consul.
“Oh, it’s Loppen, consul.”
“Hem! is--is she dead?”
“Only dead-drunk, I think. Merry Christmas, consul!”
“Thanks; the same to you!” answered Consul With and walked on.
As it grew quiet upon the streets, it grew livelier in the houses and
the children’s laughter and shouts stretched out into the cold winter
night where Miss Falbe still wandered about, each moment fancying that
she saw Loppen’s shawl swing around the corner.
At last she met a policeman who also seemed to be looking for some one;
he told her that “the gang” had been at burglary and Loppen had been
with them.
Weary and worn out Miss Falbe walked homeward. It was in fact not so
seldom that she had undergone disappointments of this kind; but this
was the most painful of all; she thought so much of Elsie.
When his sister did not come according to appointment at six o’clock,
Christian had gone out; but he found no one to drink with that evening,
cold and forsaken as it was everywhere; so he had gone home again,
cross and crusty.
His sister said nothing but set the porridge over; it was ready,
it was only to be warmed. While she set the table, he teased her
with reproaches and spiteful witticisms; and when she came with the
porridge, it was scorched because she had forgotten to stir it.
Everything was as unpleasant as well could be; and she had been so
happy in expectation of this evening. For a moment she bore up bravely;
but when her grief was victorious she laid her head upon her arm and
sobbed aloud.
The brother sat a little while and looked at her. He had never seen
his strong sister so broken down. He began to repent and tried to find
something soothing to say.
“You see, now, Augusta! You will never meet anything but
disappointments and sorrow in the way you conduct yourself. If you
absolutely must have these poor people to bother with, then do as the
other ladies in town. Each has her own paupers to take care of; so
they don’t need to bother about the others. But you throw the little
you have away on the lowest trash, who don’t bear being helped--yes,
perhaps you do more harm than good.”
“No, Christian, I don’t do that,” cried Miss Falbe decidedly, and
raised her head. “And I will not have paupers of my own. Let the others
buy off their consciences with the trifles they dole out; let them go
home secure in the belief that they have done their duty by narrowing
their hearts to a few individual, deserving paupers where they can
see the blessing--as it goes. I see that the great gulf will never
be filled, however much there is thrown into it; and this certainty
is the only reward you have a right to expect for your sympathy; it
drives you from depth to depth, to the worst, the vilest, where you
know fresh disappointments and fresh pains await you. For I know now
what to think; money, gifts, alms, they all come in good. And I am glad
when they come. But all the gold in the world does not fill so much of
the gulf between those who have it easy and those who have it hard, as
a single drop of warm human blood. And if you have not a clod to give
them, but yet can bring them to understand that you have that warm
heart-blood, then you will not be afraid of disappointments, but will
go from depth to depth and you will not need to look for your reward.
So I shall get up early to-morrow morning and take hold where I let go.”
When she had finished her brother went over to her.
Caresses were, to tell the truth, not frequent between the two; but he
took her in his arms now and kissed her.
And he whispered something in her ear. She had heard it so many times,
that promise which she knew he did not have the strength to keep.
But this time she believed him; she looked up to him with that
wonderful smile which made her so handsome and thanked him.
Then they sat down again, laughed, cried and talked with each other as
they had not done for many years.
The porridge was scorched, it could not be gainsaid; but how good it
tasted nevertheless!