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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6765-0.txt b/6765-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ba05afa --- /dev/null +++ b/6765-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3394 @@ +Project Gutenberg’s Mogens and Other Stories, by Jens Peter Jacobsen + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mogens and Other Stories + Mogens; The Plague At Bergamo; There Should Have Been Roses; Mrs. Fonss + +Author: Jens Peter Jacobsen + +Translator: Anna Grabow, 1921 + +Release Date: October, 2004 [EBook #6765] +Posting Date: April 21, 2009 +Last Updated: November 8, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOGENS AND OTHER STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by Eric Eldred + + + + + +MOGENS AND OTHER STORIES + +(1882) + + +By Jens Peter Jacobsen + +(1847-1885) + + +Translated from the Danish By Anna Grabow + +(1921) + + +CONTENTS + + + INTRODUCTION + + MOGENS + + THE PLAGUE AT BERGAMO + + THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN ROSES + + MRS. FONSS + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +In the decade from 1870 to 1880 a new spirit was stirring in the +intellectual and literary world of Denmark. George Brandes was +delivering his lectures on the _Main Currents of Nineteenth Century +Literature_; from Norway came the deeply probing questionings of the +granitic Ibsen; from across the North Sea from England echoes of the +evolutionary theory and Darwinism. It was a time of controversy and +bitterness, of a conflict joined between the old and the new, both going +to extremes, in which nearly every one had a share. How many of the +works of that period are already out-worn, and how old-fashioned the +theories that were then so violently defended and attacked! Too much +logic, too much contention for its own sake, one might say, and too +little art. + +This was the period when Jens Peter Jacobsen began to write, but he +stood aside from the conflict, content to be merely artist, a creator +of beauty and a seeker after truth, eager to bring into the realm of +literature “the eternal laws of nature, its glories, its riddles, its +miracles,” as he once put it. That is why his work has retained its +living colors until to-day, without the least trace of fading. + +There is in his work something of the passion for form and style +that one finds in Flaubert and Pater, but where they are often hard, +percussive, like a piano, he is soft and strong and intimate like a +violin on which he plays his reading of life. Such analogies, however, +have little significance, except that they indicate a unique and +powerful artistic personality. + +Jacobsen is more than a mere stylist. The art of writers who are too +consciously that is a sort of decorative representation of life, a +formal composition, not a plastic composition. One element particularly +characteristic of Jacobsen is his accuracy of observation and minuteness +of detail welded with a deep and intimate understanding of the human +heart. His characters are not studied tissue by tissue as under a +scientist’s microscope, rather they are built up living cell by living +cell out of the author’s experience and imagination. He shows how they +are conditioned and modified by their physical being, their inheritance +and environment, Through each of his senses he lets impressions from +without pour into him. He harmonizes them with a passionate desire for +beauty into marvelously plastic figures and moods. A style which grows +thus organically from within is style out of richness; the other is +style out of poverty. + +In a letter he once stated his belief that every book to be of real +value must embody the struggle of one or more persons against all those +things which try to keep one from existing in one’s own way. That is the +fundamental ethos which runs through all of Jacobsen’s work. It is in +Marie Grubbe, Niels Lyhne, Mogens, and the infinitely tender Mrs. Fonss. + +They are types of the kind he has described in the following passage: +“Know ye not that there is here in this world a secret confraternity, +which one might call the Company of Melancholiacs? That people there +are who by natural constitution have been given a different nature and +disposition than the others; that have a larger heart and a swifter +blood, that wish and demand more, have stronger desires and a yearning +which is wilder and more ardent than that of the common herd. They are +fleet as children over whose birth good fairies have presided; their +eyes are opened wider; their senses are more subtile in all their +perceptions. The gladness and joy of life, they drink with the roots of +their heart, the while the others merely grasp them with coarse hands.” + +He himself was one of these, and in this passage his own art and +personality is described better than could be done in thousands of words +of commentary. + +Jens Peter Jacobsen was born in the little town of Thisted in Jutland, +on April 7, 1847. In 1868 he matriculated at the University of +Copenhagen, where he displayed a remarkable talent for science, winning +the gold medal of the university with a dissertation on Seaweeds. +He definitely chose science as a career, and was among the first in +Scandinavia to recognize the importance of Darwin. He translated +the Origin of Species and Descent of Man into Danish. In 1872 while +collecting plants he contracted tuberculosis, and as a consequence, +was compelled to give up his scientific career. This was not as great +a sacrifice, as it may seem, for he had long been undecided whether to +choose science or literature as his life work. + +The remainder of his short life--he died April 30, 1885--was one of +passionate devotion to literature and a constant struggle with ill +health. The greater part of this period was spent in his native town of +Thisted, but an advance royalty from his publisher enabled him to visit +the South of Europe. His journey was interrupted at Florence by a severe +hemorrhage. + +He lived simply, unobtrusively, bravely. His method of work was slow +and laborious. He shunned the literary circles of the capital with their +countless intrusions and interruptions, because he knew that the time +allotted him to do his work was short. “When life has sentenced you to +suffer,” he has written in Niels Lyhne, “the sentence is neither a fancy +nor a threat, but you are dragged to the rack, and you are tortured, and +there is no marvelous rescue at the last moment,” and in this book there +is also a corollary, “It is on the healthy in you you must live, it +is the healthy that becomes great.” The realization of the former has +given, perhaps, a subdued tone to his canvasses; the recognition of the +other has kept out of them weakness or self-pity. + +Under the encouragement of George Brandes his novel Marie Grubbe was +begun in 1873, and published in 1876. His other novel Niels Lyhne +appeared in 1880. Excluding his early scientific works, these two books +together with a collection of short stories, Mogens and Other Tales, +published in 1882, and a posthumous volume of poems, constitute +Jacobsen’s literary testament. The present volume contains Mogens, the +story with which he made his literary debut, and other characteristic +stories. + +The physical measure of Jacobsen’s accomplishment was not great, but +it was an important milestone in northern literature. It is hardly +an exaggeration to say that in so far as Scandinavia is concerned he +created a new method of literary approach and a new artistic prose. +There is scarcely a writer in these countries, since 1880, with any +pretension toward literary expression who has not directly or indirectly +come under Jacobsen’s influence. + +O. F. THEIS. + + + + +MOGENS + + +SUMMER it was; in the middle of the day; in a corner of the enclosure. +Immediately in front of it stood an old oaktree, of whose trunk one +might say, that it agonized in despair because of the lack of harmony +between its fresh yellowish foliage and its black and gnarled branches; +they resembled most of all grossly misdrawn old gothic arabesques. +Behind the oak was a luxuriant thicket of hazel with dark sheenless +leaves, which were so dense, that neither trunk nor branches could be +seen. Above the hazel rose two straight, joyous maple-trees with gayly +indented leaves, red stems and long dangling clusters of green fruit. +Behind the maples came the forest--a green evenly rounded slope, where +birds went out and in as elves in a grasshill. + +All this you could see if you came wandering along the path through the +fields beyond the fence. If, however, you were lying in the shadow of +the oak with your back against the trunk and looking the other way--and +there was a some one, who did that--then you would see first your own +legs, then a little spot of short, vigorous grass, next a large +cluster of dark nettles, then the hedge of thorn with the big, white +convolvulus, the stile, a little of the ryefield outside, finally the +councilor’s flagpole on the hill, and then the sky. + +It was stifling hot, the air was quivering with heat, and then it was +very quiet; the leaves were hanging from the trees as if asleep. Nothing +moved except the lady-birds and the nettles and a few withered leaves +that lay on the grass and rolled themselves up with sudden little jerks +as if they were shrinking from the sunbeams. + +And then the man underneath the oak; he lay there gasping for air and +with a melancholy look stared helplessly towards the sky. He tried to +hum a tune, but gave it up; whistled, then gave that up too; turned +round, turned round again and let his eyes rest upon an old mole-hill, +that had become quite gray in the drought. Suddenly a small dark spot +appeared upon the light-gray mold, another, three, four, many, still +more, the entire mole-hill suddenly was quite dark-gray. The air was +filled with nothing but long, dark streaks, the leaves nodded and swayed +and there rose a murmur which turned into a hissing--rain was pouring +down. Everything gleamed, sparkled, spluttered. Leaves, branches, +trunks, everything shone with moisture; every little drop that fell on +earth, on grass, on the fence, on whatever it was, broke and scattered +in a thousand delicate pearls. Little drops hung for a while and became +big drops, trickled down elsewhere, joined with other drops, formed +small rivulets, disappeared into tiny furrows, ran into big holes and +out of small ones, sailed away laden with dust, chips of wood and ragged +bits of foliage, caused them to run aground, set them afloat, whirled +them round and again caused them to ground. Leaves, which had been +separated since they were in the bud, were reunited by the flood; moss, +that had almost vanished in the dryness, expanded and became soft, +crinkly, green and juicy; and gray lichens which nearly had turned to +snuff, spread their delicate ends, puffed up like brocade and with a +sheen like that of silk. The convolvuluses let their white crowns be +filled to the brim, drank healths to each other, and emptied the water +over the heads of the nettles. The fat black wood-snails crawled forward +on their stomachs with a will, and looked approvingly towards the +sky. And the man? The man was standing bareheaded in the midst of the +downpour, letting the drops revel in his hair and brows, eyes, nose, +mouth; he snapped his fingers at the rain, lifted a foot now and again +as if he were about to dance, shook his head sometimes, when there was +too much water in the hair, and sang at the top of his voice without +knowing what he was singing, so pre-occupied was he with the rain: + + Had I, oh had I a grandson, trala, + And a chest with heaps and heaps of gold, + Then very likely had I had a daughter, trala, + And house and home and meadows untold. + + Had I, oh had I a daughter dear, trala, + And house and home and meadows untold, + Then very like had I had a sweetheart, trala. + And a chest with heaps and heaps of gold. + +There he stood and sang in the rain, but yonder between the dark +hazelbushes the head of a little girl was peeping out. A long end of +her shawl of red silk had become entangled in a branch which projected +a little beyond the others, and from time to time a small hand went +forward and tugged at the end, but this had no other result, further +than to produce a little shower of rain from the branch and its +neighbors. The rest of the shawl lay close round the little girl’s head +and hid half of the brow; it shaded the eyes, then turned abruptly and +became lost among the leaves, but reappeared in a big rosette of folds +underneath the girl’s chin. The face of the little girl looked very +astonished, she was just about to laugh; the smile already hovered +in the eyes. Suddenly he, who stood there singing in the midst of the +downpour, took a few steps to the side, saw the red shawl, the face, the +big brown eyes, the astonished little open mouth; instantly his position +became awkward, in surprise he looked down himself; but in the same +moment a small cry was heard, the projecting branch swayed violently, +the red end of the shawl disappeared in a flash, the girl’s face +disappeared, and there was a rustling and rustling further and further +away behind the hazelbushes. Then he ran. He did not know why, he did +not think at all. The gay mood, which the rainstorm had called forth, +welled up in him again, and he ran after the face of the little girl. +It did not enter his head that it was a person he pursued. To him it +was only the face of a little girl. He ran, it rustled to the right, it +rustled to the left, it rustled in front, it rustled behind, he rustled, +she rustled, and all these sounds and the running itself excited him, +and he cried: “Where are you? Say cuckoo!” Nobody answered. When he +heard his own voice, he felt just a little uneasy, but he continued +running; then a thought came to him, only a single one, and he murmured +as he kept on running: “What am I going to say to her? What am I +going to say to her?” He was approaching a big bush, there she had hid +herself, he could just see a corner of her skirt. “What am I going to +say to her? What am I going to say to her?” he kept on murmuring while +he ran. He was quite near the bush, then turned abruptly, ran on still +murmuring the same, came out upon the open road, ran a distance, stopped +abruptly and burst out laughing, walked smiling quietly a few paces, +then burst out laughing loudly again, and did not cease laughing all the +way along the hedge. + +It was on a beautiful autumn day; the fall of the foliage was going +on apace and the path which led to the lake was quite covered with the +citron-yellow leaves from the elms and maples; here and there were spots +of a darker foliage. It was very pleasant, very clean to walk on this +tigerskin-carpet, and to watch the leaves fall down like snow; the birch +looked even lighter and more graceful with its branches almost bare and +the roan-tree was wonderful with its heavy scarlet cluster of berries. +And the sky was so blue, so blue, and the wood seemed so much bigger, +one could look so far between the trunks. And then of course one could +not help thinking that soon all this would be of the past. Wood, field, +sky, open air, and everything soon would have to give way to the time of +the lamps, the carpets, and the hyacinths. For this reason the councilor +from Cape Trafalgar and his daughter were walking down to the lake, +while their carriage stopped at the bailiff’s. + +The councilor was a friend of nature, nature was something quite +special, nature was one of the finest ornaments of existence. The +councilor patronized nature, he defended it against the artificial; +gardens were nothing but nature spoiled; but gardens laid out in +elaborate style were nature turned crazy. There was no style in nature, +providence had wisely made nature natural, nothing but natural. Nature +was that which was unrestrained, that which was unspoiled. But with the +fall of man civilization had come upon mankind; now civilization had +become a necessity; but it would have been better, if it had not +been thus. The state of nature was something quite different, quite +different. The councilor himself would have had no objection to +maintaining himself by going about in a coat of lamb-skin and shooting +hares and snipes and golden plovers and grouse and haunches of venison +and wild boars. No, the state of nature really was like a gem, a perfect +gem. + +The councilor and his daughter walked down to the lake. For some time +already it had glimmered between the trees, but now when they turned the +corner where the big poplar stood, it lay quite open before them. There +it lay with large spaces of water clear as a mirror, with jagged tongues +of gray-blue rippled water, with streaks that were smooth and streaks +that were rippled, and the sunlight rested on the smooth places and +quivered in the ripples. It captured one’s eye and drew it across its +surface, carried it along the shores, past slowly rounded curves, past +abruptly broken lines, and made it swing around the green tongues of +land; then it let go of one’s glance and disappeared in large bays, but +it carried along the thought--Oh, to sail! Would it be possible to hire +boats here? + +No, there were none, said a little fellow, who lived in the white +country-house near by, and stood at the shore skipping stones over the +surface of the water. Were there really no boats at all? + +Yes, of course, there were some; there was the miller’s, but it could +not be had; the miller would not permit it. Niels, the miller’s son, had +nearly gotten a spanking when he had let it out the other day. It was +useless to think about it; but then there was the gentleman, who lived +with Nicolai, the forest-warden. He had a fine boat, one which was black +at the top and red at the bottom, and he lent it to each and every one. + +The councilor and his daughter went up to Nicolai’s, the forest-warden. +At a short distance from the house they met a little girl. She was +Nicolai’s, and they told her to run in and ask if they might see the +gentleman. She ran as if her life depended on it, ran with both arms and +legs, until she reached the door; there she placed one leg on the high +doorstep, fastened her garter, and then rushed into the house. She +reappeared immediately afterwards with two doors ajar behind her and +called long before she reached the threshold, that the gentleman would +be there in a moment; then she sat down on the doorstep, leaned against +the wall, and peered at the strangers from underneath one of her arms. + +The gentleman came, and proved to be a tall strongly-built man of some +twenty years. The councilor’s daughter was a little startled, when she +recognized in him the man, who had sung during the rainstorm. But he +looked so strange and absentminded; quite obviously he had just been +reading a book, one could tell that from the expression in his eyes, +from his hair, from the abstracted way in which he managed his hands. + +The councilor’s daughter dropped him an exuberant courtesy and said +“Cuckoo,” and laughed. + +“Cuckoo?” asked the councilor. Why, it was the little girl’s face! The +man went quite crimson, and tried to say something when the councilor +came with a question about the boat. Yes, it was at his service. But who +was going to do the rowing? Why, he of course, said the girl, and paid +no attention to what her father said about it; it was immaterial whether +it was a bother to the gentleman, for sometimes he himself did not mind +at all troubling other people. Then they went down to the boat, and on +the way explained things to the councilor. They stepped into the boat, +and were already a good ways out, before the girl had settled herself +comfortably and found time to talk. + +“I suppose it was something very learned you were reading,” she said, +“when I came and called cuckoo and fetched you out sailing?” + +“Rowing, you mean. Something learned! It was the ‘History of Sir Peter +with the Silver Key and the Beautiful Magelone.’” + +“Who is that by?” + +“By no one in particular. Books of that sort never are. ‘Vigoleis +with the Golden Wheel’ isn’t by anybody either, neither is ‘Bryde, the +Hunter.’” + +“I have never heard of those titles before.” + +“Please move a little to the side, otherwise we will list.--Oh no, that +is quite likely, they aren’t fine books at all; they are the sort you +buy from old women at fairs.” + +“That seems strange. Do you always read books of that kind?” + +“Always? I don’t read many books in the course of a year, and the kind I +really like the best are those that have Indians in them.” + +“But poetry? Oehlenschlager, Schiller, and the others?” + +“Oh, of course I know them; we had a whole bookcase full of them at +home, and Miss Holm--my mother’s companion--read them aloud after lunch +and in the evenings; but I can’t say that I cared for them; I don’t like +verse.” + +“Don’t like verse? You said had, isn’t your mother living any more?” + +“No, neither is my father.” + +He said this with a rather sullen, hostile tone, and the conversation +halted for a time and made it possible to hear clearly the many little +sounds created by the movement of the boat through the water. The girl +broke the silence: + +“Do you like paintings?” + +“Altar-pieces? Oh, I don’t know.” + +“Yes, or other pictures, landscapes for instance?” + +“Do people paint those too? Of course they do, I know that very well.” + +“You are laughing at me?” + +“I? Oh yes, one of us is doing that” + +“But aren’t you a student?” + +“Student? Why should I be? No, I am nothing.” + +“But you must be something. You must do something?” + +“But why?” + +“Why, because--everybody does something!” + +“Are you doing something?” + +“Oh well, but you are not a lady.” + +“No, heaven be praised.” + +“Thank you.” + +He stopped rowing, drew the oars out of the water, looked her into the +face and asked: + +“What do you mean by that?--No, don’t be angry with me; I will tell you +something, I am a queer sort of person. You cannot understand it. You +think because I wear good clothes, I must be a fine man. My father was a +fine man; I have been told that he knew no end of things, and I daresay +he did, since he was a district-judge. I know nothing because mother and +I were all to each other, and I did not care to learn the things they +teach in the schools, and don’t care about them now either. Oh, you +ought to have seen my mother; she was such a tiny wee lady. When I was +no older than thirteen I could carry her down into the garden. She was +so light; in recent years I would often carry her on my arm through the +whole garden and park. I can still see her in her black gowns with the +many wide laces....” + +He seized the oars and rowed violently. The councilor became a little +uneasy, when the water reached so high at the stern, and suggested, that +they had better see about getting home again; so back they went. + +“Tell me,” said the girl, when the violence of his rowing had decreased +a little. “Do you often go to town?” + +“I have never been there.” + +“Never been there? And you only live twelve miles away?” + +“I don’t always live here, I live at all sorts of places since my +mother’s death, but the coming winter I shall go to town to study +arithmetic.” + +“Mathematics?” + +“No, timber,” he said laughingly, “but that is something you don’t +understand. I’ll tell you, when I am of age I shall buy a sloop and sail +to Norway, and then I shall have to know how to figure on account of the +customs and clearance.” + +“Would you really like that?” + +“Oh, it, is magnificent on the sea, there is such a feeling of being +alive in sailing--here we are at the landing-stage!” + +He came alongside; the councilor and his daughter stepped ashore after +having made him promise to come and see them at Cape Trafalgar. Then +they returned to the bailiff’s, while he again rowed out on the lake. At +the poplar they could still hear the sounds of the oars. + +“Listen, Camilla,” said the councilor, who had been out to lock the +outer door, “tell me,” he said, extinguishing his hand-lamp with the +bit of his key, “was the rose they had at the Carlsens a Pompadour or +Maintenon?” + +“Cendrillon,” the daughter answered. + +“That’s right, so it was,--well, I suppose we had better see that we get +to bed now; good night, little girl, good night, and sleep well.” + +When Camilla had entered her room, she pulled up the blind, leaned +her brow against the cool pane, and hummed Elizabeth’s song from “The +Fairy-hill.” At sunset a light breeze had begun to blow and a few tiny, +white clouds, illumined by the moon, were driven towards Camilla. For +a long while she stood regarding them; her eye followed them from a +far distance, and she sang louder and louder as they drew nearer, kept +silent a few seconds while they disappeared above her, then sought +others, and followed them too. With a little sigh she pulled down the +blind. She went to the dressing table, rested her elbows against her +clasped hands and regarded her own picture in the mirror without really +seeing it. + +She was thinking of a tall young man, who carried a very delicate, +tiny, blackdressed lady in his arms; she was thinking of a tall man, +who steered his small ship in between cliffs and rocks in a devastating +gale. She heard a whole conversation over again. She blushed: Eugene +Carlson might have thought that you were paying court to him! With a +little jealous association of ideas she continued: No one would ever run +after Clara in a wood in the rainstorm, she would never have invited +a stranger--literally asked him--to sail with her. “Lady to her +fingertips,” Carlson had said of Clara; that really was a reprimand +for you, you peasant-girl Camilla! Then she undressed with affected +slowness, went to bed, took a small elegantly bound book from the +bookshelf near by and opened the first page. She read through a short +hand-written poem with a tired, bitter expression on her face, then let +the book drop to the floor and burst into tears; afterwards she tenderly +picked it up again, put it back in its place and blew out the candle; +lay there for a little while gazing disconsolately at the moonlit blind, +and finally went to sleep. + +A few days later the “rainman” started on his way to Cape Trafalgar. He +met a peasant driving a load of rye straw, and received permission to +ride with him. Then he lay down on his back in the straw and gazed at +the cloudless sky. The first couple of miles he let his thoughts come +and go as they listed, besides there wasn’t much variety in them. Most +of them would come and ask him how a human being possibly could be so +wonderfully beautiful, and they marveled that it really could be an +entertaining occupation for several days to recall the features of a +face, its changes of expression and coloring, the small movements of a +head and a pair of hands, and the varying inflections in a voice. But +then the peasant pointed with his whip towards the slate-roof about a +mile away and said that the councilor lived over there, and the good +Mogens rose from the straw and stared anxiously towards the roof. He had +a strange feeling of oppression and tried to make himself believe that +nobody was at home, but tenaciously came back to the conception that +there was a large party, and he could not free himself from that idea, +even though he counted how many cows “Country-joy” had on the meadow +and how many heaps of gravel he could see along the road. At last the +peasant stopped near a small path leading down to the country-house, and +Mogens slid down from the cart and began to brush away the bits of straw +while the cart slowly creaked away over the gravel on the road. + +He approached the garden-gate step by step, saw a red shawl disappear +behind the balcony windows, a small deserted white sewing-basket on the +edge of the balcony, and the back of a still moving empty rocking-chair. +He entered the garden, with his eyes fixed intently on the balcony, +heard the councilor say good-day, turned his head toward the sound, and +saw him standing there nodding, his arms full of empty flowerpots. They +spoke of this and that, and the councilor began to explain, as one might +put it, that the old specific distinction between the various kinds of +trees had been abolished by grafting, and that for his part he did not +like this at all. Then Camilla slowly approached wearing a brilliant +glaring blue shawl. Her arms were entirely wrapped up in the shawl, +and she greeted him with a slight inclination of the head and a faint +welcome. The councilor left with his flower-pots, Camilla stood looking +over her shoulders towards the balcony; Mogens looked at her. How had +he been since the other day? Thank you, nothing especial had been the +matter with him. Done much rowing? Why, yes, as usual, perhaps not quite +as much. She turned her head towards him, looked coldly at him, inclined +her head to one side and asked with half-closed eyes and a faint smile +whether it was the beautiful Magelone who had engrossed his time. He did +not know what she meant, but he imagined it was. Then they stood for a +while and said nothing. Camilla took a few steps towards a corner, where +a bench and a garden-chair stood. She sat down on the bench and asked +him, after she was seated, looking at the chair, to be seated; he must +be very tired after his long walk. He sat down in the chair. + +Did he believe anything would come of the projected royal alliance? +Perhaps, he was completely indifferent? Of course, he had no interest +in the royal house. Naturally he hated aristocracy? There were very few +young men who did not believe that democracy was, heaven only knew what. +Probably he was one of those who attributed not the slightest political +importance to the family alliances of the royal house? Perhaps he was +mistaken. It had been seen.... She stopped suddenly, surprised +that Mogens who had at first been somewhat taken aback at all this +information, now looked quite pleased. He wasn’t to sit there, and laugh +at her! She turned quite red. + +“Are you very much interested in politics?” she asked timidly. + +“Not in the least.” + +“But why do you let me sit here talking politics eternally?” + +“Oh, you say everything so charmingly, that it does not matter what you +are talking about.” + +“That really is no compliment.” + +“It certainly is,” he assured her eagerly, for it seemed to him she +looked quite hurt. + +Camilla burst out laughing, jumped up, and ran to meet her father, took +his arm, and walked back with him to the puzzled Mogens. + +When dinner was through and they had drunk their coffee up on the +balcony, the councilor suggested a walk. So the three of them went along +the small way across the main road, and along a narrow path with stubble +of rye on both sides, across the stile, and into the woods. There was +the oak and everything else; there even were still convolvuluses on the +hedge. Camilla asked Mogens to fetch some for her. He tore them all off, +and came back with both hands full. + +“Thank you, I don’t want so many,” she said, selected a few and let the +rest fall to the ground. “Then I wish I had let them be,” Mogens said +earnestly. + +Camilla bent down and began to gather them up. She had expected him to +help her and looked up at him in surprise, but he stood there quite +calm and looked down at her. Now as she had begun, she had to go on, and +gathered up they were; but she certainly did not talk to Mogens for a +long while. She did not even look to the side where he was. But somehow +or other they must have become reconciled, for when on their way back +they reached the oak again, Camilla went underneath it and looked up +into its crown. She tripped from one side to the other, gesticulated +with her hands and sang, and Mogens had to stand near the hazelbushes to +see what sort of a figure he had cut. Suddenly Camilla ran towards him, +but Mogens lost his cue, and forgot both to shriek and to run away, and +then Camilla laughingly declared that she was very dissatisfied with +herself and that she would not have had the boldness to remain +standing there, when such a horrible creature--and she pointed towards +herself--came rushing towards her. But Mogens declared that he was very +well satisfied with himself. + +When towards sunset he was going home the councilor and Camilla +accompanied him a little way. And as they were going home she said to +her father that perhaps they ought to invite that lonesome young man +rather frequently during the month, while it was still possible to stay +in the country. He knew no one here about, and the councilor said “yes,” + and smiled at being thought so guileless, but Camilla walked along and +looked so gentle and serious, that one would not doubt but that she was +the very personification of benevolence itself. + +The autumn weather remained so mild that the councilor stayed on at Cape +Trafalgar for another whole month, and the effect of the benevolence was +that Mogens came twice the first week and about every day the third. + +It was one of the last days of fair weather. + +It had rained early in the morning and had remained overclouded far +down into the forenoon; but now the sun had come forth. Its rays were +so strong and warm, that the garden-paths, the lawns and the branches +of the trees were enveloped in a fine filmy mist. The councilor walked +about cutting asters. Mogens and Camilla were in a corner of the garden +to take down some late winter apples. He stood on a table with a basket +on his arm, she stood on a chair holding out a big white apron by the +corners. + +“Well, and what happened then?” she called impatiently to Mogens, who +had interrupted the fairy-tale he was telling in order to reach an apple +which hung high up. + +“Then,” he continued, “the peasant began to run three times round +himself and to sing: ‘To Babylon, to Babylon, with an iron ring through +my head.’ Then he and his calf, his great-grandmother, and his black +rooster flew away. They flew across oceans as broad as Arup Vejle, over +mountains as high as the church at Jannerup, over Himmerland and through +the Holstein lands even to the end of the world. There the kobold sat +and ate breakfast; he had just finished when they came. + +“‘You ought to be a little more god-fearing, little father,’ said the +peasant, ‘otherwise it might happen that you might miss the kingdom of +heaven.’” + +“Well, he would gladly be god-fearing.” + +“‘Then you must say grace after meals,’ said the peasant....” + +“No, I won’t go on with the story,” said Mogens impatiently. + +“Very well, then don’t,” said Camilla, and looked at him in surprise. + +“I might as well say it at once,” continued Mogens, “I want to ask you +something, but you mustn’t laugh at me.” + +Camilla jumped down from the chair. + +“Tell me--no, I want to tell you something myself--here is the table and +there is the hedge, if you won’t be my bride, I’ll leap with the basket +over the hedge and stay away. One!” + +Camilla glanced furtively at him, and noticed that the smile had +vanished from his face. + +“Two!” + +He was quite pale with emotion. + +“Yes,” she whispered, and let go the ends of her apron so that the +apples rolled toward all corners of the world and then she ran. But she +did not run away from Mogens. + +“Three,” said she, when he reached her, but he kissed her nevertheless. + +The councilor was interrupted among his asters, but the district-judge’s +son was too irreproachable a blending of nature and civilization for the +councilor to raise objections. + +***** + +It was late winter; the large heavy cover of snow, the result of a whole +week’s uninterrupted blowing, was in the process of rapidly melting +away. The air was full of sunlight and reflection from the white snow, +which in large, shining drops dripped down past the windows. Within the +room all forms and colors had awakened, all lines and contours had come +to life. Whatever was flat extended, whatever was bent curved, whatever +was inclined slid, and whatever was broken refracted the more. All kinds +of green tones mingled on the flower-table, from the softest dark-green +to the sharpest yellow-green. Reddish brown tones flooded in flames +across the surface of the mahogany table, and gold gleamed and sparkled +from the knick-knacks, from the frames and moldings, but on the carpet +all the colors broke and mingled in a joyous, shimmering confusion. + +Camilla sat at the window and sewed, and she and the Graces on the +mantle were quite enveloped in a reddish light from the red curtains +Mogens walked slowly up and down the room, and passed every moment in +and out of slanting beams of light of pale rainbow-colored dust. + +He was in talkative mood. + +“Yes,” he said, “they are a curious kind of people, these with whom +you associate. There isn’t a thing between heaven and earth which they +cannot dispose of in the turn of a hand. This is common, and that +is noble; this is the most stupid thing that has been done since the +creation of the world, and that is the wisest; this is so ugly, so +ugly, and that is so beautiful it cannot be described. They agree so +absolutely about all this, that it seems as if they had some sort of a +table or something like that by which they figured things out, for they +always get the same result, no matter what it may be. How alike they are +to each other, these people! Every one of them knows the same things and +talks about the same things, and all of them have the same words and the +same opinions.” + +“You don’t mean to say,” Camilla protested, “that Carlsen and Ronholt +have the same opinions.” + +“Yes, they are the finest of all, they belong to different parties! +Their fundamental principles are as different as night and day. No, they +are not. They are in such agreement that it is a perfect joy. Perhaps +there may be some little point about which they don’t agree; perhaps, +it is merely a misunderstanding. But heaven help me, if it isn’t +pure comedy to listen to them. It is as if they had prearranged to do +everything possible not to agree. They begin by talking in a loud voice, +and immediately talk themselves into a passion. Then one of them in his +passion says something which he doesn’t mean, and then the other one +says the direct opposite which he doesn’t mean either, and then the one +attacks that which the other doesn’t mean, and the other that which the +first one didn’t mean, and the game is on.” + +“But what have they done to you?” + +“They annoy me, these fellows. If you look into their faces it is just +as if you had it under seal that nothing especial is ever going to +happen in the world in the future.” Camilla laid down her sewing, +went over and took hold of the corners of his coat collar and looked +roguishly and questioningly at him. + +“I cannot bear Carlsen,” he said angrily, and tossed his head. + +“Well, and then.” + +“And then you are very, very sweet,” he murmured with a comic +tenderness. + +“And then?” + +“And then,” he burst out, “he looks at you and listens to you and talks +to you in a way I don’t like. He is to quit that, for you are mine and +not his. Aren’t you? You are not his, not his in any way. You are mine, +you have bonded yourself to me as the doctor did to the devil; you are +mine, body and soul, skin and bones, till all eternity.” + +She nodded a little frightened, looked trustfully at him; her eyes +filled with tears, then she pressed close to him and he put his arms +around her, bent over her, and kissed her on the forehead. + +The same evening Mogens went to the station with the councilor who had +received a sudden order in reference to an official tour which he was to +make. On this account Camilla was to go to her aunt’s the next morning +and stay there until he returned. + +When Mogens had seen his future father-in-law off, he went home, +thinking of the fact that he now would not see Camilla for several days. +He turned into the street where she lived. It was long and narrow and +little frequented. A cart rumbled away at the furthest end; in this +direction, too, there was the sound of footsteps, which grew fainter and +fainter. At the moment he heard nothing but the barking of a dog within +the building behind him. He looked up at the house in which Camilla +lived; as usual the ground-floor was dark. The white-washed panes +received only a little restless life from the flickering gleam of the +lantern of the house next door. On the second story the windows were +open and from one of them a whole heap of planks protruded beyond the +window-frame. Camilla’s window was dark, dark also was everything above, +except that in one of the attic windows there shimmered a white-golden +gleam from the moon. Above the house the clouds were driving in a wild +flight. In the houses on both sides the windows were lighted. + +The dark house made Mogens sad. It stood there so forlorn and +disconsolate; the open windows rattled on their hinges; water ran +monotonously droning down the rainpipe; now and then a little water fell +with a hollow dull thud at some spot which he could not see; the wind +swept heavily through the street. The dark, dark house! Tears came into +Mogen’s eyes, an oppressive weight lay on his chest, and he was +seized by a strange dark sensation that he had to reproach himself for +something concerning Camilla. Then he had to think of his mother, and he +felt a great desire of laying his head on her lap and weeping his fill. + +For a long while he stood thus with his hand pressed against his breast +until a wagon went through the street at a sharp pace; he followed it +and went home. He had to stand for a long time and rattle the front door +before it would open, then he ran humming up the stairs, and when he +had entered the room he threw himself down on the sofa with one of +Smollett’s novels in his hand, and read and laughed till after midnight. +At last it grew too cold in the room, he leaped up and went stamping up +and down to drive away the chill. He stopped at the window. The sky in +one corner was so bright, that the snow-covered roofs faded into it. In +another corner several long-drawn clouds drifted by, and the atmosphere +beneath them had a curious reddish tinge, a sheen that wavered +unsteadily, a red smoking fog. He tore open the window, fire had broken +out in the direction of the councilor’s. Down the stairs, down the +street as fast as he could; down a cross-street, through a side-street, +and then straight ahead. As yet he could not see anything, but as he +turned round the corner he saw the red glow of fire. About a score of +people clattered singly down the street. As they ran past each other, +they asked where the fire was. The answer was “The sugar-refinery.” + Mogens kept on running as quickly as before, but much easier at heart. +Still a few streets, there were more and more people, and they +were talking now of the soap-factory. It lay directly opposite the +councilor’s. Mogens ran on as if possessed. There was only a +single slanting cross-street left. It was quite filled with people: +well-dressed men, ragged old women who stood talking in a slow, whining +tone, yelling apprentices, over-dressed girls who whispered to each +other, corner-loafers who stood as if rooted to the spot and cracked +jokes, surprised drunkards and drunkards who quarreled, helpless +policemen, and carriages that would go neither forwards nor backwards. +Mogens forced his way through the multitude. Now he was at the corner; +the sparks were slowly falling down upon him. Up the street; there +were showers of sparks, the window-panes on both sides were aglow, the +factory was burning, the councilor’s house was burning and the house +next door also. There was nothing but smoke, fire and confusion, cries, +curses, tiles that rattled down, blows of axes, wood that splintered, +window-panes that jingled, jets of water that hissed, spluttered, and +splashed, and amid all this the regular dull sob-like throb of the +engines. Furniture, bedding, black helmets, ladders, shining buttons, +illuminated faces, wheels, ropes, tarpaulin, strange instruments; Mogens +rushed into their midst, over, under it all, forward to the house. + +The facade was brightly illuminated by the flames from the burning +factory, smoke issued from between the tiles of the roof and rolled +out of the open windows of the first story. Within the fire rumbled and +crackled. There was a slow groaning sound, that turned into a rolling +and crashing, and ended in a dull boom. Smoke, sparks, and flames issued +in torment out of all the openings of the house. And then the flames +began to play and crackle with redoubled strength and redoubled +clearness. It was the middle part of the ceiling of the first floor that +fell. Mogens with both hands seized a large scaling-ladder which leaned +against the part of the factory which was not yet in flames. For a +moment he held it vertically, but then it slipped away from him and fell +over toward the councilor’s house where it broke in a window-frame on +the second story. Mogens ran up the ladder, and in through the opening. +At first he had to close his eyes on account of the pungent wood-smoke, +and the heavy suffocating fumes which rose from the charred wood that +the water had reached took his breath away. He was in the dining-room. +The living-room was a huge glowing abyss; the flames from the lower part +of the house, now and then, almost reached up to the ceiling; the few +boards that had remained hanging when the floor fell burned in brilliant +yellowish-white flames; shadows and the gleam of flames flooded over the +walls; the wall-paper here and there curled up, caught fire, and flew +in flaming tatters down into the abyss; eager yellow flames licked their +way up on the loosened moldings and picture-frames. Mogens crept over +the ruins and fragments of the fallen wall towards the edge of the +abyss, from which cold and hot blasts of air alternately struck his +face; on the other side so much of the wall had fallen, that he could +look into Camilla’s room, while the part that hid the councilor’s office +still stood. It grew hotter and hotter; the skin of his face became +taut, and he noticed, that his hair was crinkling. Something heavy +glided past his shoulder and remained lying on his back and pressed him +down to the floor; it was the girder which slowly had slipped out of +place. He could not move, breathing became more and more difficult, his +temples throbbed violently; to his left a jet of water splashed against +the wall of the dining-room, and the wish rose in him, that the cold, +cold drops, which scattered in all directions might fall on him. Then he +heard a moan on the other side of the abyss, and he saw something white +stir on the floor in Camilla’s room. It was she. She lay on her knees, +and while her hips were swaying, held her hands pressed against each +side of her head. She rose slowly, and came towards the edge of the +abyss. She stood straight upright, her arms hung limply down, and the +head went to and fro limply on the neck. Very, very slowly the upper +part of her body fell forward, her long, beautiful hair swept the floor; +a short violent flash of flame, and it was gone, the next moment she +plunged down into the flames. + +Mogens uttered a moaning sound, short, deep and powerful, like the roar +of a wild beast, and at the same time made a violent movement, as if to +get away from the abyss. It was impossible on account of the girder. His +hands groped over the fragments of wall, then they stiffened as it were +in a mighty clasp over the debris, and he began to strike his forehead +against the wreckage with a regular beat, and moaned: “Lord God, Lord +God, Lord God.” + +Thus he lay. In the course of a little while, he noticed that there was +something standing beside him and touching him. It was a fireman who had +thrown the girder aside, and was about to carry him out of the house. +With a strong feeling of annoyance, Mogens noticed that he was lifted up +and led away. The man carried him to the opening, and then Mogens had a +clear perception that a wrong was being committed against him, and that +the man who was carrying him had designs on his life. He tore himself +out of his arms, seized a lathe that lay on the floor, struck the man +over the head with it so that he staggered backward; he himself issued +from the opening and ran erect down the ladder, holding the lathe above +his head. Through the tumult, the smoke, the crowd of people, through +empty streets, across desolate squares, out into the fields. Deep snow +everywhere, at a little distance a black spot, it was a gravel-heap, +that jutted out above the snow. He struck at it with the lathe, struck +again and again, continued to strike at it; he wished to strike it dead, +so that it might disappear; he wanted to run far away, and ran round +about the heap and struck at it as if possessed. It would not, would not +disappear; he hurled the lathe far away and flung himself upon the black +heap to give it the finishing stroke. He got his hands full of small +stones, it was gravel, it was a black heap of gravel. Why was he out +here in the field burrowing in a black gravel-heap?--He smelled the +smoke, the flames flashed round him, he saw Camilla sink down into them, +he cried out aloud and rushed wildly across the field. He could not +rid himself of the sight of the flames, he held his eyes shut: Flames, +flames! He threw himself on the ground and pressed his face down into +the snow: Flames! He leaped up, ran backward, ran forward, turned aside: +Flames everywhere! He rushed further across the snow, past houses, past +trees, past a terror-struck face, that stared out through a window-pane, +round stacks of grain and through farm-yards, where dogs howled and tore +at their chains. He ran round the front wing of a building and stood +suddenly before a brightly, restlessly lighted window. The light did him +good, the flames yielded to it; he went to the window and looked in. It +was a brew-room, a girl stood at the hearth and stirred the kettle. The +light which she held in her hand had a slightly reddish sheen on account +of the dense fumes. Another girl was sitting down, plucking poultry, and +a third was singeing it over a blazing straw-fire. When the flames grew +weaker, new straw was put on, and they flared up again; then they again +became weaker and still weaker; they went out. Mogens angrily broke a +pane with his elbow, and slowly walked away. The girls inside screamed. +Then he ran again for a long time with a low moaning. Scattered flashes +of memory of happy days came to him, and when they had passed the +darkness was twice as black. He could not bear to think of what had +happened. It was impossible for it to have happened. He threw himself +down on his knees and raised his hands toward heaven, the while he +pleaded that that which had happened might be as though it had not +occurred. For a long time he dragged himself along on his knees with his +eyes steadfastly fixed on the sky, as if afraid it might slip away from +him to escape his pleas, provided he did not keep it incessantly in his +eye. Then pictures of his happy time came floating toward him, more and +more in mist-like ranks. There were also pictures that rose in a sudden +glamor round about him, and others flitted by so indefinite, so distant, +that they were gone before he really knew what they were. He sat +silently in the snow, overcome by light and color, by light and +happiness, and the dark fear which he had had at first that something +would come and extinguish all this had gone. It was very still round +about him, a great peace was within him, the pictures had disappeared, +but happiness was here. A deep silence! There was not a sound, but +sounds were in the air. And there came laughter and song and low words +came and light and footsteps and dull sobbing of the beats of the pumps. +Moaning he ran away, ran long and far, came to the lake, followed the +shore, until he stumbled over the root of a tree, and then he was so +tired that he remained lying. + +With a soft clucking sound the water ran over the small stones; +spasmodically there was a soft soughing among the barren limbs; now and +then a crow cawed above the lake; and morning threw its sharp bluish +gleam over forest and sea, over the snow, and over the pallid face. + +At sunrise he was found by the ranger from the neighboring forest, and +carried up to the forester Nicolai; there he lay for weeks and days +between life and death. + +***** + +About the time when Mogens was being carried up to Nicolai’s, a crowd +collected around a carriage at the end of the street where the councilor +lived. The driver could not understand why the policeman wanted to +prevent him from carrying out his legitimate order, and on that account +they had an argument. It was the carriage which was to take Camilla to +her aunt’s. + +***** + +“No, since poor Camilla lost her life in that dreadful manner, we have +not seen anything of him!” + +“Yes, it is curious, how much may lie hidden in a person. No one would +have suspected anything, so quiet and shy, almost awkward. Isn’t it so? +You did not suspect anything?” + +“About the sickness! How can you ask such a question! Oh, you mean--I +did not quite understand you--you mean it was in the blood, something +hereditary?--Oh, yes, I remember there was something like that, they +took his father to Aarhus. Wasn’t it so, Mr. Carlsen?” + +“No! Yes, but it was to bury him, his first wife is buried there. No, +what I was thinking of was the dreadful--yes, the dreadful life he has +been leading the last two or two and a half years.” + +“Why no, really! I know nothing about that.” + +“Well, you see, of course, it is of the things one doesn’t like to talk +about.... You understand, of course, consideration for those nearest. +The councilor’s family....” + +“Yes, there is a certain amount of justice in what you say--but on the +other hand--tell me quite frankly, isn’t there at present a false, +a sanctimonious striving to veil, to cover up the weaknesses of our +fellow-men? As for myself I don’t understand much about that sort of +thing, but don’t you think that truth or public morals, I don’t mean +this morality, but--morals, conditions, whatever you will, suffer under +it?” + +“Of course, and I am very glad to be able to agree so with you, and in +this case... the fact simply is, that he has given himself to all sorts +of excesses. He has lived in the most disreputable manner with the +lowest dregs, people without honor, without conscience, without +position, religion, or anything else, with loafers, mountebanks, +drunkards, and--and to tell the truth with women of easy virtue.” + +“And this after having been engaged to Camilla, good heavens, and after +having been down with brain-fever for three months!” + +“Yes--and what tendencies doesn’t this let us suspect, and who knows +what his past may have been, what do you think?” + +“Yes, and heaven knows how things really were with him during the time +of their engagement? There always was something suspicious about him. +That is my opinion. + +“Pardon me, and you, too, Mr. Carlsen, pardon me, but you look at the +whole affair in rather an abstract way, very abstractedly. By chance I +have in my possession a very concrete report from a friend in Jutland, +and can present the whole affair in all its details.” + +“Mr. Ronholt, you don’t mean to...?” + +“To give details? Yes, that is what I intend. Mr. Carlsen, with the +lady’s permission. Thank you! He certainly did not live as one should +live after a brain-fever. He knocked about from fair to fair with a +couple of boon-companions, and, it is said, was somewhat mixed up with +troupes of mountebanks, and especially with the women of the company. +Perhaps it would be wisest if I ran upstairs, and got my friend’s +letter. Permit me. I’ll be back in a moment.” + +“Don’t you think, Mr. Carlsen, that Ronholt is in a particularly good +humor to-day?” + +“Yes, but you must not forget that he exhausted all his spleen on an +article in the morning paper. Imagine, to dare to maintain--why, that is +pure rebellion, contempt of law, for him....” + +“You found the letter?” + +“Yes, I did. May I begin? Let me see, oh yes: ‘Our mutual friend whom we +met last year at Monsted, and whom, as you say, you knew in Copenhagen, +has during the last months haunted the region hereabouts. He looks just +as he used to, he is the same pale knight of the melancholy mien. He is +the most ridiculous mixture of forced gayety and silent hopelessness, +he is affected--ruthless and brutal toward himself and others. He is +taciturn and a man of few words, and doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself +at all, though he does nothing but drink and lead a riotous life. It +is as I have already said, as if he had a fixed idea that he received +a personal insult from destiny. His associates here were especially a +horse-dealer, called “Mug-sexton,” because he does nothing but sing and +drink all the time, and a disreputable, lanky, over-grown cross +between a sailor and peddler, known and feared under the name of Peter +“Rudderless,” to say nothing of the fair Abelone. She, however, recently +has had to give way to a brunette, belonging to a troupe of mountebanks, +which for some time has favored us with performances of feats of +strength and rope-dancing. You have seen this kind of women with +sharp, yellow, prematurely-aged faces, creatures that are shattered by +brutality, poverty, and miserable vices, and who always over-dress in +shabby velvet and dirty red. There you have his crew. I don’t understand +our friend’s passion. It is true that his fiancee met with a horrible +death, but that does not explain the matter. I must still tell you how +he left us. We had a fair a few miles from here. He, “Rudderless,” the +horse-dealer, and the woman sat in a drinking-tent, dissipating until +far into the night. At three o’clock or thereabouts they were at last +ready to leave. They got on the wagon, and so far everything went all +right; but then our mutual friend turns off from the main road and +drives with them over fields and heath, as fast as the horses can go. +The wagon is flung from one side to the other. Finally things get too +wild for the horse-dealer and he yells that he wants to get down. After +he has gotten off our mutual friend whips up the horses again, and +drives straight at a large heather-covered hill. The woman becomes +frightened and jumps off, and now up the hill they go and down on the +other side at such a terrific pace that it is a miracle the wagon did +not arrive at the bottom ahead of the horses. On the way up Peter had +slipped from the wagon, and as thanks for the ride he threw his big +clasp-knife at the head of the driver.’” + +“The poor fellow, but this business of the woman is nasty.” + +“Disgusting, madam, decidedly disgusting. Do you really think, Mr. +Ronholt, that this description puts the man in a better light?” + +“No, but in a surer one; you know in the darkness things often seem +larger than they are.” + +“Can you think of anything worse?” + +“If not, then this is the worst, but you know one should never think the +worst of people.” + +“Then you really mean, that the whole affair is not so bad, that there +is something bold in it, something in a sense eminently plebeian, which +pleases your liking for democracy.” + +“Don’t you see, that in respect to his environment his conduct is quite +aristocratic?” + +“Aristocratic? No, that is lather paradoxical. If he is not a democrat, +then I really don’t know what he is.” + +“Well, there are still other designations.” + +***** + +White alders, bluish lilac, red hawthorn, and radiant laburnum were in +flower and gave forth their fragrance in front of the house. The windows +were open and the blinds were drawn. Mogens leaned in over the sill and +the blinds lay on his back. It was grateful to the eye after all the +summer-sun on forest and water and in the air to look into the subdued, +soft, quiet light of a room. A tall woman of opulent figure stood +within, the back toward the window, and was putting flowers in a large +vase. The waist of her pink morning-gown was gathered high up below, +the bosom by a shining black leather-belt; on the floor behind her lay a +snow-white dressing-jacket; her abundant, very blond hair was hanging in +a bright-red net. + +“You look rather pale after the celebration last night,” was the first +thing Mogens said. + +“Good-morning,” she replied and held out without turning around her +hand with the flowers in it towards him. Mogens took one of the flowers. +Laura turned the head half towards him, opened her hand slightly and +let the flowers fall to the floor in little lots. Then she again busied +herself with the vase. + +“Ill?” asked Mogens. + +“Tired.” + +“I won’t eat breakfast with you to-day.” + +“No?” + +“We can’t have dinner together either.” + +“You are going fishing?” + +“No--Good-by!” + +“When are you coming back?” + +“I am not coming back.” + +“What do you mean by that?” she asked arranging her gown; she went to +the window, and there sat down on the chair. + +“I am tired of you. That’s all.” + +“Now you are spiteful, what’s the matter with you? What have I done to +you?” + +“Nothing, but since we are neither married nor madly in love with each +other, I don’t see anything very strange in the fact, that I am going my +own way.” + +“Are you jealous?” she asked very softly. + +“Of one like you! I haven’t lost my senses!” + +“But what is the meaning of all this?” + +“It means that I am tired of your beauty, that I know your voice and +your gestures by heart, and that neither your whims nor your stupidity +nor your craftiness can any longer entertain me. Can you tell me then +why I should stay?” + +Laura wept. “Mogens, Mogens, how can you have the heart to do this? +Oh, what shall I, shall I, shall I, shall I do! Stay only today, only +to-day, Mogens. You dare not go away from me!” + +“Those are lies, Laura, you don’t even believe it yourself. It is not +because you think such a terrible lot of me, that you are distressed +now. You are only a little bit alarmed because of the change, you are +frightened because of the slight disarrangement of your daily habits. +I am thoroughly familiar with that, you are not the first one I have +gotten tired of.” + +“Oh, stay with me only to-day, I won’t torment you to stay a single hour +longer. + +“You really are dogs, you women! You haven’t a trace of fine feelings in +your body. If one gives you a kick, you come crawling back again.” + +“Yes, yes, that’s what we do, but stay only for to-day--won’t +you--stay!” + +“Stay, stay! No!” + +“You have never loved me, Mogens!” + +“No!” + +“Yes, you did; you loved me the day when there was such a violent wind, +oh, that beautiful day down at the sea-shore, when we sat in the shelter +of the boat.” + +“Stupid girl!” + +“If I only were a respectable girl with fine parents, and not such a one +as I am, then you would stay with me; then you would not have the heart +to be so hard--and I, who love you so!” + +“Oh, don’t bother about that.” + +“No, I am like the dust beneath your feet, you care no more for me. Not +one kind word, only hard words; contempt, that is good enough for me.” + +“The others are neither better nor worse than you. Good-by, Laura!” + +He held out his hand to her, but she kept hers on her back and wailed: +“No, no, not good-by! not good-by!” + +Mogens raised the blind, stepped back a couple of paces and let it +fall down in front of the window. Laura quickly leaned down over the +window-sill beneath it and begged: “Come to me! come and give me your +hand.” + +“No.” + +When he had gone a short distance she cried plaintively: + +“Good-by, Mogens!” + +He turned towards the house with a slight greeting. Then he walked on: +“And a girl like that still believes in love!--no, she does not!” + +***** + +The evening wind blew from the ocean over the land, the strand-grass +swung its pale spikes to and fro and raised its pointed leaves a little, +the rushes bowed down, the water of the lake was darkened by thousands +of tiny furrows, and the leaves of the water-lilies tugged restlessly at +their stalks. Then the dark tops of the heather began to nod, and on +the fields of sand the sorrel swayed unsteadily to and fro. Towards the +land! The stalks of oats bowed downward, and the young clover trembled +on the stubble-fields, and the wheat rose and fell in heavy billows; the +roofs groaned, the mill creaked, its wings swung about, the smoke was +driven back into the chimneys, and the window-panes became covered with +moisture. + +There was a swishing of wind in the gable-windows, in the poplars of the +manor-house; the wind whistled through tattered bushes on the green hill +of Bredbjerg. Mogens lay up there, and gazed out over the dark earth. +The moon was beginning to acquire radiance, and mists were drifting down +on the meadow. Everything was very sad, all of life, all of life, empty +behind him, dark before him. But such was life. Those who were happy +were also blind. Through misfortune he had learned to see; everything +was full of injustice and lies, the entire earth was a huge, rotting +lie; faith, friendship, mercy, a lie it was, a lie was each and +everything; but that which was called love, it was the hollowest of all +hollow things, it was lust, flaming lust, glimmering lust, smoldering +lust, but lust and nothing else. Why had he to know this? Why had he not +been permitted to hold fast to his faith in all these gilded lies? Why +was he compelled to see while the others remained blind? He had a right +to blindness, he had believed in everything in which it was possible to +believe. + +Down in the village the lights were being lit. + +Down there home stood beside home. My home! my home! And my childhood’s +belief in everything beautiful in the world.--And what if they were +right, the others! If the world were full of beating hearts and the +heavens full of a loving God! But why do I not know that, why do I know +something different? And I do know something different, cutting, bitter, +true... + +He rose; fields and meadows lay before him bathed in moonlight. He went +down into the village, along the way past the garden of the manor-house; +he went and looked over the stone-wall. Within on a grass-plot in +the garden stood a silver poplar, the moonlight fell sharply on the +quivering leaves; sometimes they showed their dark side, sometimes +their white. He placed his elbows on the wall and stared at the tree; it +looked as if the leaves were running in a fine rain down the limbs. +He believed, that he was hearing the sound which the foliage produced. +Suddenly the lovely voice of a woman became audible quite near by: + + “Flower in dew! Flower in dew! + Whisper to me thy dreams, thine own. + Does in them lie the same strange air + The same wonderful elfin air, + As in mine own? + Are they filled with whispers and sobbing and sighing + Amid radiance slumbering and fragrances dying, + Amid trembling ringing, amid rising singing: + In longing, + In longing, + I live.” + +Then silence fell again. Mogens drew a long breath and listened +intently: no more singing; up in the house a door was heard. Now he +clearly heard the sound from the leaves of the silver poplar. He bowed +his head in his arms and wept. + +The next day was one of those in which late summer is rich. A day with +a brisk, cool wind, with many large swiftly flying clouds, with +everlasting alternations of darkness and light, according as the clouds +drift past the sun. Mogens had gone up to the cemetery, the garden of +the manor abutted on it. Up there it looked rather barren, the grass +had recently been cut; behind an old quadrangular iron-fence stood a +wide-spreading, low elder with waving foliage. Some of the graves had +wooden frames around them, most were only low, quadrangular hills; a +few of them had metal-pieces with inscriptions on them, others wooden +crosses from which the colors had peeled, others had wax wreaths, the +greater number had nothing at all. Mogens wandered about hunting for a +sheltered place, but the wind seemed to blow on all sides of the church. +He threw himself down near the embankment, drew a book out of his +pocket; but he did not get on with his reading; every time when a cloud +went past the sun, it seemed to him as though it were growing chilly, +and he thought of getting up, but then the light came again and he +remained lying. A young girl came slowly along the way, a greyhound and +a pointer ran playfully ahead of her. She stopped and it seemed as if +she wanted to sit down, but when she saw Mogens she continued her walk +diagonally across the cemetery out through the gate. Mogens rose and +looked after her; she walked down on the main road, the dogs still +played. Then he began reading the inscription on one of the graves; +it quickly made him smile. Suddenly a shadow fell across the grave and +remained lying there, Mogens looked sideways. A tanned, young man stood +there, one hand in his game-bag, in the other he held his gun. + +“It isn’t really half bad,” he said, indicating the inscription. + +“No,” said Mogens and straightened up from his bent position. + +“Tell me,” continued the hunter, and looked to the side, as if seeking +something, “you have been here for a couple of days, and I have been +going about wondering about you, but up to the present didn’t come near +you. You go and drift about so alone, why haven’t you looked in on us? +And what in the world do you do to kill the time? For you haven’t any +business in the neighborhood, have you?” + +“No, I am staying here for pleasure.” + +“There isn’t much of that here,” the stranger exclaimed and laughed, +“don’t you shoot? Wouldn’t you like to come with me? Meanwhile I have +to go down to the inn and get some small shot, and while you are getting +ready, I can go over, and call down the blacksmith. Well! Will you +join?” + +“Yes, with pleasure.” + +“Oh, by the way,--Thora! haven’t you seen a girl?” he jumped up on the +embankment. + +“Yes, there she is, she is my cousin, I can’t introduce you to her, +but come along, let us follow her; we made a wager, now you can he the +judge. She was to be in the cemetery with the dogs and I was to pass +with gun and game-bag, but was not to call or to whistle, and if the +dogs nevertheless went with me she would lose; now we will see.” + +After a little while they overtook the lady; the hunter looked straight +ahead, but could not help smiling; Mogens bowed when they passed. The +dogs looked in surprise after the hunter and growled a bit; then +they looked up at the lady and barked, she wanted to pat them, but +indifferently they walked away from her and barked after the hunter. +Step by step they drew further and further away from her, squinted +at her, and then suddenly darted off after the hunter. And when they +reached him, they were quite out of control; they jumped up on him and +rushed off in every direction and back again. + +“You lose,” he called out to her; she nodded smilingly, turned round and +went on. + +They hunted till late in the afternoon. Mogens and William got along +famously and Mogens had to promise that he would come to the manor-house +in the evening. This he did, and later he came almost every day, but in +spite of all the cordial invitations he continued living at the inn. + +Now came a restless period for Mogens. At first Thora’s proximity +brought back to life all his sad and gloomy memories. Often he had +suddenly to begin a conversation with one of the others or leave, so +that his emotion might not completely master him. She was not at all +like Camilla, and yet he heard and saw only Camilla. Thora was small, +delicate, and slender, roused easily to laughter, easily to tears, and +easily to enthusiasm. If for a longer time she spoke seriously with some +one, it was not like a drawing near, but rather as if she disappeared +within her own self. If some one explained something to her or developed +an idea, her face, her whole figure expressed the most intimate trust +and now and again, perhaps, also expectancy. William and his little +sister did not treat her quite like a comrade, but yet not like +a stranger either. The uncle and the aunt, the farm-hands, the +maid-servants, and the peasants of the neighborhood all paid court to +her, but very carefully, and almost timidly. In respect to her they were +almost like a wanderer in the forest, who sees close beside him one +of those tiny, graceful song-birds with very clear eyes and light, +captivating movements. He is enraptured by this tiny, living creature, +he would so much like to have it come closer and closer, but he does not +care to move, scarcely to take breath, lest it may be frightened and fly +away. + +As Mogens saw Thora more and more frequently, memories came more and +more rarely, and he began to see her as she was. It was a time of peace +and happiness when he was with her, full of silent longing and quiet +sadness when he did not see her. Later he told her of Camilla and of +his past life, and it was almost with surprise that he looked back upon +himself. Sometimes it seemed inconceivable to him that it was he who had +thought, felt, and done all the strange things of which he told. + +On an evening he and Thora stood on a height in the garden, and watched +the sunset. William and his little sister were playing hide-and-seek +around the hill. There were thousands of light, delicate colors, +hundreds of strong radiant ones. Mogens turned away from them and +looked at the dark figure by his side. How insignificant it looked in +comparison with all this glowing splendor; he sighed, and looked up +again at the gorgeously colored clouds. It was not like a real thought, +but it came vague and fleeting, existed for a second and disappeared; it +was as if it had been the eye that thought it. + +“The elves in the green hill are happy now that the sun has gone down,” + said Thora. + +“Oh--are they?” + +“Don’t you know that elves love darkness?” + +Mogens smiled. + +“You don’t believe in elves, but you should. It is beautiful to believe +in all that, in gnomes and elves. I believe in mermaids too, and +elder-women, but goblins! What can one do with goblins and three-legged +horses? Old Mary gets angry when I tell her this; for to believe what +I believe, she says is not God-fearing. Such things have nothing to do +with people, but warnings and spirits are in the gospel, too. What do +you say?” + +“I, oh, I don’t know--what do you really mean?” + +“You surely don’t love nature?” + +“But, quite the contrary.” + +“I don’t mean nature, as you see it from benches placed where there is +a fine view on hills up which they have built steps; where it is like a +set scene, but nature every day, always.” + +“Just so! I can take joy in every leaf, every twig, every beam of light, +every shadow. There isn’t a hill so barren, nor a turf-pit so square, +nor a road so monotonous, that I cannot for a moment fall in love with +it.” + +“But what joy can you take in a tree or a bush, if you don’t imagine +that a living being dwells within it, that opens and closes the flowers +and smooths the leaves? When you see a lake, a deep, clear lake, don’t +you love it for this reason, that you imagine creatures living deep, +deep down below, that have their own joys and sorrows, that have their +own strange life with strange yearnings? And what, for instance, is +there beautiful about the green hill of Berdbjerg, if you don’t imagine, +that inside very tiny creatures swarm and buzz, and sigh when the sun +rises, but begin to dance and play with their beautiful treasure-troves, +as soon as evening comes.” + +“How wonderfully beautiful that is! And you see that?” + +“But you?” + +“Yes, I can’t explain it, but there is something in the color, in the +movements, and in the shapes, and then in the life which lives in them; +in the sap which rises in trees and flowers, in the sun and rain that +make them grow, in the sand which blows together in hills, and in the +showers of rain that furrow and fissure the hillsides. Oh, I cannot +understand this at all, when I am to explain it.” + +“And that is enough for you?” + +“Oh, more than enough sometimes--much too much! And when shape and color +and movement are so lovely and so fleeting and a strange world lies +behind all this and lives and rejoices and desires and can express all +this in voice and song, then you feel so lonely, that you cannot come +closer to this world, and life grows lusterless and burdensome.” + +“No, no, you must not think of your fiancee in that way.” + +“Oh, I am not thinking of her.” + +William and his sister came up to them, and together they went into the +house. + +***** + +On a morning several days later Mogens and Thora were walking in the +garden. He was to look at the grape-vine nursery, where he had not yet +been. It was a rather long, but not very high hothouse. The sun sparkled +and played over the glass-roof. They entered, the air was warm and +moist, and had a peculiar heavy aromatic odor as of earth that has just +been turned. The beautiful incised leaves and the heavy dewy grapes were +resplendent and luminous under the sunlight. They spread out beneath the +glass-cover in a great green field of blessedness. Thora stood there +and happily looked upward; Mogens was restless and stared now and then +unhappily at her, and then up into the foliage. + +“Listen,” Thora said gayly, “I think, I am now beginning to understand +what you said the other day on the hill about form and color.” + +“And you understood nothing besides?” Mogens asked softly and seriously. + +“No,” she whispered, looked quickly at him, dropped the glance, and grew +red, “not then.” + +“Not then,” Mogens repeated softly and kneeled down before her, “but +now, Thora?” She bent down toward him, gave him one of her hands, +and covered her eyes with the other and wept. Mogens pressed the hand +against his breast, as he rose; she lifted her head, and he kissed her +on the forehead. She looked up at him with radiant, moist eyes, smiled +and whispered: “Heaven be praised!” + +Mogens stayed another week. The arrangement was that the wedding was to +take place in midsummer. Then he left, and winter came with dark days, +long nights, and a snowstorm of letters. + +***** + +All the windows of the manor-house were lighted, leaves and flowers were +above every door, friends and acquaintances in a dense crowd stood on +the large stone stairway, all looking out into the dusk.--Mogens had +driven off with his bride. + +The carriage rumbled and rumbled. The closed windows rattled. Thora +sat and looked out of one of them, at the ditch of the highway, at the +smith’s hill where primroses blossomed in spring, at Bertel Nielsen’s +huge elderberry bushes, at the mill and the miller’s geese, and the hill +of Dalum where not many years ago she and William slid down on sleighs, +at the Dalum meadows, at the long, unnatural shadows of the horses that +rushed over the gravel-heaps, over the turf-pits and rye-field. She sat +there and wept very softly; from time to time when wiping the dew +from the pane, she looked stealthily over towards Mogens. He sat bowed +forward, his traveling-cloak was open, his hat lay and rocked on the +front seat; his hands he held in front of his face. All the things he +had to think of! It had almost robbed him of his courage. She had had +to say good-by to all her relatives and friends and to an infinity of +places, where memories lay ranged in strata, one above the other, right +up to the sky, and all this so that she might go away with him. And was +he the right sort of a man to place all one’s trust in, he with his past +of brutalities and debaucheries! It was not even certain that all +this was merely his past. He had changed, it is true, and he found it +difficult to understand what he himself had been. But one never can +wholly escape from one’s self, and what had been surely still was there. +And now this innocent child had been given him to guard and protect. +He had managed to get himself into the mire till over his head, and +doubtless he would easily succeed in drawing her down into it too. No, +no, it shall not be thus--no, she is to go on living her clear, bright +girl’s life in spite of him. And the carriage rattled and rattled. +Darkness had set in, and here and there he saw through the thickly +covered panes, lights in the houses and yards past which they drove. +Thora slumbered. Toward morning they came to their new home, an estate +that Mogens had bought. The horses steamed in the chill morning air; the +sparrows twittered on the huge linden in the court, and the smoke rose +slowly from the chimneys. Thora looked smiling and contented at all this +after Mogens had helped her out of the carriage; but there was no other +way about, she was sleepy and too tired to conceal it. Mogens took her +to her room and then went into the garden, sat down on a bench, and +imagined that he was watching the sunrise, but he nodded too violently +to keep up the deception. About noon he and Thora met again, happy and +refreshed. They had to look at things and express their surprise; they +consulted and made decisions; they made the absurdest suggestions; +and how Thora struggled to look wise and interested when the cows +were introduced to her; and how difficult it was not to be all too +unpractically enthusiastic over a small shaggy young dog; and how Mogens +talked of drainage and the price of grain, while he stood there and in +his heart wondered how Thora would look with red poppies in her hair! +And in the evening, when they sat in their conservatory and the moon so +clearly drew the outline of the windows on the floor, what a comedy they +played, he on his part seriously representing to her that she should +go to sleep, really go to sleep, since she must be tired, the while +he continued to hold her hand in his; and she on her part, when she +declared he was disagreeable and wanted to be rid of her, that he +regretted having taken a wife. Then a reconciliation, of course, +followed, and they laughed, and the hour grew late. Finally Thora went +to her room, but Mogens remained sitting in the conservatory, miserable +that she had gone. He drew black imaginings for himself, that she was +dead and gone, and that he was sitting here all alone in the world and +weeping over her, and then he really wept. At length he became angry at +himself and stalked up and down the floor, and wanted to be sensible. +There was a love, pure and noble, without any coarse, earthly passion; +yes, there was, and if there was not, there was going to be one. Passion +spoiled everything, and it was very ugly and unhuman. How he hated +everything in human nature that was not tender and pure, fine and +gentle! He had been subjugated, weighed down, tormented, by this ugly +and powerful force; it had lain in his eyes and ears, it had poisoned +all his thoughts. + +He went to his room. He intended to read and took a book; he read, but +had not the slightest notion what--could anything have happened to her! +No, how could it? But nevertheless he was afraid, possibly there might +have--no, he could no longer stand it. He stole softly to her door; no, +everything was still and peaceful. When he listened intently it seemed +as if he could hear her breathing--how his heart throbbed, it seemed, he +could hear it too. He went back to his room and his book. He closed his +eyes; how vividly he saw her; he heard her voice, she bent down toward +him and whispered--how he loved her, loved her, loved her! It was like a +song within him; it seemed as if his thoughts took on rhythmic form, +and how clearly he could see everything of which he thought! Still and +silent she lay and slept, her arm beneath the neck, her hair loosened, +her eyes were closed, she breathed very softly--the air trembled within, +it was red like the reflection of roses. Like a clumsy faun, imitating +the dance of the nymphs, so the bed-cover with its awkward folds +outlined her delicate form. No, no, he did not want to think of her, not +in that way, for nothing in all the world, no; and now it all came back +again, it could not be kept away, but he would keep it away, away! And +it came and went, came and went, until sleep seized him, and the night +passed. + +***** + +When the sun had set on the evening of the next day, they walked about +together in the garden. Arm in arm they walked very slowly and very +silently up one path and down the other, out of the fragrance of +mignonettes through that of roses into that of jasmine. A few moths +fluttered past them; out in the grain-field a wild duck called, +otherwise most of the sounds came from Thora’s silk dress. + +“How silent we can be,” exclaimed Thora. + +“And how we can walk!” Mogens continued, “we must have walked about four +miles by now.” + +Then they walked again for a while and were silent. + +“Of what are you thinking now?” she asked. + +“I am thinking of myself.” + +“That’s just what I am doing.” + +“Are you also thinking of yourself?” + +“No, of yourself--of you, Mogens.” + +He drew her closer. They were going up to the conservatory. The door +was open; it was very light in there, and the table with the snowy-white +cloth, the silver dish with the dark red strawberries, the shining +silver pot and the chandelier gave quite a festive impression. + +“It is as in the fairy-tale, where Hansel and Gretel come to the +cake-house out in the wood,” Thora said. + +“Do you want to go in?” + +“Oh, you quite forget, that in there dwells a witch, who wants to put us +unhappy little children into an oven and eat us. No, it is much better +that we resist the sugar-panes and the pancake-roof, take each other by +the hand, and go back into the dark, dark wood.” + +They walked away from the conservatory. She leaned closely toward Mogens +and continued: “It may also be the palace of the Grand Turk and you are +the Arab from the desert who wants to carry me off, and the guard is +pursuing us; the curved sabers flash, and we run and run, but they have +taken your horse, and then they take us along and put us into a big bag, +and we are in it together and are drowned in the sea.--Let me see, or +might it be...?” + +“Why might it not be, what it is?” + +“Well, it might be that, but it is not enough.... If you knew how I love +you, but I am so unhappy--I don’t know what it is--there is such a great +distance between us--no--” + +She flung her arms round his neck and kissed him passionately and +pressed her burning cheek against his: + +“I don’t know how it is, but sometimes I almost wish that you beat me--I +know it is childish, and that I am very happy, very happy, and yet I +feel so unhappy!” + +She laid her head on his breast and wept, and then she began while her +tears were still streaming, to sing, at first very gently, but then +louder and louder: + + “In longing + In longing! live!” + +“My own little wife!” and he lifted her up in his arms and carried her +in. + +In the morning he stood beside her bed. The light came faintly and +subdued through the drawn blinds. It softened all the lines in the room +and made all the colors seem sated and peaceful. It seemed to Mogens +as if the air rose and fell with her bosom in gentle rarifications. +Her head rested a little sidewise on the pillow, her hair fell over her +white brow, one of her cheeks was a brighter red than the other, now and +then there was a faint quivering in the calmly-arched eyelids, and +the lines of her mouth undulated imperceptibly between unconscious +seriousness and slumbering smiles. Mogens stood for a long time +and looked at her, happy and quiet. The last shadow of his past had +disappeared. Then he stole away softly and sat down in the living-room +and waited for her in silence. He had sat there for a while, when he +felt her head on his shoulder and her cheek against his. + +***** + +They went out together into the freshness of the morning. The sunlight +was jubilant above the earth, the dew sparkled, flowers that had +awakened early gleamed, a lark sang high up beneath the sky, swallows +flew swiftly through the air. He and she walked across the green field +toward the hill with the ripening rye; they followed the footpath which +led over there. She went ahead, very slowly and looked back over her +shoulder toward him, and they talked and laughed. The further they +descended the hill, the more the grain intervened, soon they could no +longer be seen. + + + + +THE PLAGUE IN BERGAMO + + +Old Bergamo lay on the summit of a low mountain, hedged in by walls and +gates, and New Bergamo lay at the foot of the mountain, exposed to all +winds. + +One day the plague broke out in the new town and spread at a terrific +speed; a multitude of people died and the others fled across the plains +to all four corners of the world. And the citizens in Old Bergamo set +fire to the deserted town in order to purify the air, but it did no +good. People began dying up there too, at first one a day, then five, +then ten, then twenty, and when the plague had reached its height, a +great many more. + +And they could not flee as those had done, who lived in the new town. + +There were some, who tried it, but they led the life of a hunted animal, +hid in ditches and sewers, under hedges, and in the green fields; for +the peasants, into whose homes in many places the first fugitives had +brought the plague, stoned every stranger they came across, drove him +from their lands, or struck him down like a mad dog without mercy or +pity, in justifiable self-defense, as they believed. + +The people of Old Bergamo had to stay where they were, and day by day it +grew hotter; and day by day the gruesome disease became more voracious +and more grasping. Terror grew to madness. What there had been of order +and good government was as if the earth had swallowed it, and what was +worst in human nature came in its stead. + +At the very beginning when the plague broke out people worked together +in harmony and concord. They took care that the corpses were duly and +properly buried, and every day saw to it that big bonfires were lighted +in squares and open places so that the healthful smoke might drift +through the streets. Juniper and vinegar were distributed among the +poor, and above all else, the people sought the churches early and late, +alone and in processions. Every day they went with their prayers before +God and every day when the sun was setting behind the mountains, all the +churchbells called wailingly towards heaven from hundreds of swinging +throats. Fasts were ordered and every day holy relics were set out on +the altars. + +At last one day when they did not know what else to do, from the balcony +of the town hall, amid the sound of trumpets and horns, they proclaimed +the Holy Virgin, podesta or lordmayor of the town now and forever. + +But all this did not help; there was nothing that helped. + +And when the people felt this and the belief grew stronger that heaven +either would not or could not help, they not only let their hands lie +idly in the lap, saying, “Let there come what may.” Nay, it seemed, as +if sin had grown from a secret, stealthy disease into a wicked, open, +raging plague, which hand in hand with the physical contagion sought +to slay the soul as the other strove to destroy the body, so incredible +were their deeds, so enormous their depravity! The air was filled with +blasphemy and impiety, with the groans of the gluttons and the howling +of drunkards. The wildest night hid not greater debauchery than was here +committed in broad daylight. + +“To-day we shall eat, for to-morrow we die!”--It was as if they had set +these words to music, and played on manifold instruments a never-ending +hellish concert. Yea, if all sins had not already been invented, they +would have been invented here, for there was no road they would not have +followed in their wickedness. The most unnatural vices flourished among +them, and even such rare sins as necromancy, magic, and exorcism were +familiar to them, for there were many who hoped to obtain from the +powers of evil the protection which heaven had not vouchsafed them. + +Whatever had to do with mutual assistance or pity had vanished from +their minds; each one had thoughts only for himself. He who was sick +was looked upon as a common foe, and if it happened that any one was +unfortunate enough to fall down on the street, exhausted by the first +fever-paroxysm of the plague, there was no door that opened to him, +but with lance-pricks and the casting of stones they forced him to drag +himself out of the way of those who were still healthy. + +And day by day the plague increased, the summer’s sun blazed down upon +the town, not a drop of rain fell, not the faintest breeze stirred. From +corpses that lay rotting in the houses and from corpses that were only +half-buried in the earth, there was engendered a suffocating stench +which mingled with the stagnant air of the streets and attracted swarms +and clouds of ravens and crows until the walls and roofs were black with +them. And round about the wall encircling the town sat strange, +large, outlandish birds from far away with beaks eager for spoil and +expectantly crooked claws; and they sat there and looked down with their +tranquil greedy eyes as if only waiting for the unfortunate town to turn +into one huge carrion-pit. + +It was just eleven weeks since the plague had broken out, when the +watchman in the tower and other people who were standing in high places +saw a strange procession wind from the plain into the streets of the new +town between the smoke-blackened stone walls and the black ash-heaps of +the wooden houses. A multitude of people! At least, six hundred or more, +men and women, old and young, and they carried big black crosses between +them and above their heads floated wide banners, red as fire and blood. +They sing as they are moving onward and heartrending notes of despair +rise up into the silent sultry air. + +Brown, gray, and black are their clothes, but all wear a red badge on +their breast. A cross it proves to be, as they draw nearer. For all the +time they are drawing nearer. They press upward along the steep road, +flanked by walls, which leads up to the old town. It is a throng of +white faces; they carry scourges in their hands. On their red banners +a rain of fire is pictured. And the black crosses sway from one side to +the other in the crowd. + +From the dense mass there rises a smell of sweat, of ashes, of the dust +of the roadway, and of stale incense. + +They no longer sing, neither do they speak, nothing is audible but the +tramping, herd-like sound of their naked feet. + +Face after face plunges into the darkness of the tower-gate, and emerges +into the light on the other side with a dazed, tired expression and +half-closed lids. + +Then the singing begins again: a miserere; they grasp their scourges +more firmly and walk with a brisker step as if to a war-song. + +They look as if they came from a famished city, their cheeks are hollow, +their bones stand out, their lips are bloodless, and they have dark +rings beneath their eyes. + +The people of Bergamo have flocked together and watch them with +amazement--and uneasiness. Red dissipated faces stand contrasted with +these pale white ones; dull glances exhausted by debauchery are +lowered before these piercing, flaming eyes; mocking blasphemers stand +open-mouthed before these hymns. + +And there is blood on their scourges. + +A feeling of strange uneasiness filled the people at the sight of these +strangers. + +But it did not take long, however, before they shook off this +impression. Some of them recognized a half-crazy shoemaker from Brescia +among those who bore crosses, and immediately the whole mob through him +became a laughingstock. Anyhow, it was something new, a distraction +amid the everyday, and when the strangers marched toward the cathedral, +everybody followed behind as they would have followed a band of jugglers +or a tame bear. + +But as they pushed their way forward they became embittered; they felt +so matter-of-fact in comparison with the solemnity of these people. They +understood very well, that those shoemakers and tailors had come here +to convert them, to pray for them, and to utter the words which they did +not wish to hear. There were two lean, gray-haired philosophers who had +elaborated impiety into a system; they incited the people, and out of +the malice of their hearts stirred their passions, so that with each +step as they neared the church the attitude of the crowd became more +threatening and their cries of anger wilder. It would not have taken +much to have made them lay violent hands on those unknown flagellants. +Not a hundred steps from the church entrance, the door of a tavern was +thrown open, and a whole flock of carousers tumbled out, one on top of +the other. They placed themselves at the head of the procession and led +the way, singing and bellowing with grotesquely solemn gestures--all +except one who turned handsprings right up the grass-grown stones of +the church-steps. This, of course, caused laughter, and so all entered +peacefully into the sanctuary. + +It seemed strange to be here again, to pass through this great cool +space, in this atmosphere pungent with the smell of old drippings from +wax candles--across the sunken flag-stones which their feet knew so well +and over these stones whose worn-down designs and bright inscriptions +had so often caused their thoughts to grow weary. And while their eyes +half-curiously, half-unwillingly sought rest in the gently subdued +light underneath the vaults or glided over the dim manifoldness of the +gold-dust and smoke-stained colors, or lost themselves in the strange +shadows of the altar, there rose in their hearts a longing which could +not be suppressed. + +In the meantime those from the tavern continued their scandalous +behavior upon the high altar. A huge, massive butcher among them, a +young man, had taken off his white apron and tied it around his neck, so +that it hung down his back like a surplice, and he celebrated mass +with the wildest and maddest words, full of obscenity and blasphemy. An +oldish little fellow with a fat belly, active and nimble in spite of +his weight, with a face like a skinned pumpkin was the sacristan +and responded with the most frivolous refrains. He kneeled down and +genuflected and turned his back to the altar and rang the bell as though +it were a jester’s and swung the censer round like a wheel. The others +lay drunk on the steps at full length, bellowing with laughter and +hiccoughing with drunkenness. + +The whole church laughed and howled and mocked at the strangers. They +called out to them to pay close attention so that they might know what +the people thought of their God, here in Old Bergamo. For it was not so +much their wish to insult God that made them rejoice in the tumult; but +they felt satisfaction in knowing that each of their blasphemies was a +sting in the hearts of these holy people. + +They stopped in the center of the nave and groaned with pain, their +hearts boiling with hatred and vengeance. They lifted their eyes and +hands to God, and prayed that His vengeance might fall because of +the mock done to Him here in His own house. They would gladly go to +destruction together with these fool-hardy, if only He would show His +might. Joyously they would let themselves be crushed beneath His heel, +if only He would triumph, that cries of terror, despair, and repentance, +that were too late, might rise up toward Him from these impious lips. + +And they struck up a miserere. Every note of it sounded like a cry for +the rain of fire that overwhelmed Sodom, for the strength which +Samson possessed when he pulled down the columns in the house of the +Philistines. They prayed with song and with words; they denuded their +shoulders and prayed with their scourges. They lay kneeling row after +row, stripped to their waist, and swung the sharp-pointed and knotted +cords down on their bleeding backs. Wildly and madly they beat +themselves so that the blood clung in drops on their hissing whips. +Every blow was a sacrifice to God. Would that they might beat themselves +in still another way, would that they might tear themselves into a +thousand bloody shreds here before His eyes! This body with which +they had sinned against His commandments had to be punished, tortured, +annihilated, that He might see how hateful it was to them, that He might +see how they became like unto dogs in order to please Him, lower than +dogs before His will, the lowliest of vermin that ate the dust beneath +the soles of His feet! Blow upon blow--until their arms dropped or +until cramps turned them to knots. There they lay row on row with eyes +gleaming with madness, with foam round their mouths, the blood trickling +down their flesh. + +And those who watched this suddenly felt their hearts throb, noticed how +hotness rose into their cheeks and how their breathing grew difficult. +It seemed as if something cold was growing out beneath their scalps, +and their knees grew weak. It seized hold of them; in their brains was a +little spot of madness which understood this frenzy. + +To feel themselves the slaves of a harsh and powerful deity, to thrust +themselves down before His feet; to be His, not in gentle piety, not +in the inactivity of silent prayer, but madly, in a frenzy of +self-humiliation, in blood, and wailing, beneath wet gleaming +scourges--this they were capable of understanding. Even the butcher +became silent, and the toothless philosophers lowered their gray heads +before the eyes that roved about. + +And it became quite still within the church; only a slight wave-like +motion swept through the mob. + +Then one from among the strangers, a young monk, rose up and spoke. He +was pale as a sheet of linen, his black eyes glowed like coals, which +are just going to die out, and the gloomy, pain-hardened lines around +his mouth were as if carven in wood with a knife, and not like the folds +in the face of a human being. + +He raised his thin, sickly hands toward heaven in prayer, and the +sleeves of his robe slipped down over his lean, white arms. + +Then he spoke. + +Of hell he spoke, that it is infinite as heaven is infinite, of the +lonely world of torments which each one of the condemned must endure and +fill with his wails. Seas of sulphur were there, fields of scorpions, +flames that wrap themselves round a person like a cloak, and silent +flames that have hardened and plunged into the body like a spear twisted +round in a wound. + +It was quite still; breathlessly they listened to his words, for he +spoke as if he had seen it with his own eyes, and they asked themselves: +is he one of the condemned, sent up to us from the caverns of hell to +bear witness before us? + +Then he preached for a long time concerning the law and the power of +the law, that its every title must be fulfilled, and that every +transgression of which they were guilty would be counted against them +by grain and ounce. “But Christ died for our sins, say ye, and we are no +longer subject to the law. But I say unto you, hell will not be cheated +of a single one of you, and not a single iron tooth of the torture +wheel of hell shall pass beside your flesh. You build upon the cross of +Golgotha, come, come! Come and look at it! I shall lead you straight to +its foot. It was on a Friday, as you know, that they thrust Him out +of one of their gates and laid the heavier end of a cross upon His +shoulders. They made Him bear it to a barren and unfruitful hill without +the city, and in crowds they followed Him, whirling up the dust with +their many feet so that it seemed a red cloud was over the place. And +they tore the garments from Him and bared His body, as the lords of the +law have a malefactor exposed before the eyes of all, so that all may +see the flesh that is to be committed to torture. And they flung Him on +the cross and stretched Him out and they drove a nail of iron through +each of His resistant hands and a nail through His crossed feet. With +clubs they struck the nails till they were in to the heads. And they +raised upright the cross in a hole in the ground, but it would not stand +firm and straight, and they moved it from one side to the other, and +drove wedges and posts all around, and those who did this pulled down +the brims of their hats so that the blood from His hands might not drop +into their eyes. And He on the cross looked down on the soldiers, who +were casting lots for His unstitched garment and down on the whole +turbulent mob, for whose sake He suffered, that they might be saved; and +in all the multitude there was not one pitiful eye. + +“And those below looked up toward Him, who hung there suffering and +weak; they looked at the tablet above His head, whereon was written +‘King of the Jews,’ and they reviled Him and called out to Him: ‘Thou +that destroyest the temple, and buildest it in three days, save thyself. +If thou be the Son of God, come down from the cross.’ Then He, the only +begotten Son of God was taken with anger, and saw that they were not +worthy of salvation, these mobs that fill the earth. He tore free His +feet over the heads of the nails, and He clenched His hands round the +nails and tore them out, so that the arms of the cross bent like a bow. +Then He leaped down upon the earth and snatched up His garment so that +the dice rolled down the slope of Golgotha, and flung it round himself +with the wrath of a king and ascended into heaven. And the cross stood +empty, and the great work of redemption was never fulfilled. There is +no mediator between God and us; there is no Jesus who died for us on the +cross; there is no Jesus who died for us on the cross, there is no Jesus +who died for us on the cross!” + +He was silent. + +As he uttered the last words he leaned forward over the multitude and +with his lips and hands hurled the last words over their heads. A groan +of agony went through the church, and in the corners they had begun to +sob. + +Then the butcher pushed forward with raised, threatening hands, pale +as a corpse, and shouted: “Monk, monk, you must nail Him on the cross +again, you must!” and behind him there was a hoarse, hissing sound: +“Yea, yea, crucify, crucify Him!” And from all mouths, threatening, +beseeching, peremptory, rose a storm of cries up to the vaulted roof: +“Crucify, crucify Him!” + +And clear and serene a single quivering voice: “Crucify Him!” + +But the monk looked down over this wave of outstretched hands, upon +these distorted faces with the dark openings of screaming lips, where +rows of teeth gleamed white like the teeth of enraged beasts of prey, +and in a moment of ecstasy he spread out his arms toward heaven and +laughed. Then he stepped down, and his people raised their banners with +the rain of fire and their empty black crosses, and crowded their way +out of the church and again passed singing across the square and again +through the opening of the tower-gate. + +And those of Old Bergamo stared after them, as they went down the +mountain. The steep road, lined by walls, was misty in the light of the +sun setting beyond the plain, but on the red wall encircling the city +the shadows of the great crosses which swayed from side to side in the +crowd stood out black and sharply outlined. + +Further away sounded the singing; one or another of the banners still +gleamed red out of the new town’s smoke-blackened void; then they +disappeared in the sun-lit plain. + + + + +THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN ROSES + + +There should have been roses + +Of the large, pale yellow ones. + +And they should hang in abundant clusters over the garden-wall, +scattering their tender leaves carelessly down into the wagon-tracks on +the road: a distinguished glimmer of all the exuberant wealth of flowers +within. + +And they should have the delicate, fleeting fragrance of roses, which +cannot be seized and is like that of unknown fruits of which the senses +tell legends in their dreams. + +Or should they have been red, the roses? + +Perhaps. + +They might be of the small, round, hardy roses, and they would have to +hang down in slender twining branches with smooth leaves, red and fresh, +and like a salutation or a kiss thrown to the wanderer, who is walking, +tired and dusty, in the middle of the road, glad that he now is only +half a mile from Rome. + +Of what may he be thinking? What may be his life? + +And now the houses hide him, they hide everything on that side. They +hide one another and the road and the city, but on the other side there +is still a distant view. There the road swings in an indolent, slow +curve down toward the river, down toward the mournful bridge. And behind +this lies the immense Campagna. The gray and the green of such large +plains.... It is as if the weariness of many tedious miles rose out of +them and settled with a heavy weight upon one, and made one feel lonely +and forsaken, and filled one with desires and yearning. So it is much +better that one should take one’s ease here in a corner between high +garden-walls, where the air lies tepid and soft and still--to sit on the +sunny side, where a bench curves into a niche of the wall, to sit there +end gaze upon the shimmering green acanthus in the roadside ditches, +upon the silver-spotted thistles, and the pale-yellow autumn flowers. + +The roses should have been on the long gray wall opposite, a wall full +of lizard holes and chinks with withered grass; and they should have +peeped out at the very spot where the long, monotonous flatness is +broken by a large, swelling basket of beautiful old wrought iron, a +latticed extension, which forms a spacious balcony, reaching higher than +the breast. It must have been refreshing to go up there when one was +weary of the enclosed garden. + +And this they often were. + +They hated the magnificent old villa, which is said to be within, with +its marble stair-cases and its tapestries of coarse weave; and the +ancient trees with their proud large crowns, pines and laurels, ashes, +cypresses, and oaks. During all the period of their growth they were +hated with the hatred which restless hearts feel for that which is +commonplace, trivial, uneventful, for that which stands still and +therefore seems hostile. + +But from the balcony one could at least range outside with one’s eyes, +and that is why they stood there, one generation after the other, and +all stared into the distance, each one with pro and each one with his +con. Arms adorned with golden bracelets have lain on the edge of the +iron railing and many a silk-covered knee has pressed against the black +arabesques, the while colored ribbons waved from all its points as +signals of love and rendezvous. Heavy, pregnant housewives have also +stood here and sent impossible messages out into the distance. Large, +opulent, deserted women, pale as hatred... could one but kill with a +thought or open hell with a wish!... Women and men! It is always women +and men, even these emaciated white virgin souls which press against the +black latticework like a flock of lost doves and cry out, “Take us!” to +imagined, noble birds of prey. + +One might imagine a _proverbe_ here. + +The scenery would be very suitable for a _proverbe_. + +The wall there, just as it is; only the road would have to be wider and +expand into a circular space. In its center there would have to be +an old, modest fountain of yellowish tuff and with a bowl of broken +porphyry. As figure for the fountain a dolphin with a broken-off tail, +and one of the nostrils stopped up. From the other the fine jet of water +rises. On one side of the fountain a semicircular bench of tuff and +terracotta. + +The loose, grayish white dust; the reddish, molded stone, the hewn, +yellowish, porous tuff; the dark, polished porphyry, gleaming with +moisture, and the living, tiny, silvery jet of water: material and +colors harmonize rather well. + +The characters: two pages. + +Not of a definite, historical period, for the pages of reality in no +way correspond with the pages of the ideal. The pages here, however, are +pages such as dream in pictures and books. Accordingly it is merely the +costume which has a historical effect. + +The actress who is to represent the youngest of the pages wears thin +silk which clings closely and is pale-blue, and has heraldic lilies of +the palest gold woven into it. This and as much lace as can possibly be +employed are the most distinctive feature of the costume. It does +not aim at any definite century, but seeks to emphasize the youthful +voluptuousness of the figure, the magnificent blond hair, and the clear +complexion. + +She is married, but it lasted only a year and a half, when she was +divorced from her husband, and she is said to have acted in anything but +a proper fashion towards him. And that may well be, but it is impossible +to imagine anything more innocent in appearance than she. That is +to say, it is not the gracious elemental innocence which has such +attractive qualities; but it is rather the cultivated, mature innocence, +in which no one can be mistaken, and which goes straight to the heart. +It captivates one with all the power which something that has reached +completion only can have. + +The second actress in the _proverbe_ is slender and melancholy. She is +unmarried and has no past, absolutely none. There is no one who knows +the least thing about her. Yet these finely delineated, almost lean +limbs, and these amber-pale, regular features are vocal. The face is +shaded by raven-black curls, and borne on a strong masculine neck. Its +mocking smile, in which there is also hungry desire, allures. The eyes +are unfathomable and their depths are as soft and luminous as the dark +petals in the flower of the pansy. + +The costume is of pale-yellow, in the manner of a corselet with wide, +up-and-down stripes, a stiff ruff and buttons of topaz. There is +a narrow frilled stripe on the edge of the collar, and also on the +close-fitting sleeves. The trunks are short, wide-slashed, and of +a dead-green color with pale purple in the slashes. The hose is +gray.--Those of the blue page, of course, are pure white.--Both wear +barrets. + +Such is their appearance. + +And now the yellow one is standing up on the balcony, leaning over the +edge, the while the blue is sitting on the bench down by the fountain, +comfortably leaning back, with his ring-covered hands clasped around one +knee. He stares dreamily out upon the Campagna. + +Now he speaks: + +“No, nothing exists in the world but women!--I don’t understand it... +there must be a magic in the lines out of which they are created, merely +when I see them pass: Isaura, Rosamond, and Donna Lisa, and the others. +When I see how their garment clings around their figure and how it +drapes as they walk, it is as if my heart drank the blood out of all +my arteries, and left my head empty and without thoughts and my limbs +trembling and without strength. It is as though my whole being were +gathered into a single, tremulous, uneasy breath of desire. What is it? +Why is it? It is as if happiness went invisibly past my door, and I +had to snatch it and hold it close, and make it my own. It is so +wonderful--and yet I cannot seize it, for I cannot see it.” + +Then the other page speaks from his balcony: + +“And if now you sat at her feet, Lorenzo, and lost in her thoughts she +had forgotten why she had called you, and you sat silent and waiting, +and her lovely face were bent over you further from you in the clouds of +its dreams than the star in the heavens, and yet so near you that every +expression was surrendered to your admiration, every beauty-engendered +line, every tint of the skin in its white stillness as well as in its +soft rosy glow--would it not then be as if she who is sitting there +belonged to another world than the one in which you kneel in adoration! +Would it not be as if hers were another world, as if another world +surrounded her, in which her festively garbed thoughts are going out to +meet some goal which is unknown to you? Her love is far away from all +that is yours, from your world, from everything. She dreams of far +distances and her desires are of far distances. And it seems as if not +the slightest space could be found for you in her thoughts, however +ardently you might desire to sacrifice yourself for her, your life, your +all, to the end that that might be between her and you which is hardly a +faint glimmer of companionship, much less a belonging together.” + +“Yes, you know that it is thus. But....” Now a greenish-yellow lizard +runs along the edge of the balcony. It stops and looks about The tail +moves.... + +If one could only find a stone... + +Look out, my four-legged friend. + +No, you cannot hit them, they hear the stone long before it reaches +them. Anyhow he got frightened. + +But the pages disappeared at the same moment. + +The blue one had been sitting there so prettily. And in her eyes lay +a yearning which was genuine and unconscious and in her movements a +nervousness that was full of presentiment. Around her mouth was a faint +expression of pain, when she spoke, and even more when she listened to +the soft, somewhat low voice of the yellow page, which spoke to her +from the balcony in words that were provocative and at the same time +caressing, that had a note of mockery and a note of sympathy. + +And doesn’t it seem now as if both were still here! + +They are there, and have carried on the action of the _proverbe_, while +they were gone. They have spoken of that vague young love which never +finds peace but unceasingly flits through all the lands of foreboding +and through all the heavens of hope; this love that is dying to satisfy +itself in the powerful, fervent glow of a single great emotion! Of this +they spoke; the younger one in bitter complaint, the elder one with +regretful tenderness. Now the latter said--the yellow one to the +blue--that he should not so impatiently demand the love of a woman to +capture him and hold him bound. + +“For believe me,” he said, “the love that you will find in the clasp of +two white arms, with two eyes as your immediate heaven and the certain +bliss of two lips--this love lies nigh unto the earth and unto the dust. +It has exchanged the eternal freedom of dreams for a happiness which is +measured by hours and which hourly grows older. For even if it always +grows young again, yet each time it loses one of the rays which in a +halo surround the eternal youth of dreams. No, you are happy.” + +“No, you are happy,” answered the blue one, “I would give a world, were +I as you are.” + +And the blue one rises, and begins to walk down the road to the +Campagna, and the yellow one looks after him with a sad smile and says +to himself: “No, he is happy!” + +But far down the road the blue one turns round once more toward the +balcony, and raising his barret calls: “No, you are happy!” + +***** + +There should have been roses. + +And now a breath of wind might come and shake a rain of rose-leaves from +the laden branches, and whirl them after the departing page. + + + + +MRS. FONSS + + +In the graceful pleasure-gardens behind the Pope’s ancient palace +in Avignon stands a bench from which one can overlook the Rhone, the +flowery banks of the Durance, hills and fields, and a part of the town. + +One October afternoon two Danish ladies were seated on this bench, Mrs. +Fonss, a widow, and her daughter Elinor. + +Although they had been here several days and were already familiar with +the view before them, they nevertheless sat there and marveled that this +was the way the Provence looked. + +And this really was the Provence! A clayey river with flakes of muddy +sand, and endless shores of stone-gray gravel; pale-brown fields without +a blade of grass, pale-brown slopes, pale-brown hills and dust-colored +roads, and here and there near the white houses, groups of black trees, +absolutely black bushes and trees. Over all this hung a whitish sky, +quivering with light, which made everything still paler, still dryer and +more wearily light; never a glimmer of luxuriant, satiated hues, nothing +but hungry, sun-parched colors; not a sound in the air, not a scythe +passing through the grass, not a wagon rattling over the roads; and the +town stretching out on both sides was also as if built of silence with +all the streets still as at noon time, with all the houses deaf and +dumb, every shutter closed, every blind drawn, each and every one; +houses that could neither see nor hear. + +Mrs. Fonss viewed this lifeless monotony with a resigned smile, but +it made Elinor visibly nervous; not actively nervous as in the case of +annoyance, but mournful and weary, as one often becomes after many days +of rain, when all one’s gloomy thoughts seem to pour down upon one with +the rain; or as at the idiotically consoling tick-tack of a clock, when +one sits and grows incurably tired of one’s self; or at watching the +flowers of the wall-paper, when the same chain of worn-out dreams clanks +about against one’s will in the brain and the links are joined and come +apart and in a stifling endlessness are united again. It actually had a +physical effect upon her, this landscape, almost causing her to faint. +To-day everything seemed to have conspired with the memories of a +hope which was dead and of sweet and lively dreams which had become +disagreeable and nauseous; dreams which caused her to redden when she +thought of them and which yet she could not forget. And what had all +that to do with the region here? The blow had fallen upon her far from +here amid the surroundings of her home, by the edge of a sound with +changing waters, under pale green beech-trees. Yet it hovered on the +lips of every pale brown hill, and every green-shuttered house stood +there and held silence concerning it. + +It was the old sorrow for young hearts which had touched her. She had +loved a man and believed in his love for her, and suddenly he had chosen +some one else. Why? For what reason? What had she done to him? Had she +changed? Was she no longer the same? And all the eternal questions over +again. She had not said a word about it to her mother, but her mother +had understood every bit of it, and had been very concerned about her. +She could have screamed at this thoughtfulness which knew and yet should +not have known; her mother understood this also, and for that reason +they had gone traveling. + +The whole purpose of the journey was only that she might forget. + +Mrs. Fonss did not need to make her daughter feel uneasy by scrutinizing +her face in order to know where her thoughts were. All she had to do +was to watch the nervous little hand which lay beside her and with +such futile despair stroked the bars of the bench; they changed their +position every moment like a fever-patient tossing from side to side in +his hot bed. When she did this and looked at the hand, she also knew how +life-weary the young eyes were that stared out into the distance, how +pain quivered through every feature of the delicate face, how pale it +was beneath its suffering, and how the blue veins showed at the temples +beneath the soft skin. + +She was very sorry for her little girl, and would have loved to have had +her lean against her breast, and to whisper down to her all the words of +comfort she could think of, but she had the conviction that there +were sorrows which could only die away in secret and which must not +be expressed in loud words, not even between a mother and daughter. +Otherwise some day under new circumstances, when everything is building +for joy and happiness, these words may become an obstacle, something +that weighs heavily and takes away freedom. The person who has spoken +hears their whisper in the soul of the other, imagines them turned over +and judged in the thoughts of the other. + +Then, too, she was afraid of doing injury to her daughter if she made +confidences too easy. She did not wish to have Elinor blush before her; +she did want, however much of a relief it might be, to help her over the +humiliation, which lies in opening the inmost recesses of one’s soul to +the gaze of another. On the contrary the more difficult it became for +both, the more she was pleased, that the aristocracy of soul which +she herself possessed was repeated in her young daughter in a certain +healthy inflexibility. + +Once upon a time--it was a time many, many years ago, when she herself +had been an eighteen-year old girl, she had loved with all her soul, +with every sense in her body, every living hope, every thought. It was +not to be, could not be. He had had nothing to offer except his loyalty +which would have involved the test of an endlessly long engagement, and +there were circumstances in her home which could not wait. So she had +taken the one whom they had given her, the one who was master over these +circumstances. They were married, then came children: Tage, the son, +who was with her in Avignon, and the daughter, who sat beside her, +Everything had turned out so much better than she could have hoped for, +both easier and more friendly. Eight years it lasted, then the husband +died, and she mourned him with a sincere heart. She had learned to love +his fine, thin-blooded nature which with a tense, egotistic, almost +morbid love loved whatever belonged to it by ties of relationship or +family, and cared nought for anything in all the great world outside, +except for what they thought, what their opinion was--nothing else. +After her husband’s death she had lived chiefly for her children, but +she had not devoted herself exclusively to them; she had taken part in +social life, as was natural for so young and well-to-do a widow; and now +her son was twenty-one years old and she lacked not many days of forty. +But she was still beautiful. There was not a gray thread in her heavy +dark-blonde hair, not a wrinkle round her large, courageous eyes, and +her figure was slender with well-balanced fullness. The strong, fine +lines of her features were accentuated by the darker more deeply colored +complexion which the years had given her; the smile of her widely +sweeping lips was very sweet; an almost enigmatical youth in the dewy +luminosity of her brown eyes softened and mellowed everything again. And +yet she also had the round fullness of cheek, the strong-willed chin of +a mature woman. + +“That surely is Tage coming,” said Mrs. Fonss to her daughter when she +heard laughter and some Danish exclamations on the other side of the +thick hedge of hornbeam. + +Elinor pulled herself together. + +And it was Tage, Tage and Kastager, a wholesale merchant from +Copenhagen, with his sister and daughter; Mrs. Kastager lay ill at home +in the hotel. + +Mrs. Fonss and Elinor made room for the two ladies; the men tried for +a moment to converse standing, but were lured by the low wall of +stone which surrounded the spot. They sat there and said only what was +absolutely necessary, for the newcomers were tired from a little railway +excursion they had taken into the Provence with its blooming roses. + +“Hello!” cried Tage, striking his light trousers with the flat of his +hand, “look!” + +They looked. + +Out in the brown landscape appeared a cloud of dust, over it a mantle +of dust, and between the two they caught sight of a horse. “That’s +the Englishman, I told you about, who came the other day,” said Tage, +turning toward his mother. + +“Did you ever see any one ride like that?” he asked, turning toward +Kastager, “he reminds me of a gaucho.” + +“Mazeppa?” said Kastager, questioningly. + +The horseman disappeared. + +Then they all rose, and set out for the hotel. + +They had met the Kastagers in Belfort, and since they were pursuing the +same itinerary through southern France and along the Riviera, they for +the time being traveled together. Here in Avignon both families had made +a halt; Kastager because his wife had developed a varicose vein, the +Fonss’ because Elinor obviously needed a rest. + +Tage was delighted at this living together. Day by day he fell more and +more incurably in love with the pretty Ida Kastager. Mrs. Fonss did not +especially like this. Though Tage was very self-reliant and mature for +his age, there was no reason for a hasty engagement--and there was +Mr. Kastager! Ida was a splendid little girl, Mrs. Kastager was a very +well-bred woman of excellent family, and Kastager himself was capable, +rich, and honest, but there was a hint of the absurd about him. A smile +came upon people’s lips and a twinkle into their eyes when any one +mentioned Mr. Kastager. + +The reason for this was that he was full of fire and given to +extraordinary enthusiasms; he was frankly ingenuous, boisterous, and +communicative, and nowadays it requires a great deal of tact to be +lavish with enthusiasm. But Mrs. Fonss could not bear the thought that +Tage’s father-in-law should be mentioned with a twinkle in the eye and +a smile round the mouth, and for that reason she exhibited a certain +coldness toward the family to the great sorrow of the enamored Tage. + +***** + +On the morning of the following day Tage and his mother had gone to +look at the little museum of the town. They found the gate open, but the +doors to the collection locked; ringing the bell proved fruitless. The +gateway, however, gave admission to the not specially large court which +was surrounded by a freshly whitewashed arcade whose short squat columns +had black iron bars between them. + +They walked about and looked at the objects placed along the wall: Roman +sepulchral monuments, pieces of sarcophagi, a headless draped figure, +the dorsal vertebra of a whale, and a series of architectural details. + +On all the objects of interest there were fresh traces of the masons’ +brushes. + +By now they had come back to their starting point. + +Tage ran up the stairs to see if there might not be people somewhere in +the house, and Mrs. Fonss in the meantime walked up and down the arcade. + +As she was on the turn toward the gate a tall man with a bearded, tanned +face, appeared at the end of the passage directly in front of her. He +had a guide-book in his hand; he listened for something, and then looked +forward, straight at her. + +The Englishman of yesterday immediately came to her mind. + +“Pardon me?” he began interrogatively, and bowed. + +“I am a stranger,” Mrs. Fonss replied, “nobody seems to be at home, but +my son has just run upstairs to see whether....” + +These words were exchanged in French. + +At this moment Tage arrived. “I have been everywhere,” he said, “even in +the living quarters, but didn’t find as much as a cat.” + +“I hear,” said the Englishman, this time in Danish, “that I have the +pleasure of being with fellow-countrymen.” + +He bowed again and retreated a couple of steps, as if to indicate that +he had merely said this to let them know that he understood what they +were saying. Suddenly he stepped closer than before with an intent, +eager expression on his face, and said to Mrs. Fonss, “is it possible +that you and I are old acquaintances?” + +“Are you Emil Thorbrogger?” exclaimed Mrs. Fonss, and held out her hand. + +He seized it. “Yes, I am he,” he said gayly, “and you are she?” + +His eyes almost filled with tears as he looked at her. + +Mrs Fonss introduced Tage as her son. + +Tage had never in his life heard mention of Thorbrogger, but that was +not his thoughts; he thought only of the fact that this gaucho turned +out to be a Dane; when a pause set in, and some one had to say something +he could not help exclaiming, “and I who said yesterday that you +reminded me of a gaucho!” + +“Well,” replied Thorbrogger, “that wasn’t far from the truth; for +twenty-one years I have lived in the plains of La Plata, and in those +years certainly spent more time on horse-back than on foot.” + +And now he had come back to Europe! + +Yes, he had sold his land and his sheep and had come back to have a look +around in the old world where he belonged, but to his shame he had +to confess that he often found it very much of a bore to travel about +merely for pleasure. + +Perhaps, he was homesick for the prairies? + +No, he had never had any special feeling for places and countries; he +thought it was only his daily work which he missed. + +In that way they went on talking for a while. At last the custodian +appeared, hot and out of breath, with heads of lettuce under his arms +and a bunch of scarlet tomatoes in his hand, and they were admitted into +the small, stuffy collection of paintings, where they gained only the +vaguest impression of the yellow thunder-clouds and black waters of old +Vernet, but on the contrary told each other with considerable detail +of their lives and the happenings during all the years since they had +parted. + +For it was he whom she had loved, at the time when she married another. +In the days which now followed they were much together, and the others +thinking that such old friends must have much to say to each other left +them often alone. In those days both soon noticed that however much +they might have changed during the course of the years, their hearts had +forgotten nothing. + +Perhaps it was he who first became aware of this, for all the +uncertainty of youth, its sentimentality and its elegiac mood came upon +him simultaneously, and he suffered under it. It seemed out of place +to the mature man, that he should so suddenly be robbed of his peace of +life and the self-possession which he had acquired during the course of +time, and he wanted his love to bear a different stamp, wished it to be +graver, more subdued. + +She did not feel herself younger, but it seemed to her as if a fountain +of tears that had been obstructed and dammed had burst open again and +begun to flow. There was great happiness and relief in crying, and these +tears gave her a feeling of richness; it was as if she had become more +precious, and everything had become more precious to her--in short it +was a feeling of youth after all. + +***** + +On an evening of one of these days Mrs. Fonss sat alone at home, +Elinor had gone to bed early, and Tage had gone to the theater with the +Kastagers. She had been sitting in the dull hotel-room and had dreamed +in the half light of a couple of candles. At length her dreams had come +to a stop after their incessant coming and going; she had grown tired, +but with that mild and smiling weariness which wraps itself round us, +when happy thoughts are falling asleep in our mind. + +She could not go on sitting here, staring in front of her, the whole +evening long without so much as a book. It was still over an hour before +the theater let out. So she began to walk up and down the room, stood in +front of the mirror, and arranged her hair. + +She would go down into the reading-room, and look over the illustrated +papers. At this time of the evening it was always empty there. + +She threw a large black lace shawl over her head and went down. + +The room was empty. + +The small room, overfull with furniture, was brilliantly illuminated +by half a dozen large gas-flames; it was hot and the air was almost +painfully dry. + +She drew the shawl down around the shoulders. + +The white papers there on the table, the portfolios with their large +gilt letters, the empty plush chairs, the regular squares of the carpet +and the even folds of the rep curtains--all this looked dull under the +strong light. + +She was still dreaming, and dreaming she stood, and listened to the +long-drawn singing of the gas-flames. + +The heat was such as almost to make one dizzy. + +To support herself she slowly reached out for a large, heavy bronze +vase which stood on a bracket fixed in the wall, and grasped the +flower-decorated edge. + +It was comfortable to stand thus, and the bronze was gratefully cool to +the touch of her hand. But as she stood thus, there came another feeling +also. She began to feel a contentment in her limbs, in her body, because +of the plastically beautiful position which she had assumed. She was +conscious of how becoming it was to her, of the beauty which was hers +at the moment, and even of the physical sensation of harmony. All +this gathered in a feeling of triumph, and streamed through her like a +strange festive exultation. + +She felt herself so strong at this hour, and life lay before her like +a great, radiant day; no longer like a day declining toward the calm, +melancholy hours of dusk. It seemed to her like an open, wide-awake +space of time, with hot pulses throbbing every second, with joyous +light, with energy and swiftness and an infinity without and within. And +she was thrilled with the fullness of life, and longed for it with the +feverish eagerness with which a traveler sets out on a journey. + +For a long time she stood thus, wrapped in her thoughts, forgetting +everything around her. Then suddenly as if she heard the silence in the +room and the long-drawn singing of the gas-flames, she let her hand +drop from the vase and sat down by the table and began to turn over the +leaves of a portfolio. + +She heard steps, passing by the door, heard them turn back, and saw +Thorbrogger enter. + +They exchanged a few words but as she seemed occupied with the pictures, +he also began to look at the magazines that lay in front of him. They, +however, did not interest him very much for when a little later she +looked up, she met his eyes which rested searchingly upon her. + +He looked as if he were just about to speak, and there was a nervous, +decided expression round his mouth, which told her so definitely what +his words would be that she reddened. + +Instinctively, as if she wished to hold back these words, she held out +a picture across the table and pointed at some horsemen from the pampas, +who were throwing lassoes over wild steers. + +He was just about to make some jesting remark about the draftsman’s +naive conception of the art of throwing a lasso. It was so enticingly +easy to speak of this rather than of that which he had on his mind. +Resolutely, however, he pushed the picture aside, leaned a little ways +across the table and said, + +“I have thought a great deal about you since we met again; I have always +thought a great deal about you, both long ago in Denmark and over where +I was. And I have always loved you, and if it sometimes seems to me that +it is only now that I really love you since we have met again, it is not +true, however great my love may be, for I have always loved you, I have +always loved you. And if it should happen now that you would become +mine--you cannot imagine what that would mean to me, if you, who were +taken from me for so many years, were to come back.” + +He was silent for a moment, then he rose, and came closer to her. + +“Oh, do say a word! I am standing here talking blindly. I speak to you +as to an interpreter, a stranger, who has to repeat what I am saying to +the heart I am speaking to.. I don’t know... to stand here and weigh my +words... I don’t know, how far or how near. I dare not put into words +the adoration which fills me--or dare I?” + +He let himself sink down on a chair by her side. + +“Oh, if I might, if I didn’t have to be afraid--is it true! Oh, God +bless you, Paula.” + +“There is nothing now that need keep us apart any longer,” said she, +with her hand in his, “whatever may happen I have the right to be happy +once, to live fully in accordance with my being, my desire, and my +dreams. I have never renounced. Even though happiness was not my share, +I have never believed that life was nothing but grayness and duty. I +knew that there are people who are happy.” + +Silently he kissed her hand. + +“I know,” she said sadly, “that those who will judge me least harshly +will not envy me the happiness which I shall have in having your love, +but they will also say that I should be satisfied.” + +“But that would not be enough for me, and you have not the right to send +me away.” + +“No,” she said, “no.” + +A little later she went upstairs to Elinor. + +Elinor slept. + +Mrs. Fonss sat down by her bed and looked at her pale child whose +features she could only dimly distinguish under the faint yellow glow of +the night lamp. + +For Elinor’s sake they would have to wait. In a few days they would +separate from Thorbrogger, go to Nice, and stay there by themselves. +During the winter she would live only that Elinor might regain her +health. But to-morrow she would tell the children what had happened +and what was to be expected. However they might receive the news it was +impossible for her to live with them day in, day out, and yet be almost +separated from them by a secret like this. And they would need time to +get used to the idea, because it would mean a separation between them, +whether greater or smaller would depend on the children themselves. The +arrangement of their lives in so far as it concerned her and him was to +be left entirely to them. She would demand nothing. It was for them to +_give_. + +She heard Tage’s step in the sitting-room and went to him. + +He was so radiant and at the same time so nervous that Mrs. Fonss knew +something had happened, and she had an intuition of what it was. + +He sought for an opening to unburden his heart and sat and talked +absent-mindedly of the theater. Not until his mother went over to him +and put her hand on his forehead, forcing him to look at her, was he +able to tell her that he had wooed Ida Kastager and gained her “yes.” + +They talked about it for a long time, but throughout Mrs. Fonss felt +a coldness in whatever she said, which she could not overcome. She was +afraid of being too sympathetic with Tage on account of her own emotion. +Besides, in the uncertain state of her mind she was distrustful of the +idea that there might be even the faintest shadow of an association +between her kindness of to-night and what she was to tell to-morrow.. + +Tage, however, did not notice any coolness. + +Mrs. Fonss did not sleep much that night; there were too many thoughts +to keep her awake. She thought how strange it was that he and she should +have met and that when they met they should love each other as in the +old days. + +It was long ago, especially for her; she was no longer, could no longer, +be young. And this would show; and he would be thoughtful with her, and +grow used to the fact that it was a long time since she was eighteen +years old. But she felt young, she was so in many respects, and yet all +the while she was conscious of her years. She saw it very clearly, in a +thousand movements, in expressions and gestures, in the way in which she +would respond to a hint, in the fashion in which she would smile at an +answer. Ten times a day she would betray her age, because she lacked the +courage to be outwardly as young as she was within. + +And thoughts came and thoughts went, but through it all the same +question always rose, as to what her children would say. + +On the forenoon of the following day she put the answer to the test. + +They were in the sitting-room. + +She said that she had something important to tell them, something +that would mean a great change in their lives, something that would +be unexpected news to them. She asked them to listen as calmly as they +could, and not to let themselves be carried away by the first impression +into thoughtlessness. They must know that what she was about to tell +them was definitely decided, and that nothing they might say could make +her alter her decision. + +“I am going to marry again,” she said, and told them of how she had +loved Thorbrogger, before she had known their father; how she had become +separated from him, and how they had now met again. + +Elinor cried, but Tage had risen from his seat, utterly bewildered. He +then went close to her, kneeled down before her, and seized her hand. +Sobbing, half-stifled with emotion, he pressed it against his cheek with +infinite tenderness, with an expression of helplessness in every line of +his face. + +“Oh, but mother, dearest mother, what have we done to you, have we not +always loved you, have we not always, both when we were with you +and when we were away from from you, wanted you as the best thing we +possessed in the world? We have never known father except through you; +it was you who taught us to love him, and if Elinor and I are so close +to each other, is it not because day after day you always pointed out +to each of us what was best in the other? And has it not been thus with +every other person to whom we became attached, do we not owe everything +to you? We owe everything to you, and we worship you, mother, if you +only knew.... Oh, you cannot imagine, how much we want your love, want +you beyond all bounds and limits, but there again you have taught us to +restrain our love, and we never dare to come as close to your heart as +we should like. And now you say that you are going to leave us entirely, +and put us to one side. But that is impossible. Only one who wanted to +do us the greatest harm in the world could do anything as frightful as +that, and you don’t want to do us the greatest harm, you want only what +is best for us--how can it then be possible? Say quickly that it is not +true; say it is not true, Tage, it is not true, Elinor.” + +“Tage, Tage, don’t be so distressed, and don’t make it so hard, both for +yourself and us others.” + +Tage rose. + +“Hard,” he said, “hard, hard, oh were it nothing but that, but it is +horrible--unnatural; it is enough to drive one insane, merely to think +of it. Have you any idea of the things you make me think of? My mother +loved by a strange man, my mother desired, held in the arms of another +and holding him in hers. Nice thoughts for a son, worse than the worst +insult--but it is impossible, must be impossible, must be! Are the +prayers of a son to be as powerless as that! Elinor, don’t sit there and +cry, come and help me beg mother to have pity on us.” + +Mrs. Fonss made a restraining gesture with her hand and said: “Let +Elinor alone, she is probably tired enough, and besides I have told you +that nothing can be changed.” + +“I wish I were dead,” said Elinor, “but, mother, everything that Tage +has said is true, and it never can be right that at our age you should +give us a step-father.” + +“Step-father,” cried Tage, “I hope that he does not for one moment +dare.... You are mad. Where he enters, we go out. There isn’t any power +on earth that can force me into the slightest intimacy with that +person. Mother must choose--he or we! If they go to Denmark after their +marriage, then we are exiles; if they stay here, we leave.” + +“And those are your intentions, Tage?” asked Mrs. Fonss. + +“I don’t think you need doubt that; imagine the life. Ida and I are +sitting out there on the terrace on a moonlit evening, and behind the +laurel-bushes some one is whispering. Ida asks who is whispering, and +I reply that it is my mother and her new husband.--No, no, I shouldn’t +have said that; but you see the effect of it already, the pain it causes +me, and you may be sure that it won’t help Elinor’s health either.” + +Mrs. Fonss let the children go while she remained sitting here. + +No, Tage was right, it had not been good for them. How far from her they +had already gone in that short hour! How they looked at her, not like +her children, but like their father’s! How quick they were to desert her +as soon as they saw that not every motion of her heart was theirs! But +she was not only Tage’s and Elinor’s mother alone; she was also a human +being on her own account, with a life of her own and hopes of her own, +quite apart from them. But she was, perhaps, not quite as young as she +had believed herself to be. This had come to her in the conversation +with her children. Had she not sat there, timid, in spite of her words; +had she not almost felt like one who was trespassing upon the rights of +youth? Were not all the exorbitant demands of youth and all its naive +tyranny in everything they had said?--It is for us to love, life belongs +to us, and your life it is but to exist for us. + +She began to understand that there might be a satisfaction in being +quite old; not that she wished it, but yet old age smiled faintly at +her like a far-distant peace, coming after all the agitation of recent +times, and now when the prospect of so much discord was so near. For she +did not believe that her children would ever change their mind, and yet +she had to discuss it with them over and over again before she gave up +hope. The best thing would be for Thorbrogger to leave immediately. With +his presence no longer here the children might be less irritable, and +she could try to show them how eager she was to be as considerate as +possible to them. In time the first bitterness would disappear, and +everything... no, she did not believe, that everything would turn out +well. + +They agreed that Thorbrogger should leave for Denmark to arrange their +affairs. For the time being they would remain here. It seemed, however, +that nothing was gained by this. The children avoided her. Tage spent +all his time with Ida or her father, and Elinor stayed all the time +with the invalid, Mrs. Kastager. And when they happened to be actually +together, the old intimacy, the old feeling of comfort, was gone. Where +were the thousand subjects for conversation, and, when finally they +found one, where was the interest in it? They sat there keeping up +a conversation like people who for a while have enjoyed each other’s +company, and now must part. All the thoughts of those who are about to +leave are fixed on the journey’s end, and those who remain think only +of settling hack into the daily life and daily routine, as soon as the +strangers have left. + +There was no longer any common interest in their life; all the feeling +of belonging together had disappeared. They were able to talk about +what they were going to do next week, next month, or even the month +following, but it did not interest them as though it had to do with days +out of their own lives. It was merely a time of waiting, which somehow +or other had to be endured, for all three mentally asked themselves: And +what then? They felt no solid foundation in their lives; there was no +ground to build upon before this, which had separated them, was settled. + +Every day that passed the children forgot more and more what their +mother had meant to them, in the fashion in which children who believe +themselves wronged will forget a thousand benefactions for the sake of +one injustice. + +Tage was the most sensitive of them, but also the one who was hurt +most deeply, because he had loved most. He had wept through long nights +because of his mother whom he could not retain in the way in which he +wanted. There were times when the memory of her love almost deafened all +other feelings in his heart. One day he even went to her and beseeched +and implored her that she might belong to them, to them alone, and not +to any other one, and the answer had been a “no.” And this “no” had made +him hard and cold. At first he had been afraid of this coldness, because +it was accompanied by a frightful emptiness. + +The case with Elinor was different. In a strange way she had felt that +it was an injustice toward her father, and she began to worship him like +a fetish. Even though she but dimly remembered him, she recreated him +for herself in most vivid fashion by becoming absorbed in everything +she had ever heard about him. She asked Kastager about him and Tage, +and every morning and night she kissed a medallion-portrait of his which +belonged to her. She longed with a somewhat hysterical desire for some +letters from him which she had left at home, and for things which had +once belonged to him. + +In proportion as the father in this way rose in her estimation, the +mother sank. The fact that she had fallen in love with a man harmed +her less in her daughter’s eyes; but she was no lenger the mother, the +unfailing, the wisest, the supreme, most beautiful. She was a woman like +other women; not quite, but just because not quite, it was possible to +criticize and judge her and to find weaknesses and faults in her. Elinor +was glad that she had not confided her unhappy love to her mother; but +she did not know how much it was due to her mother that she had not done +so. + +One day passed like another, and their life became more and more +unendurable. All three felt that it was useless; instead of bringing +them together, it only drove them further apart. + +Mrs. Kastager had now recovered. Though she had not played an active +part in anything that had happened, she knew more about the situation +than any one else, because everything had been told her. One day she +had a long talk with Mrs. Fonss who was glad that there was some one who +would quietly listen to her plans for the future. In this conversation +Mrs. Kastager suggested that the children go with her to Nice, while +they sent for Thorbrogger to come to Avignon, so that they might be +married. Kastager could stay on as witness. + +Mrs. Fonss wavered a little while longer, for she had been unable to +discover what her children’s reaction would be. When they were told, +they accepted it with proud silence, and when they were pressed for +answer, they merely said that they would, of course, adjust themselves +to whatever she decided to do. + +So things turned out as Mrs. Kastager had proposed. She said good-by to +the children, and they left; Thorbrogger came, and they were married. + +Spain became their home; Thorbrogger chose it for the sake of +sheep-farming. + +Neither of them wished to return to Denmark. + +And they lived happily in Spain. + +She wrote several times to her children, but in their first violent +anger that she had left them, they returned the letters. Later they +regretted it; they were unable, however, to admit this to their mother +and to write to her; for that reason all communication between them +ceased. But now and then in round about ways they heard about each +other’s lives. + +For five years Thorbrogger and his wife lived happily, but then she +suddenly fell ill. It was a disease whose course ran swiftly and whose +end was necessarily fatal. Her strength dwindled hourly, and one day +when the grave was no longer far away she wrote to her children. + +“Dear children,” she wrote, “I know that you will read this letter, for +it will not reach you until after my death. Do not be afraid, there are +no reproaches in these lines; would that I might make them bear enough +love. + +“When people love, Tage and Elinor, little Elinor, the one who loves +most must always humble himself, and therefore I come to you once more, +as in my thoughts I shall come to you every hour as long as I am able. +One who is about to die, dear children, is very poor; I am very poor, +for all this beautiful world, which for so many years has been my +abundant and kindly home, is to be taken from me. My chair will stand +here empty, the door will close behind me, and never again will I set my +foot here. Therefore I look at everything with the prayer in my eye that +it shall hold me in kind memory. Therefore I come to you and beg that +you will love me with all the love which once you had for me; for +remember that not to be forgotten is the only part in the living world +which from now on is to be mine; just to be remembered, nothing more. + +“I have never doubted your love; I knew very well that it was your great +love, that caused your great anger; had you loved me less, you would +have let me go more easily. And therefore I want to say to you, that +should some day it happen that a man bowed down with sorrow come to your +door to speak with you concerning me, to talk about me to relieve his +sorrow, then remember that no one has loved me as he has, and that all +the happiness which can radiate from a human heart has come from him to +me. And soon in the last great hour he will hold my hand in his when the +darkness comes, and his words will be the last I shall hear.... + +“Farewell, I say it here, but it is not the farewell which will be the +last to you; it I will say as late as I dare, and all my love will be +in it, and all the longings for so many, many years, and the memories +of the time when you were small, and a thousand wishes and a thousand +thanks. Farewell Tage, farewell Elinor, farewell until the last +farewell. + +“YOUR MOTHER.” + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Mogens and Other Stories, by Jens Peter Jacobsen + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOGENS AND OTHER STORIES *** + +***** This file should be named 6765-0.txt or 6765-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/7/6/6765/ + +Produced by Eric Eldred + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mogens and Other Stories + Mogens; The Plague At Bergamo; There Should Have Been Roses; Mrs. Fonss + +Author: Jens Peter Jacobsen + +Translator: Anna Grabow, 1921 + +Release Date: April 21, 2009 [EBook #6765] +Last Updated: November 8, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOGENS AND OTHER STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by Eric Eldred, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + MOGENS AND OTHER STORIES + </h1> + <h3> + (1882) + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Jens Peter Jacobsen + </h2> + <h3> + (1847-1885) + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated from the Danish By Anna Grabow + </h3> + <h4> + (1921) + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> MOGENS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE PLAGUE IN BERGAMO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN ROSES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> MRS. FONSS </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <p> + In the decade from 1870 to 1880 a new spirit was stirring in the + intellectual and literary world of Denmark. George Brandes was delivering + his lectures on the <i>Main Currents of Nineteenth Century Literature</i>; + from Norway came the deeply probing questionings of the granitic Ibsen; + from across the North Sea from England echoes of the evolutionary theory + and Darwinism. It was a time of controversy and bitterness, of a conflict + joined between the old and the new, both going to extremes, in which + nearly every one had a share. How many of the works of that period are + already out-worn, and how old-fashioned the theories that were then so + violently defended and attacked! Too much logic, too much contention for + its own sake, one might say, and too little art. + </p> + <p> + This was the period when Jens Peter Jacobsen began to write, but he stood + aside from the conflict, content to be merely artist, a creator of beauty + and a seeker after truth, eager to bring into the realm of literature “the + eternal laws of nature, its glories, its riddles, its miracles,” as he + once put it. That is why his work has retained its living colors until + to-day, without the least trace of fading. + </p> + <p> + There is in his work something of the passion for form and style that one + finds in Flaubert and Pater, but where they are often hard, percussive, + like a piano, he is soft and strong and intimate like a violin on which he + plays his reading of life. Such analogies, however, have little + significance, except that they indicate a unique and powerful artistic + personality. + </p> + <p> + Jacobsen is more than a mere stylist. The art of writers who are too + consciously that is a sort of decorative representation of life, a formal + composition, not a plastic composition. One element particularly + characteristic of Jacobsen is his accuracy of observation and minuteness + of detail welded with a deep and intimate understanding of the human + heart. His characters are not studied tissue by tissue as under a + scientist’s microscope, rather they are built up living cell by living + cell out of the author’s experience and imagination. He shows how they are + conditioned and modified by their physical being, their inheritance and + environment, Through each of his senses he lets impressions from without + pour into him. He harmonizes them with a passionate desire for beauty into + marvelously plastic figures and moods. A style which grows thus + organically from within is style out of richness; the other is style out + of poverty. + </p> + <p> + In a letter he once stated his belief that every book to be of real value + must embody the struggle of one or more persons against all those things + which try to keep one from existing in one’s own way. That is the + fundamental ethos which runs through all of Jacobsen’s work. It is in + Marie Grubbe, Niels Lyhne, Mogens, and the infinitely tender Mrs. Fonss. + </p> + <p> + They are types of the kind he has described in the following passage: + “Know ye not that there is here in this world a secret confraternity, + which one might call the Company of Melancholiacs? That people there are + who by natural constitution have been given a different nature and + disposition than the others; that have a larger heart and a swifter blood, + that wish and demand more, have stronger desires and a yearning which is + wilder and more ardent than that of the common herd. They are fleet as + children over whose birth good fairies have presided; their eyes are + opened wider; their senses are more subtile in all their perceptions. The + gladness and joy of life, they drink with the roots of their heart, the + while the others merely grasp them with coarse hands.” + </p> + <p> + He himself was one of these, and in this passage his own art and + personality is described better than could be done in thousands of words + of commentary. + </p> + <p> + Jens Peter Jacobsen was born in the little town of Thisted in Jutland, on + April 7, 1847. In 1868 he matriculated at the University of Copenhagen, + where he displayed a remarkable talent for science, winning the gold medal + of the university with a dissertation on Seaweeds. He definitely chose + science as a career, and was among the first in Scandinavia to recognize + the importance of Darwin. He translated the Origin of Species and Descent + of Man into Danish. In 1872 while collecting plants he contracted + tuberculosis, and as a consequence, was compelled to give up his + scientific career. This was not as great a sacrifice, as it may seem, for + he had long been undecided whether to choose science or literature as his + life work. + </p> + <p> + The remainder of his short life—he died April 30, 1885—was one + of passionate devotion to literature and a constant struggle with ill + health. The greater part of this period was spent in his native town of + Thisted, but an advance royalty from his publisher enabled him to visit + the South of Europe. His journey was interrupted at Florence by a severe + hemorrhage. + </p> + <p> + He lived simply, unobtrusively, bravely. His method of work was slow and + laborious. He shunned the literary circles of the capital with their + countless intrusions and interruptions, because he knew that the time + allotted him to do his work was short. “When life has sentenced you to + suffer,” he has written in Niels Lyhne, “the sentence is neither a fancy + nor a threat, but you are dragged to the rack, and you are tortured, and + there is no marvelous rescue at the last moment,” and in this book there + is also a corollary, “It is on the healthy in you you must live, it is the + healthy that becomes great.” The realization of the former has given, + perhaps, a subdued tone to his canvasses; the recognition of the other has + kept out of them weakness or self-pity. + </p> + <p> + Under the encouragement of George Brandes his novel Marie Grubbe was begun + in 1873, and published in 1876. His other novel Niels Lyhne appeared in + 1880. Excluding his early scientific works, these two books together with + a collection of short stories, Mogens and Other Tales, published in 1882, + and a posthumous volume of poems, constitute Jacobsen’s literary + testament. The present volume contains Mogens, the story with which he + made his literary debut, and other characteristic stories. + </p> + <p> + The physical measure of Jacobsen’s accomplishment was not great, but it + was an important milestone in northern literature. It is hardly an + exaggeration to say that in so far as Scandinavia is concerned he created + a new method of literary approach and a new artistic prose. There is + scarcely a writer in these countries, since 1880, with any pretension + toward literary expression who has not directly or indirectly come under + Jacobsen’s influence. + </p> + <p> + O. F. THEIS. <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + MOGENS + </h2> + <p> + SUMMER it was; in the middle of the day; in a corner of the enclosure. + Immediately in front of it stood an old oaktree, of whose trunk one might + say, that it agonized in despair because of the lack of harmony between + its fresh yellowish foliage and its black and gnarled branches; they + resembled most of all grossly misdrawn old gothic arabesques. Behind the + oak was a luxuriant thicket of hazel with dark sheenless leaves, which + were so dense, that neither trunk nor branches could be seen. Above the + hazel rose two straight, joyous maple-trees with gayly indented leaves, + red stems and long dangling clusters of green fruit. Behind the maples + came the forest—a green evenly rounded slope, where birds went out + and in as elves in a grasshill. + </p> + <p> + All this you could see if you came wandering along the path through the + fields beyond the fence. If, however, you were lying in the shadow of the + oak with your back against the trunk and looking the other way—and + there was a some one, who did that—then you would see first your own + legs, then a little spot of short, vigorous grass, next a large cluster of + dark nettles, then the hedge of thorn with the big, white convolvulus, the + stile, a little of the ryefield outside, finally the councilor’s flagpole + on the hill, and then the sky. + </p> + <p> + It was stifling hot, the air was quivering with heat, and then it was very + quiet; the leaves were hanging from the trees as if asleep. Nothing moved + except the lady-birds and the nettles and a few withered leaves that lay + on the grass and rolled themselves up with sudden little jerks as if they + were shrinking from the sunbeams. + </p> + <p> + And then the man underneath the oak; he lay there gasping for air and with + a melancholy look stared helplessly towards the sky. He tried to hum a + tune, but gave it up; whistled, then gave that up too; turned round, + turned round again and let his eyes rest upon an old mole-hill, that had + become quite gray in the drought. Suddenly a small dark spot appeared upon + the light-gray mold, another, three, four, many, still more, the entire + mole-hill suddenly was quite dark-gray. The air was filled with nothing + but long, dark streaks, the leaves nodded and swayed and there rose a + murmur which turned into a hissing—rain was pouring down. Everything + gleamed, sparkled, spluttered. Leaves, branches, trunks, everything shone + with moisture; every little drop that fell on earth, on grass, on the + fence, on whatever it was, broke and scattered in a thousand delicate + pearls. Little drops hung for a while and became big drops, trickled down + elsewhere, joined with other drops, formed small rivulets, disappeared + into tiny furrows, ran into big holes and out of small ones, sailed away + laden with dust, chips of wood and ragged bits of foliage, caused them to + run aground, set them afloat, whirled them round and again caused them to + ground. Leaves, which had been separated since they were in the bud, were + reunited by the flood; moss, that had almost vanished in the dryness, + expanded and became soft, crinkly, green and juicy; and gray lichens which + nearly had turned to snuff, spread their delicate ends, puffed up like + brocade and with a sheen like that of silk. The convolvuluses let their + white crowns be filled to the brim, drank healths to each other, and + emptied the water over the heads of the nettles. The fat black wood-snails + crawled forward on their stomachs with a will, and looked approvingly + towards the sky. And the man? The man was standing bareheaded in the midst + of the downpour, letting the drops revel in his hair and brows, eyes, + nose, mouth; he snapped his fingers at the rain, lifted a foot now and + again as if he were about to dance, shook his head sometimes, when there + was too much water in the hair, and sang at the top of his voice without + knowing what he was singing, so pre-occupied was he with the rain: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Had I, oh had I a grandson, trala, + And a chest with heaps and heaps of gold, + Then very likely had I had a daughter, trala, + And house and home and meadows untold. + + Had I, oh had I a daughter dear, trala, + And house and home and meadows untold, + Then very like had I had a sweetheart, trala. + And a chest with heaps and heaps of gold. +</pre> + <p> + There he stood and sang in the rain, but yonder between the dark + hazelbushes the head of a little girl was peeping out. A long end of her + shawl of red silk had become entangled in a branch which projected a + little beyond the others, and from time to time a small hand went forward + and tugged at the end, but this had no other result, further than to + produce a little shower of rain from the branch and its neighbors. The + rest of the shawl lay close round the little girl’s head and hid half of + the brow; it shaded the eyes, then turned abruptly and became lost among + the leaves, but reappeared in a big rosette of folds underneath the girl’s + chin. The face of the little girl looked very astonished, she was just + about to laugh; the smile already hovered in the eyes. Suddenly he, who + stood there singing in the midst of the downpour, took a few steps to the + side, saw the red shawl, the face, the big brown eyes, the astonished + little open mouth; instantly his position became awkward, in surprise he + looked down himself; but in the same moment a small cry was heard, the + projecting branch swayed violently, the red end of the shawl disappeared + in a flash, the girl’s face disappeared, and there was a rustling and + rustling further and further away behind the hazelbushes. Then he ran. He + did not know why, he did not think at all. The gay mood, which the + rainstorm had called forth, welled up in him again, and he ran after the + face of the little girl. It did not enter his head that it was a person he + pursued. To him it was only the face of a little girl. He ran, it rustled + to the right, it rustled to the left, it rustled in front, it rustled + behind, he rustled, she rustled, and all these sounds and the running + itself excited him, and he cried: “Where are you? Say cuckoo!” Nobody + answered. When he heard his own voice, he felt just a little uneasy, but + he continued running; then a thought came to him, only a single one, and + he murmured as he kept on running: “What am I going to say to her? What am + I going to say to her?” He was approaching a big bush, there she had hid + herself, he could just see a corner of her skirt. “What am I going to say + to her? What am I going to say to her?” he kept on murmuring while he ran. + He was quite near the bush, then turned abruptly, ran on still murmuring + the same, came out upon the open road, ran a distance, stopped abruptly + and burst out laughing, walked smiling quietly a few paces, then burst out + laughing loudly again, and did not cease laughing all the way along the + hedge. + </p> + <p> + It was on a beautiful autumn day; the fall of the foliage was going on + apace and the path which led to the lake was quite covered with the + citron-yellow leaves from the elms and maples; here and there were spots + of a darker foliage. It was very pleasant, very clean to walk on this + tigerskin-carpet, and to watch the leaves fall down like snow; the birch + looked even lighter and more graceful with its branches almost bare and + the roan-tree was wonderful with its heavy scarlet cluster of berries. And + the sky was so blue, so blue, and the wood seemed so much bigger, one + could look so far between the trunks. And then of course one could not + help thinking that soon all this would be of the past. Wood, field, sky, + open air, and everything soon would have to give way to the time of the + lamps, the carpets, and the hyacinths. For this reason the councilor from + Cape Trafalgar and his daughter were walking down to the lake, while their + carriage stopped at the bailiff’s. + </p> + <p> + The councilor was a friend of nature, nature was something quite special, + nature was one of the finest ornaments of existence. The councilor + patronized nature, he defended it against the artificial; gardens were + nothing but nature spoiled; but gardens laid out in elaborate style were + nature turned crazy. There was no style in nature, providence had wisely + made nature natural, nothing but natural. Nature was that which was + unrestrained, that which was unspoiled. But with the fall of man + civilization had come upon mankind; now civilization had become a + necessity; but it would have been better, if it had not been thus. The + state of nature was something quite different, quite different. The + councilor himself would have had no objection to maintaining himself by + going about in a coat of lamb-skin and shooting hares and snipes and + golden plovers and grouse and haunches of venison and wild boars. No, the + state of nature really was like a gem, a perfect gem. + </p> + <p> + The councilor and his daughter walked down to the lake. For some time + already it had glimmered between the trees, but now when they turned the + corner where the big poplar stood, it lay quite open before them. There it + lay with large spaces of water clear as a mirror, with jagged tongues of + gray-blue rippled water, with streaks that were smooth and streaks that + were rippled, and the sunlight rested on the smooth places and quivered in + the ripples. It captured one’s eye and drew it across its surface, carried + it along the shores, past slowly rounded curves, past abruptly broken + lines, and made it swing around the green tongues of land; then it let go + of one’s glance and disappeared in large bays, but it carried along the + thought—Oh, to sail! Would it be possible to hire boats here? + </p> + <p> + No, there were none, said a little fellow, who lived in the white + country-house near by, and stood at the shore skipping stones over the + surface of the water. Were there really no boats at all? + </p> + <p> + Yes, of course, there were some; there was the miller’s, but it could not + be had; the miller would not permit it. Niels, the miller’s son, had + nearly gotten a spanking when he had let it out the other day. It was + useless to think about it; but then there was the gentleman, who lived + with Nicolai, the forest-warden. He had a fine boat, one which was black + at the top and red at the bottom, and he lent it to each and every one. + </p> + <p> + The councilor and his daughter went up to Nicolai’s, the forest-warden. At + a short distance from the house they met a little girl. She was Nicolai’s, + and they told her to run in and ask if they might see the gentleman. She + ran as if her life depended on it, ran with both arms and legs, until she + reached the door; there she placed one leg on the high doorstep, fastened + her garter, and then rushed into the house. She reappeared immediately + afterwards with two doors ajar behind her and called long before she + reached the threshold, that the gentleman would be there in a moment; then + she sat down on the doorstep, leaned against the wall, and peered at the + strangers from underneath one of her arms. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman came, and proved to be a tall strongly-built man of some + twenty years. The councilor’s daughter was a little startled, when she + recognized in him the man, who had sung during the rainstorm. But he + looked so strange and absentminded; quite obviously he had just been + reading a book, one could tell that from the expression in his eyes, from + his hair, from the abstracted way in which he managed his hands. + </p> + <p> + The councilor’s daughter dropped him an exuberant courtesy and said + “Cuckoo,” and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Cuckoo?” asked the councilor. Why, it was the little girl’s face! The man + went quite crimson, and tried to say something when the councilor came + with a question about the boat. Yes, it was at his service. But who was + going to do the rowing? Why, he of course, said the girl, and paid no + attention to what her father said about it; it was immaterial whether it + was a bother to the gentleman, for sometimes he himself did not mind at + all troubling other people. Then they went down to the boat, and on the + way explained things to the councilor. They stepped into the boat, and + were already a good ways out, before the girl had settled herself + comfortably and found time to talk. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it was something very learned you were reading,” she said, + “when I came and called cuckoo and fetched you out sailing?” + </p> + <p> + “Rowing, you mean. Something learned! It was the ‘History of Sir Peter + with the Silver Key and the Beautiful Magelone.’” + </p> + <p> + “Who is that by?” + </p> + <p> + “By no one in particular. Books of that sort never are. ‘Vigoleis with the + Golden Wheel’ isn’t by anybody either, neither is ‘Bryde, the Hunter.’” + </p> + <p> + “I have never heard of those titles before.” + </p> + <p> + “Please move a little to the side, otherwise we will list.—Oh no, + that is quite likely, they aren’t fine books at all; they are the sort you + buy from old women at fairs.” + </p> + <p> + “That seems strange. Do you always read books of that kind?” + </p> + <p> + “Always? I don’t read many books in the course of a year, and the kind I + really like the best are those that have Indians in them.” + </p> + <p> + “But poetry? Oehlenschlager, Schiller, and the others?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course I know them; we had a whole bookcase full of them at home, + and Miss Holm—my mother’s companion—read them aloud after + lunch and in the evenings; but I can’t say that I cared for them; I don’t + like verse.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t like verse? You said had, isn’t your mother living any more?” + </p> + <p> + “No, neither is my father.” + </p> + <p> + He said this with a rather sullen, hostile tone, and the conversation + halted for a time and made it possible to hear clearly the many little + sounds created by the movement of the boat through the water. The girl + broke the silence: + </p> + <p> + “Do you like paintings?” + </p> + <p> + “Altar-pieces? Oh, I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, or other pictures, landscapes for instance?” + </p> + <p> + “Do people paint those too? Of course they do, I know that very well.” + </p> + <p> + “You are laughing at me?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Oh yes, one of us is doing that” + </p> + <p> + “But aren’t you a student?” + </p> + <p> + “Student? Why should I be? No, I am nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must be something. You must do something?” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, because—everybody does something!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you doing something?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh well, but you are not a lady.” + </p> + <p> + “No, heaven be praised.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped rowing, drew the oars out of the water, looked her into the + face and asked: + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by that?—No, don’t be angry with me; I will tell + you something, I am a queer sort of person. You cannot understand it. You + think because I wear good clothes, I must be a fine man. My father was a + fine man; I have been told that he knew no end of things, and I daresay he + did, since he was a district-judge. I know nothing because mother and I + were all to each other, and I did not care to learn the things they teach + in the schools, and don’t care about them now either. Oh, you ought to + have seen my mother; she was such a tiny wee lady. When I was no older + than thirteen I could carry her down into the garden. She was so light; in + recent years I would often carry her on my arm through the whole garden + and park. I can still see her in her black gowns with the many wide + laces....” + </p> + <p> + He seized the oars and rowed violently. The councilor became a little + uneasy, when the water reached so high at the stern, and suggested, that + they had better see about getting home again; so back they went. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” said the girl, when the violence of his rowing had decreased a + little. “Do you often go to town?” + </p> + <p> + “I have never been there.” + </p> + <p> + “Never been there? And you only live twelve miles away?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t always live here, I live at all sorts of places since my mother’s + death, but the coming winter I shall go to town to study arithmetic.” + </p> + <p> + “Mathematics?” + </p> + <p> + “No, timber,” he said laughingly, “but that is something you don’t + understand. I’ll tell you, when I am of age I shall buy a sloop and sail + to Norway, and then I shall have to know how to figure on account of the + customs and clearance.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you really like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it, is magnificent on the sea, there is such a feeling of being alive + in sailing—here we are at the landing-stage!” + </p> + <p> + He came alongside; the councilor and his daughter stepped ashore after + having made him promise to come and see them at Cape Trafalgar. Then they + returned to the bailiff’s, while he again rowed out on the lake. At the + poplar they could still hear the sounds of the oars. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Camilla,” said the councilor, who had been out to lock the outer + door, “tell me,” he said, extinguishing his hand-lamp with the bit of his + key, “was the rose they had at the Carlsens a Pompadour or Maintenon?” + </p> + <p> + “Cendrillon,” the daughter answered. + </p> + <p> + “That’s right, so it was,—well, I suppose we had better see that we + get to bed now; good night, little girl, good night, and sleep well.” + </p> + <p> + When Camilla had entered her room, she pulled up the blind, leaned her + brow against the cool pane, and hummed Elizabeth’s song from “The + Fairy-hill.” At sunset a light breeze had begun to blow and a few tiny, + white clouds, illumined by the moon, were driven towards Camilla. For a + long while she stood regarding them; her eye followed them from a far + distance, and she sang louder and louder as they drew nearer, kept silent + a few seconds while they disappeared above her, then sought others, and + followed them too. With a little sigh she pulled down the blind. She went + to the dressing table, rested her elbows against her clasped hands and + regarded her own picture in the mirror without really seeing it. + </p> + <p> + She was thinking of a tall young man, who carried a very delicate, tiny, + blackdressed lady in his arms; she was thinking of a tall man, who steered + his small ship in between cliffs and rocks in a devastating gale. She + heard a whole conversation over again. She blushed: Eugene Carlson might + have thought that you were paying court to him! With a little jealous + association of ideas she continued: No one would ever run after Clara in a + wood in the rainstorm, she would never have invited a stranger—literally + asked him—to sail with her. “Lady to her fingertips,” Carlson had + said of Clara; that really was a reprimand for you, you peasant-girl + Camilla! Then she undressed with affected slowness, went to bed, took a + small elegantly bound book from the bookshelf near by and opened the first + page. She read through a short hand-written poem with a tired, bitter + expression on her face, then let the book drop to the floor and burst into + tears; afterwards she tenderly picked it up again, put it back in its + place and blew out the candle; lay there for a little while gazing + disconsolately at the moonlit blind, and finally went to sleep. + </p> + <p> + A few days later the “rainman” started on his way to Cape Trafalgar. He + met a peasant driving a load of rye straw, and received permission to ride + with him. Then he lay down on his back in the straw and gazed at the + cloudless sky. The first couple of miles he let his thoughts come and go + as they listed, besides there wasn’t much variety in them. Most of them + would come and ask him how a human being possibly could be so wonderfully + beautiful, and they marveled that it really could be an entertaining + occupation for several days to recall the features of a face, its changes + of expression and coloring, the small movements of a head and a pair of + hands, and the varying inflections in a voice. But then the peasant + pointed with his whip towards the slate-roof about a mile away and said + that the councilor lived over there, and the good Mogens rose from the + straw and stared anxiously towards the roof. He had a strange feeling of + oppression and tried to make himself believe that nobody was at home, but + tenaciously came back to the conception that there was a large party, and + he could not free himself from that idea, even though he counted how many + cows “Country-joy” had on the meadow and how many heaps of gravel he could + see along the road. At last the peasant stopped near a small path leading + down to the country-house, and Mogens slid down from the cart and began to + brush away the bits of straw while the cart slowly creaked away over the + gravel on the road. + </p> + <p> + He approached the garden-gate step by step, saw a red shawl disappear + behind the balcony windows, a small deserted white sewing-basket on the + edge of the balcony, and the back of a still moving empty rocking-chair. + He entered the garden, with his eyes fixed intently on the balcony, heard + the councilor say good-day, turned his head toward the sound, and saw him + standing there nodding, his arms full of empty flowerpots. They spoke of + this and that, and the councilor began to explain, as one might put it, + that the old specific distinction between the various kinds of trees had + been abolished by grafting, and that for his part he did not like this at + all. Then Camilla slowly approached wearing a brilliant glaring blue + shawl. Her arms were entirely wrapped up in the shawl, and she greeted him + with a slight inclination of the head and a faint welcome. The councilor + left with his flower-pots, Camilla stood looking over her shoulders + towards the balcony; Mogens looked at her. How had he been since the other + day? Thank you, nothing especial had been the matter with him. Done much + rowing? Why, yes, as usual, perhaps not quite as much. She turned her head + towards him, looked coldly at him, inclined her head to one side and asked + with half-closed eyes and a faint smile whether it was the beautiful + Magelone who had engrossed his time. He did not know what she meant, but + he imagined it was. Then they stood for a while and said nothing. Camilla + took a few steps towards a corner, where a bench and a garden-chair stood. + She sat down on the bench and asked him, after she was seated, looking at + the chair, to be seated; he must be very tired after his long walk. He sat + down in the chair. + </p> + <p> + Did he believe anything would come of the projected royal alliance? + Perhaps, he was completely indifferent? Of course, he had no interest in + the royal house. Naturally he hated aristocracy? There were very few young + men who did not believe that democracy was, heaven only knew what. + Probably he was one of those who attributed not the slightest political + importance to the family alliances of the royal house? Perhaps he was + mistaken. It had been seen.... She stopped suddenly, surprised that Mogens + who had at first been somewhat taken aback at all this information, now + looked quite pleased. He wasn’t to sit there, and laugh at her! She turned + quite red. + </p> + <p> + “Are you very much interested in politics?” she asked timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least.” + </p> + <p> + “But why do you let me sit here talking politics eternally?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you say everything so charmingly, that it does not matter what you + are talking about.” + </p> + <p> + “That really is no compliment.” + </p> + <p> + “It certainly is,” he assured her eagerly, for it seemed to him she looked + quite hurt. + </p> + <p> + Camilla burst out laughing, jumped up, and ran to meet her father, took + his arm, and walked back with him to the puzzled Mogens. + </p> + <p> + When dinner was through and they had drunk their coffee up on the balcony, + the councilor suggested a walk. So the three of them went along the small + way across the main road, and along a narrow path with stubble of rye on + both sides, across the stile, and into the woods. There was the oak and + everything else; there even were still convolvuluses on the hedge. Camilla + asked Mogens to fetch some for her. He tore them all off, and came back + with both hands full. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, I don’t want so many,” she said, selected a few and let the + rest fall to the ground. “Then I wish I had let them be,” Mogens said + earnestly. + </p> + <p> + Camilla bent down and began to gather them up. She had expected him to + help her and looked up at him in surprise, but he stood there quite calm + and looked down at her. Now as she had begun, she had to go on, and + gathered up they were; but she certainly did not talk to Mogens for a long + while. She did not even look to the side where he was. But somehow or + other they must have become reconciled, for when on their way back they + reached the oak again, Camilla went underneath it and looked up into its + crown. She tripped from one side to the other, gesticulated with her hands + and sang, and Mogens had to stand near the hazelbushes to see what sort of + a figure he had cut. Suddenly Camilla ran towards him, but Mogens lost his + cue, and forgot both to shriek and to run away, and then Camilla + laughingly declared that she was very dissatisfied with herself and that + she would not have had the boldness to remain standing there, when such a + horrible creature—and she pointed towards herself—came rushing + towards her. But Mogens declared that he was very well satisfied with + himself. + </p> + <p> + When towards sunset he was going home the councilor and Camilla + accompanied him a little way. And as they were going home she said to her + father that perhaps they ought to invite that lonesome young man rather + frequently during the month, while it was still possible to stay in the + country. He knew no one here about, and the councilor said “yes,” and + smiled at being thought so guileless, but Camilla walked along and looked + so gentle and serious, that one would not doubt but that she was the very + personification of benevolence itself. + </p> + <p> + The autumn weather remained so mild that the councilor stayed on at Cape + Trafalgar for another whole month, and the effect of the benevolence was + that Mogens came twice the first week and about every day the third. + </p> + <p> + It was one of the last days of fair weather. + </p> + <p> + It had rained early in the morning and had remained overclouded far down + into the forenoon; but now the sun had come forth. Its rays were so strong + and warm, that the garden-paths, the lawns and the branches of the trees + were enveloped in a fine filmy mist. The councilor walked about cutting + asters. Mogens and Camilla were in a corner of the garden to take down + some late winter apples. He stood on a table with a basket on his arm, she + stood on a chair holding out a big white apron by the corners. + </p> + <p> + “Well, and what happened then?” she called impatiently to Mogens, who had + interrupted the fairy-tale he was telling in order to reach an apple which + hung high up. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” he continued, “the peasant began to run three times round himself + and to sing: ‘To Babylon, to Babylon, with an iron ring through my head.’ + Then he and his calf, his great-grandmother, and his black rooster flew + away. They flew across oceans as broad as Arup Vejle, over mountains as + high as the church at Jannerup, over Himmerland and through the Holstein + lands even to the end of the world. There the kobold sat and ate + breakfast; he had just finished when they came. + </p> + <p> + “‘You ought to be a little more god-fearing, little father,’ said the + peasant, ‘otherwise it might happen that you might miss the kingdom of + heaven.’” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he would gladly be god-fearing.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Then you must say grace after meals,’ said the peasant....” + </p> + <p> + “No, I won’t go on with the story,” said Mogens impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then don’t,” said Camilla, and looked at him in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I might as well say it at once,” continued Mogens, “I want to ask you + something, but you mustn’t laugh at me.” + </p> + <p> + Camilla jumped down from the chair. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me—no, I want to tell you something myself—here is the + table and there is the hedge, if you won’t be my bride, I’ll leap with the + basket over the hedge and stay away. One!” + </p> + <p> + Camilla glanced furtively at him, and noticed that the smile had vanished + from his face. + </p> + <p> + “Two!” + </p> + <p> + He was quite pale with emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she whispered, and let go the ends of her apron so that the apples + rolled toward all corners of the world and then she ran. But she did not + run away from Mogens. + </p> + <p> + “Three,” said she, when he reached her, but he kissed her nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + The councilor was interrupted among his asters, but the district-judge’s + son was too irreproachable a blending of nature and civilization for the + councilor to raise objections. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + It was late winter; the large heavy cover of snow, the result of a whole + week’s uninterrupted blowing, was in the process of rapidly melting away. + The air was full of sunlight and reflection from the white snow, which in + large, shining drops dripped down past the windows. Within the room all + forms and colors had awakened, all lines and contours had come to life. + Whatever was flat extended, whatever was bent curved, whatever was + inclined slid, and whatever was broken refracted the more. All kinds of + green tones mingled on the flower-table, from the softest dark-green to + the sharpest yellow-green. Reddish brown tones flooded in flames across + the surface of the mahogany table, and gold gleamed and sparkled from the + knick-knacks, from the frames and moldings, but on the carpet all the + colors broke and mingled in a joyous, shimmering confusion. + </p> + <p> + Camilla sat at the window and sewed, and she and the Graces on the mantle + were quite enveloped in a reddish light from the red curtains Mogens + walked slowly up and down the room, and passed every moment in and out of + slanting beams of light of pale rainbow-colored dust. + </p> + <p> + He was in talkative mood. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “they are a curious kind of people, these with whom you + associate. There isn’t a thing between heaven and earth which they cannot + dispose of in the turn of a hand. This is common, and that is noble; this + is the most stupid thing that has been done since the creation of the + world, and that is the wisest; this is so ugly, so ugly, and that is so + beautiful it cannot be described. They agree so absolutely about all this, + that it seems as if they had some sort of a table or something like that + by which they figured things out, for they always get the same result, no + matter what it may be. How alike they are to each other, these people! + Every one of them knows the same things and talks about the same things, + and all of them have the same words and the same opinions.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean to say,” Camilla protested, “that Carlsen and Ronholt have + the same opinions.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they are the finest of all, they belong to different parties! Their + fundamental principles are as different as night and day. No, they are + not. They are in such agreement that it is a perfect joy. Perhaps there + may be some little point about which they don’t agree; perhaps, it is + merely a misunderstanding. But heaven help me, if it isn’t pure comedy to + listen to them. It is as if they had prearranged to do everything possible + not to agree. They begin by talking in a loud voice, and immediately talk + themselves into a passion. Then one of them in his passion says something + which he doesn’t mean, and then the other one says the direct opposite + which he doesn’t mean either, and then the one attacks that which the + other doesn’t mean, and the other that which the first one didn’t mean, + and the game is on.” + </p> + <p> + “But what have they done to you?” + </p> + <p> + “They annoy me, these fellows. If you look into their faces it is just as + if you had it under seal that nothing especial is ever going to happen in + the world in the future.” Camilla laid down her sewing, went over and took + hold of the corners of his coat collar and looked roguishly and + questioningly at him. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot bear Carlsen,” he said angrily, and tossed his head. + </p> + <p> + “Well, and then.” + </p> + <p> + “And then you are very, very sweet,” he murmured with a comic tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “And then?” + </p> + <p> + “And then,” he burst out, “he looks at you and listens to you and talks to + you in a way I don’t like. He is to quit that, for you are mine and not + his. Aren’t you? You are not his, not his in any way. You are mine, you + have bonded yourself to me as the doctor did to the devil; you are mine, + body and soul, skin and bones, till all eternity.” + </p> + <p> + She nodded a little frightened, looked trustfully at him; her eyes filled + with tears, then she pressed close to him and he put his arms around her, + bent over her, and kissed her on the forehead. + </p> + <p> + The same evening Mogens went to the station with the councilor who had + received a sudden order in reference to an official tour which he was to + make. On this account Camilla was to go to her aunt’s the next morning and + stay there until he returned. + </p> + <p> + When Mogens had seen his future father-in-law off, he went home, thinking + of the fact that he now would not see Camilla for several days. He turned + into the street where she lived. It was long and narrow and little + frequented. A cart rumbled away at the furthest end; in this direction, + too, there was the sound of footsteps, which grew fainter and fainter. At + the moment he heard nothing but the barking of a dog within the building + behind him. He looked up at the house in which Camilla lived; as usual the + ground-floor was dark. The white-washed panes received only a little + restless life from the flickering gleam of the lantern of the house next + door. On the second story the windows were open and from one of them a + whole heap of planks protruded beyond the window-frame. Camilla’s window + was dark, dark also was everything above, except that in one of the attic + windows there shimmered a white-golden gleam from the moon. Above the + house the clouds were driving in a wild flight. In the houses on both + sides the windows were lighted. + </p> + <p> + The dark house made Mogens sad. It stood there so forlorn and + disconsolate; the open windows rattled on their hinges; water ran + monotonously droning down the rainpipe; now and then a little water fell + with a hollow dull thud at some spot which he could not see; the wind + swept heavily through the street. The dark, dark house! Tears came into + Mogen’s eyes, an oppressive weight lay on his chest, and he was seized by + a strange dark sensation that he had to reproach himself for something + concerning Camilla. Then he had to think of his mother, and he felt a + great desire of laying his head on her lap and weeping his fill. + </p> + <p> + For a long while he stood thus with his hand pressed against his breast + until a wagon went through the street at a sharp pace; he followed it and + went home. He had to stand for a long time and rattle the front door + before it would open, then he ran humming up the stairs, and when he had + entered the room he threw himself down on the sofa with one of Smollett’s + novels in his hand, and read and laughed till after midnight. At last it + grew too cold in the room, he leaped up and went stamping up and down to + drive away the chill. He stopped at the window. The sky in one corner was + so bright, that the snow-covered roofs faded into it. In another corner + several long-drawn clouds drifted by, and the atmosphere beneath them had + a curious reddish tinge, a sheen that wavered unsteadily, a red smoking + fog. He tore open the window, fire had broken out in the direction of the + councilor’s. Down the stairs, down the street as fast as he could; down a + cross-street, through a side-street, and then straight ahead. As yet he + could not see anything, but as he turned round the corner he saw the red + glow of fire. About a score of people clattered singly down the street. As + they ran past each other, they asked where the fire was. The answer was + “The sugar-refinery.” Mogens kept on running as quickly as before, but + much easier at heart. Still a few streets, there were more and more + people, and they were talking now of the soap-factory. It lay directly + opposite the councilor’s. Mogens ran on as if possessed. There was only a + single slanting cross-street left. It was quite filled with people: + well-dressed men, ragged old women who stood talking in a slow, whining + tone, yelling apprentices, over-dressed girls who whispered to each other, + corner-loafers who stood as if rooted to the spot and cracked jokes, + surprised drunkards and drunkards who quarreled, helpless policemen, and + carriages that would go neither forwards nor backwards. Mogens forced his + way through the multitude. Now he was at the corner; the sparks were + slowly falling down upon him. Up the street; there were showers of sparks, + the window-panes on both sides were aglow, the factory was burning, the + councilor’s house was burning and the house next door also. There was + nothing but smoke, fire and confusion, cries, curses, tiles that rattled + down, blows of axes, wood that splintered, window-panes that jingled, jets + of water that hissed, spluttered, and splashed, and amid all this the + regular dull sob-like throb of the engines. Furniture, bedding, black + helmets, ladders, shining buttons, illuminated faces, wheels, ropes, + tarpaulin, strange instruments; Mogens rushed into their midst, over, + under it all, forward to the house. + </p> + <p> + The facade was brightly illuminated by the flames from the burning + factory, smoke issued from between the tiles of the roof and rolled out of + the open windows of the first story. Within the fire rumbled and crackled. + There was a slow groaning sound, that turned into a rolling and crashing, + and ended in a dull boom. Smoke, sparks, and flames issued in torment out + of all the openings of the house. And then the flames began to play and + crackle with redoubled strength and redoubled clearness. It was the middle + part of the ceiling of the first floor that fell. Mogens with both hands + seized a large scaling-ladder which leaned against the part of the factory + which was not yet in flames. For a moment he held it vertically, but then + it slipped away from him and fell over toward the councilor’s house where + it broke in a window-frame on the second story. Mogens ran up the ladder, + and in through the opening. At first he had to close his eyes on account + of the pungent wood-smoke, and the heavy suffocating fumes which rose from + the charred wood that the water had reached took his breath away. He was + in the dining-room. The living-room was a huge glowing abyss; the flames + from the lower part of the house, now and then, almost reached up to the + ceiling; the few boards that had remained hanging when the floor fell + burned in brilliant yellowish-white flames; shadows and the gleam of + flames flooded over the walls; the wall-paper here and there curled up, + caught fire, and flew in flaming tatters down into the abyss; eager yellow + flames licked their way up on the loosened moldings and picture-frames. + Mogens crept over the ruins and fragments of the fallen wall towards the + edge of the abyss, from which cold and hot blasts of air alternately + struck his face; on the other side so much of the wall had fallen, that he + could look into Camilla’s room, while the part that hid the councilor’s + office still stood. It grew hotter and hotter; the skin of his face became + taut, and he noticed, that his hair was crinkling. Something heavy glided + past his shoulder and remained lying on his back and pressed him down to + the floor; it was the girder which slowly had slipped out of place. He + could not move, breathing became more and more difficult, his temples + throbbed violently; to his left a jet of water splashed against the wall + of the dining-room, and the wish rose in him, that the cold, cold drops, + which scattered in all directions might fall on him. Then he heard a moan + on the other side of the abyss, and he saw something white stir on the + floor in Camilla’s room. It was she. She lay on her knees, and while her + hips were swaying, held her hands pressed against each side of her head. + She rose slowly, and came towards the edge of the abyss. She stood + straight upright, her arms hung limply down, and the head went to and fro + limply on the neck. Very, very slowly the upper part of her body fell + forward, her long, beautiful hair swept the floor; a short violent flash + of flame, and it was gone, the next moment she plunged down into the + flames. + </p> + <p> + Mogens uttered a moaning sound, short, deep and powerful, like the roar of + a wild beast, and at the same time made a violent movement, as if to get + away from the abyss. It was impossible on account of the girder. His hands + groped over the fragments of wall, then they stiffened as it were in a + mighty clasp over the debris, and he began to strike his forehead against + the wreckage with a regular beat, and moaned: “Lord God, Lord God, Lord + God.” + </p> + <p> + Thus he lay. In the course of a little while, he noticed that there was + something standing beside him and touching him. It was a fireman who had + thrown the girder aside, and was about to carry him out of the house. With + a strong feeling of annoyance, Mogens noticed that he was lifted up and + led away. The man carried him to the opening, and then Mogens had a clear + perception that a wrong was being committed against him, and that the man + who was carrying him had designs on his life. He tore himself out of his + arms, seized a lathe that lay on the floor, struck the man over the head + with it so that he staggered backward; he himself issued from the opening + and ran erect down the ladder, holding the lathe above his head. Through + the tumult, the smoke, the crowd of people, through empty streets, across + desolate squares, out into the fields. Deep snow everywhere, at a little + distance a black spot, it was a gravel-heap, that jutted out above the + snow. He struck at it with the lathe, struck again and again, continued to + strike at it; he wished to strike it dead, so that it might disappear; he + wanted to run far away, and ran round about the heap and struck at it as + if possessed. It would not, would not disappear; he hurled the lathe far + away and flung himself upon the black heap to give it the finishing + stroke. He got his hands full of small stones, it was gravel, it was a + black heap of gravel. Why was he out here in the field burrowing in a + black gravel-heap?—He smelled the smoke, the flames flashed round + him, he saw Camilla sink down into them, he cried out aloud and rushed + wildly across the field. He could not rid himself of the sight of the + flames, he held his eyes shut: Flames, flames! He threw himself on the + ground and pressed his face down into the snow: Flames! He leaped up, ran + backward, ran forward, turned aside: Flames everywhere! He rushed further + across the snow, past houses, past trees, past a terror-struck face, that + stared out through a window-pane, round stacks of grain and through + farm-yards, where dogs howled and tore at their chains. He ran round the + front wing of a building and stood suddenly before a brightly, restlessly + lighted window. The light did him good, the flames yielded to it; he went + to the window and looked in. It was a brew-room, a girl stood at the + hearth and stirred the kettle. The light which she held in her hand had a + slightly reddish sheen on account of the dense fumes. Another girl was + sitting down, plucking poultry, and a third was singeing it over a blazing + straw-fire. When the flames grew weaker, new straw was put on, and they + flared up again; then they again became weaker and still weaker; they went + out. Mogens angrily broke a pane with his elbow, and slowly walked away. + The girls inside screamed. Then he ran again for a long time with a low + moaning. Scattered flashes of memory of happy days came to him, and when + they had passed the darkness was twice as black. He could not bear to + think of what had happened. It was impossible for it to have happened. He + threw himself down on his knees and raised his hands toward heaven, the + while he pleaded that that which had happened might be as though it had + not occurred. For a long time he dragged himself along on his knees with + his eyes steadfastly fixed on the sky, as if afraid it might slip away + from him to escape his pleas, provided he did not keep it incessantly in + his eye. Then pictures of his happy time came floating toward him, more + and more in mist-like ranks. There were also pictures that rose in a + sudden glamor round about him, and others flitted by so indefinite, so + distant, that they were gone before he really knew what they were. He sat + silently in the snow, overcome by light and color, by light and happiness, + and the dark fear which he had had at first that something would come and + extinguish all this had gone. It was very still round about him, a great + peace was within him, the pictures had disappeared, but happiness was + here. A deep silence! There was not a sound, but sounds were in the air. + And there came laughter and song and low words came and light and + footsteps and dull sobbing of the beats of the pumps. Moaning he ran away, + ran long and far, came to the lake, followed the shore, until he stumbled + over the root of a tree, and then he was so tired that he remained lying. + </p> + <p> + With a soft clucking sound the water ran over the small stones; + spasmodically there was a soft soughing among the barren limbs; now and + then a crow cawed above the lake; and morning threw its sharp bluish gleam + over forest and sea, over the snow, and over the pallid face. + </p> + <p> + At sunrise he was found by the ranger from the neighboring forest, and + carried up to the forester Nicolai; there he lay for weeks and days + between life and death. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + About the time when Mogens was being carried up to Nicolai’s, a crowd + collected around a carriage at the end of the street where the councilor + lived. The driver could not understand why the policeman wanted to prevent + him from carrying out his legitimate order, and on that account they had + an argument. It was the carriage which was to take Camilla to her aunt’s. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “No, since poor Camilla lost her life in that dreadful manner, we have not + seen anything of him!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is curious, how much may lie hidden in a person. No one would + have suspected anything, so quiet and shy, almost awkward. Isn’t it so? + You did not suspect anything?” + </p> + <p> + “About the sickness! How can you ask such a question! Oh, you mean—I + did not quite understand you—you mean it was in the blood, something + hereditary?—Oh, yes, I remember there was something like that, they + took his father to Aarhus. Wasn’t it so, Mr. Carlsen?” + </p> + <p> + “No! Yes, but it was to bury him, his first wife is buried there. No, what + I was thinking of was the dreadful—yes, the dreadful life he has + been leading the last two or two and a half years.” + </p> + <p> + “Why no, really! I know nothing about that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see, of course, it is of the things one doesn’t like to talk + about.... You understand, of course, consideration for those nearest. The + councilor’s family....” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there is a certain amount of justice in what you say—but on + the other hand—tell me quite frankly, isn’t there at present a + false, a sanctimonious striving to veil, to cover up the weaknesses of our + fellow-men? As for myself I don’t understand much about that sort of + thing, but don’t you think that truth or public morals, I don’t mean this + morality, but—morals, conditions, whatever you will, suffer under + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, and I am very glad to be able to agree so with you, and in + this case... the fact simply is, that he has given himself to all sorts of + excesses. He has lived in the most disreputable manner with the lowest + dregs, people without honor, without conscience, without position, + religion, or anything else, with loafers, mountebanks, drunkards, and—and + to tell the truth with women of easy virtue.” + </p> + <p> + “And this after having been engaged to Camilla, good heavens, and after + having been down with brain-fever for three months!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and what tendencies doesn’t this let us suspect, and who knows + what his past may have been, what do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and heaven knows how things really were with him during the time of + their engagement? There always was something suspicious about him. That is + my opinion. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, and you, too, Mr. Carlsen, pardon me, but you look at the + whole affair in rather an abstract way, very abstractedly. By chance I + have in my possession a very concrete report from a friend in Jutland, and + can present the whole affair in all its details.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ronholt, you don’t mean to...?” + </p> + <p> + “To give details? Yes, that is what I intend. Mr. Carlsen, with the lady’s + permission. Thank you! He certainly did not live as one should live after + a brain-fever. He knocked about from fair to fair with a couple of + boon-companions, and, it is said, was somewhat mixed up with troupes of + mountebanks, and especially with the women of the company. Perhaps it + would be wisest if I ran upstairs, and got my friend’s letter. Permit me. + I’ll be back in a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think, Mr. Carlsen, that Ronholt is in a particularly good + humor to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you must not forget that he exhausted all his spleen on an + article in the morning paper. Imagine, to dare to maintain—why, that + is pure rebellion, contempt of law, for him....” + </p> + <p> + “You found the letter?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did. May I begin? Let me see, oh yes: ‘Our mutual friend whom we + met last year at Monsted, and whom, as you say, you knew in Copenhagen, + has during the last months haunted the region hereabouts. He looks just as + he used to, he is the same pale knight of the melancholy mien. He is the + most ridiculous mixture of forced gayety and silent hopelessness, he is + affected—ruthless and brutal toward himself and others. He is + taciturn and a man of few words, and doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself + at all, though he does nothing but drink and lead a riotous life. It is as + I have already said, as if he had a fixed idea that he received a personal + insult from destiny. His associates here were especially a horse-dealer, + called “Mug-sexton,” because he does nothing but sing and drink all the + time, and a disreputable, lanky, over-grown cross between a sailor and + peddler, known and feared under the name of Peter “Rudderless,” to say + nothing of the fair Abelone. She, however, recently has had to give way to + a brunette, belonging to a troupe of mountebanks, which for some time has + favored us with performances of feats of strength and rope-dancing. You + have seen this kind of women with sharp, yellow, prematurely-aged faces, + creatures that are shattered by brutality, poverty, and miserable vices, + and who always over-dress in shabby velvet and dirty red. There you have + his crew. I don’t understand our friend’s passion. It is true that his + fiancee met with a horrible death, but that does not explain the matter. I + must still tell you how he left us. We had a fair a few miles from here. + He, “Rudderless,” the horse-dealer, and the woman sat in a drinking-tent, + dissipating until far into the night. At three o’clock or thereabouts they + were at last ready to leave. They got on the wagon, and so far everything + went all right; but then our mutual friend turns off from the main road + and drives with them over fields and heath, as fast as the horses can go. + The wagon is flung from one side to the other. Finally things get too wild + for the horse-dealer and he yells that he wants to get down. After he has + gotten off our mutual friend whips up the horses again, and drives + straight at a large heather-covered hill. The woman becomes frightened and + jumps off, and now up the hill they go and down on the other side at such + a terrific pace that it is a miracle the wagon did not arrive at the + bottom ahead of the horses. On the way up Peter had slipped from the + wagon, and as thanks for the ride he threw his big clasp-knife at the head + of the driver.’” + </p> + <p> + “The poor fellow, but this business of the woman is nasty.” + </p> + <p> + “Disgusting, madam, decidedly disgusting. Do you really think, Mr. + Ronholt, that this description puts the man in a better light?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but in a surer one; you know in the darkness things often seem larger + than they are.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you think of anything worse?” + </p> + <p> + “If not, then this is the worst, but you know one should never think the + worst of people.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you really mean, that the whole affair is not so bad, that there is + something bold in it, something in a sense eminently plebeian, which + pleases your liking for democracy.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you see, that in respect to his environment his conduct is quite + aristocratic?” + </p> + <p> + “Aristocratic? No, that is lather paradoxical. If he is not a democrat, + then I really don’t know what he is.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there are still other designations.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + White alders, bluish lilac, red hawthorn, and radiant laburnum were in + flower and gave forth their fragrance in front of the house. The windows + were open and the blinds were drawn. Mogens leaned in over the sill and + the blinds lay on his back. It was grateful to the eye after all the + summer-sun on forest and water and in the air to look into the subdued, + soft, quiet light of a room. A tall woman of opulent figure stood within, + the back toward the window, and was putting flowers in a large vase. The + waist of her pink morning-gown was gathered high up below, the bosom by a + shining black leather-belt; on the floor behind her lay a snow-white + dressing-jacket; her abundant, very blond hair was hanging in a bright-red + net. + </p> + <p> + “You look rather pale after the celebration last night,” was the first + thing Mogens said. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning,” she replied and held out without turning around her hand + with the flowers in it towards him. Mogens took one of the flowers. Laura + turned the head half towards him, opened her hand slightly and let the + flowers fall to the floor in little lots. Then she again busied herself + with the vase. + </p> + <p> + “Ill?” asked Mogens. + </p> + <p> + “Tired.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t eat breakfast with you to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “No?” + </p> + <p> + “We can’t have dinner together either.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going fishing?” + </p> + <p> + “No—Good-by!” + </p> + <p> + “When are you coming back?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not coming back.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by that?” she asked arranging her gown; she went to the + window, and there sat down on the chair. + </p> + <p> + “I am tired of you. That’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “Now you are spiteful, what’s the matter with you? What have I done to + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, but since we are neither married nor madly in love with each + other, I don’t see anything very strange in the fact, that I am going my + own way.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you jealous?” she asked very softly. + </p> + <p> + “Of one like you! I haven’t lost my senses!” + </p> + <p> + “But what is the meaning of all this?” + </p> + <p> + “It means that I am tired of your beauty, that I know your voice and your + gestures by heart, and that neither your whims nor your stupidity nor your + craftiness can any longer entertain me. Can you tell me then why I should + stay?” + </p> + <p> + Laura wept. “Mogens, Mogens, how can you have the heart to do this? Oh, + what shall I, shall I, shall I, shall I do! Stay only today, only to-day, + Mogens. You dare not go away from me!” + </p> + <p> + “Those are lies, Laura, you don’t even believe it yourself. It is not + because you think such a terrible lot of me, that you are distressed now. + You are only a little bit alarmed because of the change, you are + frightened because of the slight disarrangement of your daily habits. I am + thoroughly familiar with that, you are not the first one I have gotten + tired of.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, stay with me only to-day, I won’t torment you to stay a single hour + longer. + </p> + <p> + “You really are dogs, you women! You haven’t a trace of fine feelings in + your body. If one gives you a kick, you come crawling back again.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, that’s what we do, but stay only for to-day—won’t you—stay!” + </p> + <p> + “Stay, stay! No!” + </p> + <p> + “You have never loved me, Mogens!” + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you did; you loved me the day when there was such a violent wind, + oh, that beautiful day down at the sea-shore, when we sat in the shelter + of the boat.” + </p> + <p> + “Stupid girl!” + </p> + <p> + “If I only were a respectable girl with fine parents, and not such a one + as I am, then you would stay with me; then you would not have the heart to + be so hard—and I, who love you so!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t bother about that.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am like the dust beneath your feet, you care no more for me. Not + one kind word, only hard words; contempt, that is good enough for me.” + </p> + <p> + “The others are neither better nor worse than you. Good-by, Laura!” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand to her, but she kept hers on her back and wailed: + “No, no, not good-by! not good-by!” + </p> + <p> + Mogens raised the blind, stepped back a couple of paces and let it fall + down in front of the window. Laura quickly leaned down over the + window-sill beneath it and begged: “Come to me! come and give me your + hand.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + When he had gone a short distance she cried plaintively: + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, Mogens!” + </p> + <p> + He turned towards the house with a slight greeting. Then he walked on: + “And a girl like that still believes in love!—no, she does not!” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The evening wind blew from the ocean over the land, the strand-grass swung + its pale spikes to and fro and raised its pointed leaves a little, the + rushes bowed down, the water of the lake was darkened by thousands of tiny + furrows, and the leaves of the water-lilies tugged restlessly at their + stalks. Then the dark tops of the heather began to nod, and on the fields + of sand the sorrel swayed unsteadily to and fro. Towards the land! The + stalks of oats bowed downward, and the young clover trembled on the + stubble-fields, and the wheat rose and fell in heavy billows; the roofs + groaned, the mill creaked, its wings swung about, the smoke was driven + back into the chimneys, and the window-panes became covered with moisture. + </p> + <p> + There was a swishing of wind in the gable-windows, in the poplars of the + manor-house; the wind whistled through tattered bushes on the green hill + of Bredbjerg. Mogens lay up there, and gazed out over the dark earth. The + moon was beginning to acquire radiance, and mists were drifting down on + the meadow. Everything was very sad, all of life, all of life, empty + behind him, dark before him. But such was life. Those who were happy were + also blind. Through misfortune he had learned to see; everything was full + of injustice and lies, the entire earth was a huge, rotting lie; faith, + friendship, mercy, a lie it was, a lie was each and everything; but that + which was called love, it was the hollowest of all hollow things, it was + lust, flaming lust, glimmering lust, smoldering lust, but lust and nothing + else. Why had he to know this? Why had he not been permitted to hold fast + to his faith in all these gilded lies? Why was he compelled to see while + the others remained blind? He had a right to blindness, he had believed in + everything in which it was possible to believe. + </p> + <p> + Down in the village the lights were being lit. + </p> + <p> + Down there home stood beside home. My home! my home! And my childhood’s + belief in everything beautiful in the world.—And what if they were + right, the others! If the world were full of beating hearts and the + heavens full of a loving God! But why do I not know that, why do I know + something different? And I do know something different, cutting, bitter, + true... + </p> + <p> + He rose; fields and meadows lay before him bathed in moonlight. He went + down into the village, along the way past the garden of the manor-house; + he went and looked over the stone-wall. Within on a grass-plot in the + garden stood a silver poplar, the moonlight fell sharply on the quivering + leaves; sometimes they showed their dark side, sometimes their white. He + placed his elbows on the wall and stared at the tree; it looked as if the + leaves were running in a fine rain down the limbs. He believed, that he + was hearing the sound which the foliage produced. Suddenly the lovely + voice of a woman became audible quite near by: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Flower in dew! Flower in dew! + Whisper to me thy dreams, thine own. + Does in them lie the same strange air + The same wonderful elfin air, + As in mine own? + Are they filled with whispers and sobbing and sighing + Amid radiance slumbering and fragrances dying, + Amid trembling ringing, amid rising singing: + In longing, + In longing, + I live.” + </pre> + <p> + Then silence fell again. Mogens drew a long breath and listened intently: + no more singing; up in the house a door was heard. Now he clearly heard + the sound from the leaves of the silver poplar. He bowed his head in his + arms and wept. + </p> + <p> + The next day was one of those in which late summer is rich. A day with a + brisk, cool wind, with many large swiftly flying clouds, with everlasting + alternations of darkness and light, according as the clouds drift past the + sun. Mogens had gone up to the cemetery, the garden of the manor abutted + on it. Up there it looked rather barren, the grass had recently been cut; + behind an old quadrangular iron-fence stood a wide-spreading, low elder + with waving foliage. Some of the graves had wooden frames around them, + most were only low, quadrangular hills; a few of them had metal-pieces + with inscriptions on them, others wooden crosses from which the colors had + peeled, others had wax wreaths, the greater number had nothing at all. + Mogens wandered about hunting for a sheltered place, but the wind seemed + to blow on all sides of the church. He threw himself down near the + embankment, drew a book out of his pocket; but he did not get on with his + reading; every time when a cloud went past the sun, it seemed to him as + though it were growing chilly, and he thought of getting up, but then the + light came again and he remained lying. A young girl came slowly along the + way, a greyhound and a pointer ran playfully ahead of her. She stopped and + it seemed as if she wanted to sit down, but when she saw Mogens she + continued her walk diagonally across the cemetery out through the gate. + Mogens rose and looked after her; she walked down on the main road, the + dogs still played. Then he began reading the inscription on one of the + graves; it quickly made him smile. Suddenly a shadow fell across the grave + and remained lying there, Mogens looked sideways. A tanned, young man + stood there, one hand in his game-bag, in the other he held his gun. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t really half bad,” he said, indicating the inscription. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mogens and straightened up from his bent position. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” continued the hunter, and looked to the side, as if seeking + something, “you have been here for a couple of days, and I have been going + about wondering about you, but up to the present didn’t come near you. You + go and drift about so alone, why haven’t you looked in on us? And what in + the world do you do to kill the time? For you haven’t any business in the + neighborhood, have you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am staying here for pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “There isn’t much of that here,” the stranger exclaimed and laughed, + “don’t you shoot? Wouldn’t you like to come with me? Meanwhile I have to + go down to the inn and get some small shot, and while you are getting + ready, I can go over, and call down the blacksmith. Well! Will you join?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, with pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, by the way,—Thora! haven’t you seen a girl?” he jumped up on + the embankment. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there she is, she is my cousin, I can’t introduce you to her, but + come along, let us follow her; we made a wager, now you can he the judge. + She was to be in the cemetery with the dogs and I was to pass with gun and + game-bag, but was not to call or to whistle, and if the dogs nevertheless + went with me she would lose; now we will see.” + </p> + <p> + After a little while they overtook the lady; the hunter looked straight + ahead, but could not help smiling; Mogens bowed when they passed. The dogs + looked in surprise after the hunter and growled a bit; then they looked up + at the lady and barked, she wanted to pat them, but indifferently they + walked away from her and barked after the hunter. Step by step they drew + further and further away from her, squinted at her, and then suddenly + darted off after the hunter. And when they reached him, they were quite + out of control; they jumped up on him and rushed off in every direction + and back again. + </p> + <p> + “You lose,” he called out to her; she nodded smilingly, turned round and + went on. + </p> + <p> + They hunted till late in the afternoon. Mogens and William got along + famously and Mogens had to promise that he would come to the manor-house + in the evening. This he did, and later he came almost every day, but in + spite of all the cordial invitations he continued living at the inn. + </p> + <p> + Now came a restless period for Mogens. At first Thora’s proximity brought + back to life all his sad and gloomy memories. Often he had suddenly to + begin a conversation with one of the others or leave, so that his emotion + might not completely master him. She was not at all like Camilla, and yet + he heard and saw only Camilla. Thora was small, delicate, and slender, + roused easily to laughter, easily to tears, and easily to enthusiasm. If + for a longer time she spoke seriously with some one, it was not like a + drawing near, but rather as if she disappeared within her own self. If + some one explained something to her or developed an idea, her face, her + whole figure expressed the most intimate trust and now and again, perhaps, + also expectancy. William and his little sister did not treat her quite + like a comrade, but yet not like a stranger either. The uncle and the + aunt, the farm-hands, the maid-servants, and the peasants of the + neighborhood all paid court to her, but very carefully, and almost + timidly. In respect to her they were almost like a wanderer in the forest, + who sees close beside him one of those tiny, graceful song-birds with very + clear eyes and light, captivating movements. He is enraptured by this + tiny, living creature, he would so much like to have it come closer and + closer, but he does not care to move, scarcely to take breath, lest it may + be frightened and fly away. + </p> + <p> + As Mogens saw Thora more and more frequently, memories came more and more + rarely, and he began to see her as she was. It was a time of peace and + happiness when he was with her, full of silent longing and quiet sadness + when he did not see her. Later he told her of Camilla and of his past + life, and it was almost with surprise that he looked back upon himself. + Sometimes it seemed inconceivable to him that it was he who had thought, + felt, and done all the strange things of which he told. + </p> + <p> + On an evening he and Thora stood on a height in the garden, and watched + the sunset. William and his little sister were playing hide-and-seek + around the hill. There were thousands of light, delicate colors, hundreds + of strong radiant ones. Mogens turned away from them and looked at the + dark figure by his side. How insignificant it looked in comparison with + all this glowing splendor; he sighed, and looked up again at the + gorgeously colored clouds. It was not like a real thought, but it came + vague and fleeting, existed for a second and disappeared; it was as if it + had been the eye that thought it. + </p> + <p> + “The elves in the green hill are happy now that the sun has gone down,” + said Thora. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know that elves love darkness?” + </p> + <p> + Mogens smiled. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t believe in elves, but you should. It is beautiful to believe in + all that, in gnomes and elves. I believe in mermaids too, and elder-women, + but goblins! What can one do with goblins and three-legged horses? Old + Mary gets angry when I tell her this; for to believe what I believe, she + says is not God-fearing. Such things have nothing to do with people, but + warnings and spirits are in the gospel, too. What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + “I, oh, I don’t know—what do you really mean?” + </p> + <p> + “You surely don’t love nature?” + </p> + <p> + “But, quite the contrary.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mean nature, as you see it from benches placed where there is a + fine view on hills up which they have built steps; where it is like a set + scene, but nature every day, always.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so! I can take joy in every leaf, every twig, every beam of light, + every shadow. There isn’t a hill so barren, nor a turf-pit so square, nor + a road so monotonous, that I cannot for a moment fall in love with it.” + </p> + <p> + “But what joy can you take in a tree or a bush, if you don’t imagine that + a living being dwells within it, that opens and closes the flowers and + smooths the leaves? When you see a lake, a deep, clear lake, don’t you + love it for this reason, that you imagine creatures living deep, deep down + below, that have their own joys and sorrows, that have their own strange + life with strange yearnings? And what, for instance, is there beautiful + about the green hill of Berdbjerg, if you don’t imagine, that inside very + tiny creatures swarm and buzz, and sigh when the sun rises, but begin to + dance and play with their beautiful treasure-troves, as soon as evening + comes.” + </p> + <p> + “How wonderfully beautiful that is! And you see that?” + </p> + <p> + “But you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I can’t explain it, but there is something in the color, in the + movements, and in the shapes, and then in the life which lives in them; in + the sap which rises in trees and flowers, in the sun and rain that make + them grow, in the sand which blows together in hills, and in the showers + of rain that furrow and fissure the hillsides. Oh, I cannot understand + this at all, when I am to explain it.” + </p> + <p> + “And that is enough for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, more than enough sometimes—much too much! And when shape and + color and movement are so lovely and so fleeting and a strange world lies + behind all this and lives and rejoices and desires and can express all + this in voice and song, then you feel so lonely, that you cannot come + closer to this world, and life grows lusterless and burdensome.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, you must not think of your fiancee in that way.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am not thinking of her.” + </p> + <p> + William and his sister came up to them, and together they went into the + house. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + On a morning several days later Mogens and Thora were walking in the + garden. He was to look at the grape-vine nursery, where he had not yet + been. It was a rather long, but not very high hothouse. The sun sparkled + and played over the glass-roof. They entered, the air was warm and moist, + and had a peculiar heavy aromatic odor as of earth that has just been + turned. The beautiful incised leaves and the heavy dewy grapes were + resplendent and luminous under the sunlight. They spread out beneath the + glass-cover in a great green field of blessedness. Thora stood there and + happily looked upward; Mogens was restless and stared now and then + unhappily at her, and then up into the foliage. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” Thora said gayly, “I think, I am now beginning to understand + what you said the other day on the hill about form and color.” + </p> + <p> + “And you understood nothing besides?” Mogens asked softly and seriously. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she whispered, looked quickly at him, dropped the glance, and grew + red, “not then.” + </p> + <p> + “Not then,” Mogens repeated softly and kneeled down before her, “but now, + Thora?” She bent down toward him, gave him one of her hands, and covered + her eyes with the other and wept. Mogens pressed the hand against his + breast, as he rose; she lifted her head, and he kissed her on the + forehead. She looked up at him with radiant, moist eyes, smiled and + whispered: “Heaven be praised!” + </p> + <p> + Mogens stayed another week. The arrangement was that the wedding was to + take place in midsummer. Then he left, and winter came with dark days, + long nights, and a snowstorm of letters. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + All the windows of the manor-house were lighted, leaves and flowers were + above every door, friends and acquaintances in a dense crowd stood on the + large stone stairway, all looking out into the dusk.—Mogens had + driven off with his bride. + </p> + <p> + The carriage rumbled and rumbled. The closed windows rattled. Thora sat + and looked out of one of them, at the ditch of the highway, at the smith’s + hill where primroses blossomed in spring, at Bertel Nielsen’s huge + elderberry bushes, at the mill and the miller’s geese, and the hill of + Dalum where not many years ago she and William slid down on sleighs, at + the Dalum meadows, at the long, unnatural shadows of the horses that + rushed over the gravel-heaps, over the turf-pits and rye-field. She sat + there and wept very softly; from time to time when wiping the dew from the + pane, she looked stealthily over towards Mogens. He sat bowed forward, his + traveling-cloak was open, his hat lay and rocked on the front seat; his + hands he held in front of his face. All the things he had to think of! It + had almost robbed him of his courage. She had had to say good-by to all + her relatives and friends and to an infinity of places, where memories lay + ranged in strata, one above the other, right up to the sky, and all this + so that she might go away with him. And was he the right sort of a man to + place all one’s trust in, he with his past of brutalities and + debaucheries! It was not even certain that all this was merely his past. + He had changed, it is true, and he found it difficult to understand what + he himself had been. But one never can wholly escape from one’s self, and + what had been surely still was there. And now this innocent child had been + given him to guard and protect. He had managed to get himself into the + mire till over his head, and doubtless he would easily succeed in drawing + her down into it too. No, no, it shall not be thus—no, she is to go + on living her clear, bright girl’s life in spite of him. And the carriage + rattled and rattled. Darkness had set in, and here and there he saw + through the thickly covered panes, lights in the houses and yards past + which they drove. Thora slumbered. Toward morning they came to their new + home, an estate that Mogens had bought. The horses steamed in the chill + morning air; the sparrows twittered on the huge linden in the court, and + the smoke rose slowly from the chimneys. Thora looked smiling and + contented at all this after Mogens had helped her out of the carriage; but + there was no other way about, she was sleepy and too tired to conceal it. + Mogens took her to her room and then went into the garden, sat down on a + bench, and imagined that he was watching the sunrise, but he nodded too + violently to keep up the deception. About noon he and Thora met again, + happy and refreshed. They had to look at things and express their + surprise; they consulted and made decisions; they made the absurdest + suggestions; and how Thora struggled to look wise and interested when the + cows were introduced to her; and how difficult it was not to be all too + unpractically enthusiastic over a small shaggy young dog; and how Mogens + talked of drainage and the price of grain, while he stood there and in his + heart wondered how Thora would look with red poppies in her hair! And in + the evening, when they sat in their conservatory and the moon so clearly + drew the outline of the windows on the floor, what a comedy they played, + he on his part seriously representing to her that she should go to sleep, + really go to sleep, since she must be tired, the while he continued to + hold her hand in his; and she on her part, when she declared he was + disagreeable and wanted to be rid of her, that he regretted having taken a + wife. Then a reconciliation, of course, followed, and they laughed, and + the hour grew late. Finally Thora went to her room, but Mogens remained + sitting in the conservatory, miserable that she had gone. He drew black + imaginings for himself, that she was dead and gone, and that he was + sitting here all alone in the world and weeping over her, and then he + really wept. At length he became angry at himself and stalked up and down + the floor, and wanted to be sensible. There was a love, pure and noble, + without any coarse, earthly passion; yes, there was, and if there was not, + there was going to be one. Passion spoiled everything, and it was very + ugly and unhuman. How he hated everything in human nature that was not + tender and pure, fine and gentle! He had been subjugated, weighed down, + tormented, by this ugly and powerful force; it had lain in his eyes and + ears, it had poisoned all his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + He went to his room. He intended to read and took a book; he read, but had + not the slightest notion what—could anything have happened to her! + No, how could it? But nevertheless he was afraid, possibly there might + have—no, he could no longer stand it. He stole softly to her door; + no, everything was still and peaceful. When he listened intently it seemed + as if he could hear her breathing—how his heart throbbed, it seemed, + he could hear it too. He went back to his room and his book. He closed his + eyes; how vividly he saw her; he heard her voice, she bent down toward him + and whispered—how he loved her, loved her, loved her! It was like a + song within him; it seemed as if his thoughts took on rhythmic form, and + how clearly he could see everything of which he thought! Still and silent + she lay and slept, her arm beneath the neck, her hair loosened, her eyes + were closed, she breathed very softly—the air trembled within, it + was red like the reflection of roses. Like a clumsy faun, imitating the + dance of the nymphs, so the bed-cover with its awkward folds outlined her + delicate form. No, no, he did not want to think of her, not in that way, + for nothing in all the world, no; and now it all came back again, it could + not be kept away, but he would keep it away, away! And it came and went, + came and went, until sleep seized him, and the night passed. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + When the sun had set on the evening of the next day, they walked about + together in the garden. Arm in arm they walked very slowly and very + silently up one path and down the other, out of the fragrance of + mignonettes through that of roses into that of jasmine. A few moths + fluttered past them; out in the grain-field a wild duck called, otherwise + most of the sounds came from Thora’s silk dress. + </p> + <p> + “How silent we can be,” exclaimed Thora. + </p> + <p> + “And how we can walk!” Mogens continued, “we must have walked about four + miles by now.” + </p> + <p> + Then they walked again for a while and were silent. + </p> + <p> + “Of what are you thinking now?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am thinking of myself.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just what I am doing.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you also thinking of yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “No, of yourself—of you, Mogens.” + </p> + <p> + He drew her closer. They were going up to the conservatory. The door was + open; it was very light in there, and the table with the snowy-white + cloth, the silver dish with the dark red strawberries, the shining silver + pot and the chandelier gave quite a festive impression. + </p> + <p> + “It is as in the fairy-tale, where Hansel and Gretel come to the + cake-house out in the wood,” Thora said. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to go in?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you quite forget, that in there dwells a witch, who wants to put us + unhappy little children into an oven and eat us. No, it is much better + that we resist the sugar-panes and the pancake-roof, take each other by + the hand, and go back into the dark, dark wood.” + </p> + <p> + They walked away from the conservatory. She leaned closely toward Mogens + and continued: “It may also be the palace of the Grand Turk and you are + the Arab from the desert who wants to carry me off, and the guard is + pursuing us; the curved sabers flash, and we run and run, but they have + taken your horse, and then they take us along and put us into a big bag, + and we are in it together and are drowned in the sea.—Let me see, or + might it be...?” + </p> + <p> + “Why might it not be, what it is?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it might be that, but it is not enough.... If you knew how I love + you, but I am so unhappy—I don’t know what it is—there is such + a great distance between us—no—” + </p> + <p> + She flung her arms round his neck and kissed him passionately and pressed + her burning cheek against his: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know how it is, but sometimes I almost wish that you beat me—I + know it is childish, and that I am very happy, very happy, and yet I feel + so unhappy!” + </p> + <p> + She laid her head on his breast and wept, and then she began while her + tears were still streaming, to sing, at first very gently, but then louder + and louder: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “In longing + In longing! live!” + </pre> + <p> + “My own little wife!” and he lifted her up in his arms and carried her in. + </p> + <p> + In the morning he stood beside her bed. The light came faintly and subdued + through the drawn blinds. It softened all the lines in the room and made + all the colors seem sated and peaceful. It seemed to Mogens as if the air + rose and fell with her bosom in gentle rarifications. Her head rested a + little sidewise on the pillow, her hair fell over her white brow, one of + her cheeks was a brighter red than the other, now and then there was a + faint quivering in the calmly-arched eyelids, and the lines of her mouth + undulated imperceptibly between unconscious seriousness and slumbering + smiles. Mogens stood for a long time and looked at her, happy and quiet. + The last shadow of his past had disappeared. Then he stole away softly and + sat down in the living-room and waited for her in silence. He had sat + there for a while, when he felt her head on his shoulder and her cheek + against his. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + They went out together into the freshness of the morning. The sunlight was + jubilant above the earth, the dew sparkled, flowers that had awakened + early gleamed, a lark sang high up beneath the sky, swallows flew swiftly + through the air. He and she walked across the green field toward the hill + with the ripening rye; they followed the footpath which led over there. + She went ahead, very slowly and looked back over her shoulder toward him, + and they talked and laughed. The further they descended the hill, the more + the grain intervened, soon they could no longer be seen. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PLAGUE IN BERGAMO + </h2> + <p> + Old Bergamo lay on the summit of a low mountain, hedged in by walls and + gates, and New Bergamo lay at the foot of the mountain, exposed to all + winds. + </p> + <p> + One day the plague broke out in the new town and spread at a terrific + speed; a multitude of people died and the others fled across the plains to + all four corners of the world. And the citizens in Old Bergamo set fire to + the deserted town in order to purify the air, but it did no good. People + began dying up there too, at first one a day, then five, then ten, then + twenty, and when the plague had reached its height, a great many more. + </p> + <p> + And they could not flee as those had done, who lived in the new town. + </p> + <p> + There were some, who tried it, but they led the life of a hunted animal, + hid in ditches and sewers, under hedges, and in the green fields; for the + peasants, into whose homes in many places the first fugitives had brought + the plague, stoned every stranger they came across, drove him from their + lands, or struck him down like a mad dog without mercy or pity, in + justifiable self-defense, as they believed. + </p> + <p> + The people of Old Bergamo had to stay where they were, and day by day it + grew hotter; and day by day the gruesome disease became more voracious and + more grasping. Terror grew to madness. What there had been of order and + good government was as if the earth had swallowed it, and what was worst + in human nature came in its stead. + </p> + <p> + At the very beginning when the plague broke out people worked together in + harmony and concord. They took care that the corpses were duly and + properly buried, and every day saw to it that big bonfires were lighted in + squares and open places so that the healthful smoke might drift through + the streets. Juniper and vinegar were distributed among the poor, and + above all else, the people sought the churches early and late, alone and + in processions. Every day they went with their prayers before God and + every day when the sun was setting behind the mountains, all the + churchbells called wailingly towards heaven from hundreds of swinging + throats. Fasts were ordered and every day holy relics were set out on the + altars. + </p> + <p> + At last one day when they did not know what else to do, from the balcony + of the town hall, amid the sound of trumpets and horns, they proclaimed + the Holy Virgin, podesta or lordmayor of the town now and forever. + </p> + <p> + But all this did not help; there was nothing that helped. + </p> + <p> + And when the people felt this and the belief grew stronger that heaven + either would not or could not help, they not only let their hands lie idly + in the lap, saying, “Let there come what may.” Nay, it seemed, as if sin + had grown from a secret, stealthy disease into a wicked, open, raging + plague, which hand in hand with the physical contagion sought to slay the + soul as the other strove to destroy the body, so incredible were their + deeds, so enormous their depravity! The air was filled with blasphemy and + impiety, with the groans of the gluttons and the howling of drunkards. The + wildest night hid not greater debauchery than was here committed in broad + daylight. + </p> + <p> + “To-day we shall eat, for to-morrow we die!”—It was as if they had + set these words to music, and played on manifold instruments a + never-ending hellish concert. Yea, if all sins had not already been + invented, they would have been invented here, for there was no road they + would not have followed in their wickedness. The most unnatural vices + flourished among them, and even such rare sins as necromancy, magic, and + exorcism were familiar to them, for there were many who hoped to obtain + from the powers of evil the protection which heaven had not vouchsafed + them. + </p> + <p> + Whatever had to do with mutual assistance or pity had vanished from their + minds; each one had thoughts only for himself. He who was sick was looked + upon as a common foe, and if it happened that any one was unfortunate + enough to fall down on the street, exhausted by the first fever-paroxysm + of the plague, there was no door that opened to him, but with lance-pricks + and the casting of stones they forced him to drag himself out of the way + of those who were still healthy. + </p> + <p> + And day by day the plague increased, the summer’s sun blazed down upon the + town, not a drop of rain fell, not the faintest breeze stirred. From + corpses that lay rotting in the houses and from corpses that were only + half-buried in the earth, there was engendered a suffocating stench which + mingled with the stagnant air of the streets and attracted swarms and + clouds of ravens and crows until the walls and roofs were black with them. + And round about the wall encircling the town sat strange, large, + outlandish birds from far away with beaks eager for spoil and expectantly + crooked claws; and they sat there and looked down with their tranquil + greedy eyes as if only waiting for the unfortunate town to turn into one + huge carrion-pit. + </p> + <p> + It was just eleven weeks since the plague had broken out, when the + watchman in the tower and other people who were standing in high places + saw a strange procession wind from the plain into the streets of the new + town between the smoke-blackened stone walls and the black ash-heaps of + the wooden houses. A multitude of people! At least, six hundred or more, + men and women, old and young, and they carried big black crosses between + them and above their heads floated wide banners, red as fire and blood. + They sing as they are moving onward and heartrending notes of despair rise + up into the silent sultry air. + </p> + <p> + Brown, gray, and black are their clothes, but all wear a red badge on + their breast. A cross it proves to be, as they draw nearer. For all the + time they are drawing nearer. They press upward along the steep road, + flanked by walls, which leads up to the old town. It is a throng of white + faces; they carry scourges in their hands. On their red banners a rain of + fire is pictured. And the black crosses sway from one side to the other in + the crowd. + </p> + <p> + From the dense mass there rises a smell of sweat, of ashes, of the dust of + the roadway, and of stale incense. + </p> + <p> + They no longer sing, neither do they speak, nothing is audible but the + tramping, herd-like sound of their naked feet. + </p> + <p> + Face after face plunges into the darkness of the tower-gate, and emerges + into the light on the other side with a dazed, tired expression and + half-closed lids. + </p> + <p> + Then the singing begins again: a miserere; they grasp their scourges more + firmly and walk with a brisker step as if to a war-song. + </p> + <p> + They look as if they came from a famished city, their cheeks are hollow, + their bones stand out, their lips are bloodless, and they have dark rings + beneath their eyes. + </p> + <p> + The people of Bergamo have flocked together and watch them with amazement—and + uneasiness. Red dissipated faces stand contrasted with these pale white + ones; dull glances exhausted by debauchery are lowered before these + piercing, flaming eyes; mocking blasphemers stand open-mouthed before + these hymns. + </p> + <p> + And there is blood on their scourges. + </p> + <p> + A feeling of strange uneasiness filled the people at the sight of these + strangers. + </p> + <p> + But it did not take long, however, before they shook off this impression. + Some of them recognized a half-crazy shoemaker from Brescia among those + who bore crosses, and immediately the whole mob through him became a + laughingstock. Anyhow, it was something new, a distraction amid the + everyday, and when the strangers marched toward the cathedral, everybody + followed behind as they would have followed a band of jugglers or a tame + bear. + </p> + <p> + But as they pushed their way forward they became embittered; they felt so + matter-of-fact in comparison with the solemnity of these people. They + understood very well, that those shoemakers and tailors had come here to + convert them, to pray for them, and to utter the words which they did not + wish to hear. There were two lean, gray-haired philosophers who had + elaborated impiety into a system; they incited the people, and out of the + malice of their hearts stirred their passions, so that with each step as + they neared the church the attitude of the crowd became more threatening + and their cries of anger wilder. It would not have taken much to have made + them lay violent hands on those unknown flagellants. Not a hundred steps + from the church entrance, the door of a tavern was thrown open, and a + whole flock of carousers tumbled out, one on top of the other. They placed + themselves at the head of the procession and led the way, singing and + bellowing with grotesquely solemn gestures—all except one who turned + handsprings right up the grass-grown stones of the church-steps. This, of + course, caused laughter, and so all entered peacefully into the sanctuary. + </p> + <p> + It seemed strange to be here again, to pass through this great cool space, + in this atmosphere pungent with the smell of old drippings from wax + candles—across the sunken flag-stones which their feet knew so well + and over these stones whose worn-down designs and bright inscriptions had + so often caused their thoughts to grow weary. And while their eyes + half-curiously, half-unwillingly sought rest in the gently subdued light + underneath the vaults or glided over the dim manifoldness of the gold-dust + and smoke-stained colors, or lost themselves in the strange shadows of the + altar, there rose in their hearts a longing which could not be suppressed. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime those from the tavern continued their scandalous behavior + upon the high altar. A huge, massive butcher among them, a young man, had + taken off his white apron and tied it around his neck, so that it hung + down his back like a surplice, and he celebrated mass with the wildest and + maddest words, full of obscenity and blasphemy. An oldish little fellow + with a fat belly, active and nimble in spite of his weight, with a face + like a skinned pumpkin was the sacristan and responded with the most + frivolous refrains. He kneeled down and genuflected and turned his back to + the altar and rang the bell as though it were a jester’s and swung the + censer round like a wheel. The others lay drunk on the steps at full + length, bellowing with laughter and hiccoughing with drunkenness. + </p> + <p> + The whole church laughed and howled and mocked at the strangers. They + called out to them to pay close attention so that they might know what the + people thought of their God, here in Old Bergamo. For it was not so much + their wish to insult God that made them rejoice in the tumult; but they + felt satisfaction in knowing that each of their blasphemies was a sting in + the hearts of these holy people. + </p> + <p> + They stopped in the center of the nave and groaned with pain, their hearts + boiling with hatred and vengeance. They lifted their eyes and hands to + God, and prayed that His vengeance might fall because of the mock done to + Him here in His own house. They would gladly go to destruction together + with these fool-hardy, if only He would show His might. Joyously they + would let themselves be crushed beneath His heel, if only He would + triumph, that cries of terror, despair, and repentance, that were too + late, might rise up toward Him from these impious lips. + </p> + <p> + And they struck up a miserere. Every note of it sounded like a cry for the + rain of fire that overwhelmed Sodom, for the strength which Samson + possessed when he pulled down the columns in the house of the Philistines. + They prayed with song and with words; they denuded their shoulders and + prayed with their scourges. They lay kneeling row after row, stripped to + their waist, and swung the sharp-pointed and knotted cords down on their + bleeding backs. Wildly and madly they beat themselves so that the blood + clung in drops on their hissing whips. Every blow was a sacrifice to God. + Would that they might beat themselves in still another way, would that + they might tear themselves into a thousand bloody shreds here before His + eyes! This body with which they had sinned against His commandments had to + be punished, tortured, annihilated, that He might see how hateful it was + to them, that He might see how they became like unto dogs in order to + please Him, lower than dogs before His will, the lowliest of vermin that + ate the dust beneath the soles of His feet! Blow upon blow—until + their arms dropped or until cramps turned them to knots. There they lay + row on row with eyes gleaming with madness, with foam round their mouths, + the blood trickling down their flesh. + </p> + <p> + And those who watched this suddenly felt their hearts throb, noticed how + hotness rose into their cheeks and how their breathing grew difficult. It + seemed as if something cold was growing out beneath their scalps, and + their knees grew weak. It seized hold of them; in their brains was a + little spot of madness which understood this frenzy. + </p> + <p> + To feel themselves the slaves of a harsh and powerful deity, to thrust + themselves down before His feet; to be His, not in gentle piety, not in + the inactivity of silent prayer, but madly, in a frenzy of + self-humiliation, in blood, and wailing, beneath wet gleaming scourges—this + they were capable of understanding. Even the butcher became silent, and + the toothless philosophers lowered their gray heads before the eyes that + roved about. + </p> + <p> + And it became quite still within the church; only a slight wave-like + motion swept through the mob. + </p> + <p> + Then one from among the strangers, a young monk, rose up and spoke. He was + pale as a sheet of linen, his black eyes glowed like coals, which are just + going to die out, and the gloomy, pain-hardened lines around his mouth + were as if carven in wood with a knife, and not like the folds in the face + of a human being. + </p> + <p> + He raised his thin, sickly hands toward heaven in prayer, and the sleeves + of his robe slipped down over his lean, white arms. + </p> + <p> + Then he spoke. + </p> + <p> + Of hell he spoke, that it is infinite as heaven is infinite, of the lonely + world of torments which each one of the condemned must endure and fill + with his wails. Seas of sulphur were there, fields of scorpions, flames + that wrap themselves round a person like a cloak, and silent flames that + have hardened and plunged into the body like a spear twisted round in a + wound. + </p> + <p> + It was quite still; breathlessly they listened to his words, for he spoke + as if he had seen it with his own eyes, and they asked themselves: is he + one of the condemned, sent up to us from the caverns of hell to bear + witness before us? + </p> + <p> + Then he preached for a long time concerning the law and the power of the + law, that its every title must be fulfilled, and that every transgression + of which they were guilty would be counted against them by grain and + ounce. “But Christ died for our sins, say ye, and we are no longer subject + to the law. But I say unto you, hell will not be cheated of a single one + of you, and not a single iron tooth of the torture wheel of hell shall + pass beside your flesh. You build upon the cross of Golgotha, come, come! + Come and look at it! I shall lead you straight to its foot. It was on a + Friday, as you know, that they thrust Him out of one of their gates and + laid the heavier end of a cross upon His shoulders. They made Him bear it + to a barren and unfruitful hill without the city, and in crowds they + followed Him, whirling up the dust with their many feet so that it seemed + a red cloud was over the place. And they tore the garments from Him and + bared His body, as the lords of the law have a malefactor exposed before + the eyes of all, so that all may see the flesh that is to be committed to + torture. And they flung Him on the cross and stretched Him out and they + drove a nail of iron through each of His resistant hands and a nail + through His crossed feet. With clubs they struck the nails till they were + in to the heads. And they raised upright the cross in a hole in the + ground, but it would not stand firm and straight, and they moved it from + one side to the other, and drove wedges and posts all around, and those + who did this pulled down the brims of their hats so that the blood from + His hands might not drop into their eyes. And He on the cross looked down + on the soldiers, who were casting lots for His unstitched garment and down + on the whole turbulent mob, for whose sake He suffered, that they might be + saved; and in all the multitude there was not one pitiful eye. + </p> + <p> + “And those below looked up toward Him, who hung there suffering and weak; + they looked at the tablet above His head, whereon was written ‘King of the + Jews,’ and they reviled Him and called out to Him: ‘Thou that destroyest + the temple, and buildest it in three days, save thyself. If thou be the + Son of God, come down from the cross.’ Then He, the only begotten Son of + God was taken with anger, and saw that they were not worthy of salvation, + these mobs that fill the earth. He tore free His feet over the heads of + the nails, and He clenched His hands round the nails and tore them out, so + that the arms of the cross bent like a bow. Then He leaped down upon the + earth and snatched up His garment so that the dice rolled down the slope + of Golgotha, and flung it round himself with the wrath of a king and + ascended into heaven. And the cross stood empty, and the great work of + redemption was never fulfilled. There is no mediator between God and us; + there is no Jesus who died for us on the cross; there is no Jesus who died + for us on the cross, there is no Jesus who died for us on the cross!” + </p> + <p> + He was silent. + </p> + <p> + As he uttered the last words he leaned forward over the multitude and with + his lips and hands hurled the last words over their heads. A groan of + agony went through the church, and in the corners they had begun to sob. + </p> + <p> + Then the butcher pushed forward with raised, threatening hands, pale as a + corpse, and shouted: “Monk, monk, you must nail Him on the cross again, + you must!” and behind him there was a hoarse, hissing sound: “Yea, yea, + crucify, crucify Him!” And from all mouths, threatening, beseeching, + peremptory, rose a storm of cries up to the vaulted roof: “Crucify, + crucify Him!” + </p> + <p> + And clear and serene a single quivering voice: “Crucify Him!” + </p> + <p> + But the monk looked down over this wave of outstretched hands, upon these + distorted faces with the dark openings of screaming lips, where rows of + teeth gleamed white like the teeth of enraged beasts of prey, and in a + moment of ecstasy he spread out his arms toward heaven and laughed. Then + he stepped down, and his people raised their banners with the rain of fire + and their empty black crosses, and crowded their way out of the church and + again passed singing across the square and again through the opening of + the tower-gate. + </p> + <p> + And those of Old Bergamo stared after them, as they went down the + mountain. The steep road, lined by walls, was misty in the light of the + sun setting beyond the plain, but on the red wall encircling the city the + shadows of the great crosses which swayed from side to side in the crowd + stood out black and sharply outlined. + </p> + <p> + Further away sounded the singing; one or another of the banners still + gleamed red out of the new town’s smoke-blackened void; then they + disappeared in the sun-lit plain. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN ROSES + </h2> + <p> + There should have been roses + </p> + <p> + Of the large, pale yellow ones. + </p> + <p> + And they should hang in abundant clusters over the garden-wall, scattering + their tender leaves carelessly down into the wagon-tracks on the road: a + distinguished glimmer of all the exuberant wealth of flowers within. + </p> + <p> + And they should have the delicate, fleeting fragrance of roses, which + cannot be seized and is like that of unknown fruits of which the senses + tell legends in their dreams. + </p> + <p> + Or should they have been red, the roses? + </p> + <p> + Perhaps. + </p> + <p> + They might be of the small, round, hardy roses, and they would have to + hang down in slender twining branches with smooth leaves, red and fresh, + and like a salutation or a kiss thrown to the wanderer, who is walking, + tired and dusty, in the middle of the road, glad that he now is only half + a mile from Rome. + </p> + <p> + Of what may he be thinking? What may be his life? + </p> + <p> + And now the houses hide him, they hide everything on that side. They hide + one another and the road and the city, but on the other side there is + still a distant view. There the road swings in an indolent, slow curve + down toward the river, down toward the mournful bridge. And behind this + lies the immense Campagna. The gray and the green of such large plains.... + It is as if the weariness of many tedious miles rose out of them and + settled with a heavy weight upon one, and made one feel lonely and + forsaken, and filled one with desires and yearning. So it is much better + that one should take one’s ease here in a corner between high + garden-walls, where the air lies tepid and soft and still—to sit on + the sunny side, where a bench curves into a niche of the wall, to sit + there end gaze upon the shimmering green acanthus in the roadside ditches, + upon the silver-spotted thistles, and the pale-yellow autumn flowers. + </p> + <p> + The roses should have been on the long gray wall opposite, a wall full of + lizard holes and chinks with withered grass; and they should have peeped + out at the very spot where the long, monotonous flatness is broken by a + large, swelling basket of beautiful old wrought iron, a latticed + extension, which forms a spacious balcony, reaching higher than the + breast. It must have been refreshing to go up there when one was weary of + the enclosed garden. + </p> + <p> + And this they often were. + </p> + <p> + They hated the magnificent old villa, which is said to be within, with its + marble stair-cases and its tapestries of coarse weave; and the ancient + trees with their proud large crowns, pines and laurels, ashes, cypresses, + and oaks. During all the period of their growth they were hated with the + hatred which restless hearts feel for that which is commonplace, trivial, + uneventful, for that which stands still and therefore seems hostile. + </p> + <p> + But from the balcony one could at least range outside with one’s eyes, and + that is why they stood there, one generation after the other, and all + stared into the distance, each one with pro and each one with his con. + Arms adorned with golden bracelets have lain on the edge of the iron + railing and many a silk-covered knee has pressed against the black + arabesques, the while colored ribbons waved from all its points as signals + of love and rendezvous. Heavy, pregnant housewives have also stood here + and sent impossible messages out into the distance. Large, opulent, + deserted women, pale as hatred... could one but kill with a thought or + open hell with a wish!... Women and men! It is always women and men, even + these emaciated white virgin souls which press against the black + latticework like a flock of lost doves and cry out, “Take us!” to + imagined, noble birds of prey. + </p> + <p> + One might imagine a <i>proverbe</i> here. + </p> + <p> + The scenery would be very suitable for a <i>proverbe</i>. + </p> + <p> + The wall there, just as it is; only the road would have to be wider and + expand into a circular space. In its center there would have to be an old, + modest fountain of yellowish tuff and with a bowl of broken porphyry. As + figure for the fountain a dolphin with a broken-off tail, and one of the + nostrils stopped up. From the other the fine jet of water rises. On one + side of the fountain a semicircular bench of tuff and terracotta. + </p> + <p> + The loose, grayish white dust; the reddish, molded stone, the hewn, + yellowish, porous tuff; the dark, polished porphyry, gleaming with + moisture, and the living, tiny, silvery jet of water: material and colors + harmonize rather well. + </p> + <p> + The characters: two pages. + </p> + <p> + Not of a definite, historical period, for the pages of reality in no way + correspond with the pages of the ideal. The pages here, however, are pages + such as dream in pictures and books. Accordingly it is merely the costume + which has a historical effect. + </p> + <p> + The actress who is to represent the youngest of the pages wears thin silk + which clings closely and is pale-blue, and has heraldic lilies of the + palest gold woven into it. This and as much lace as can possibly be + employed are the most distinctive feature of the costume. It does not aim + at any definite century, but seeks to emphasize the youthful + voluptuousness of the figure, the magnificent blond hair, and the clear + complexion. + </p> + <p> + She is married, but it lasted only a year and a half, when she was + divorced from her husband, and she is said to have acted in anything but a + proper fashion towards him. And that may well be, but it is impossible to + imagine anything more innocent in appearance than she. That is to say, it + is not the gracious elemental innocence which has such attractive + qualities; but it is rather the cultivated, mature innocence, in which no + one can be mistaken, and which goes straight to the heart. It captivates + one with all the power which something that has reached completion only + can have. + </p> + <p> + The second actress in the <i>proverbe</i> is slender and melancholy. She + is unmarried and has no past, absolutely none. There is no one who knows + the least thing about her. Yet these finely delineated, almost lean limbs, + and these amber-pale, regular features are vocal. The face is shaded by + raven-black curls, and borne on a strong masculine neck. Its mocking + smile, in which there is also hungry desire, allures. The eyes are + unfathomable and their depths are as soft and luminous as the dark petals + in the flower of the pansy. + </p> + <p> + The costume is of pale-yellow, in the manner of a corselet with wide, + up-and-down stripes, a stiff ruff and buttons of topaz. There is a narrow + frilled stripe on the edge of the collar, and also on the close-fitting + sleeves. The trunks are short, wide-slashed, and of a dead-green color + with pale purple in the slashes. The hose is gray.—Those of the blue + page, of course, are pure white.—Both wear barrets. + </p> + <p> + Such is their appearance. + </p> + <p> + And now the yellow one is standing up on the balcony, leaning over the + edge, the while the blue is sitting on the bench down by the fountain, + comfortably leaning back, with his ring-covered hands clasped around one + knee. He stares dreamily out upon the Campagna. + </p> + <p> + Now he speaks: + </p> + <p> + “No, nothing exists in the world but women!—I don’t understand it... + there must be a magic in the lines out of which they are created, merely + when I see them pass: Isaura, Rosamond, and Donna Lisa, and the others. + When I see how their garment clings around their figure and how it drapes + as they walk, it is as if my heart drank the blood out of all my arteries, + and left my head empty and without thoughts and my limbs trembling and + without strength. It is as though my whole being were gathered into a + single, tremulous, uneasy breath of desire. What is it? Why is it? It is + as if happiness went invisibly past my door, and I had to snatch it and + hold it close, and make it my own. It is so wonderful—and yet I + cannot seize it, for I cannot see it.” + </p> + <p> + Then the other page speaks from his balcony: + </p> + <p> + “And if now you sat at her feet, Lorenzo, and lost in her thoughts she had + forgotten why she had called you, and you sat silent and waiting, and her + lovely face were bent over you further from you in the clouds of its + dreams than the star in the heavens, and yet so near you that every + expression was surrendered to your admiration, every beauty-engendered + line, every tint of the skin in its white stillness as well as in its soft + rosy glow—would it not then be as if she who is sitting there + belonged to another world than the one in which you kneel in adoration! + Would it not be as if hers were another world, as if another world + surrounded her, in which her festively garbed thoughts are going out to + meet some goal which is unknown to you? Her love is far away from all that + is yours, from your world, from everything. She dreams of far distances + and her desires are of far distances. And it seems as if not the slightest + space could be found for you in her thoughts, however ardently you might + desire to sacrifice yourself for her, your life, your all, to the end that + that might be between her and you which is hardly a faint glimmer of + companionship, much less a belonging together.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you know that it is thus. But....” Now a greenish-yellow lizard runs + along the edge of the balcony. It stops and looks about The tail moves.... + </p> + <p> + If one could only find a stone... + </p> + <p> + Look out, my four-legged friend. + </p> + <p> + No, you cannot hit them, they hear the stone long before it reaches them. + Anyhow he got frightened. + </p> + <p> + But the pages disappeared at the same moment. + </p> + <p> + The blue one had been sitting there so prettily. And in her eyes lay a + yearning which was genuine and unconscious and in her movements a + nervousness that was full of presentiment. Around her mouth was a faint + expression of pain, when she spoke, and even more when she listened to the + soft, somewhat low voice of the yellow page, which spoke to her from the + balcony in words that were provocative and at the same time caressing, + that had a note of mockery and a note of sympathy. + </p> + <p> + And doesn’t it seem now as if both were still here! + </p> + <p> + They are there, and have carried on the action of the <i>proverbe</i>, + while they were gone. They have spoken of that vague young love which + never finds peace but unceasingly flits through all the lands of + foreboding and through all the heavens of hope; this love that is dying to + satisfy itself in the powerful, fervent glow of a single great emotion! Of + this they spoke; the younger one in bitter complaint, the elder one with + regretful tenderness. Now the latter said—the yellow one to the blue—that + he should not so impatiently demand the love of a woman to capture him and + hold him bound. + </p> + <p> + “For believe me,” he said, “the love that you will find in the clasp of + two white arms, with two eyes as your immediate heaven and the certain + bliss of two lips—this love lies nigh unto the earth and unto the + dust. It has exchanged the eternal freedom of dreams for a happiness which + is measured by hours and which hourly grows older. For even if it always + grows young again, yet each time it loses one of the rays which in a halo + surround the eternal youth of dreams. No, you are happy.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you are happy,” answered the blue one, “I would give a world, were I + as you are.” + </p> + <p> + And the blue one rises, and begins to walk down the road to the Campagna, + and the yellow one looks after him with a sad smile and says to himself: + “No, he is happy!” + </p> + <p> + But far down the road the blue one turns round once more toward the + balcony, and raising his barret calls: “No, you are happy!” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + There should have been roses. + </p> + <p> + And now a breath of wind might come and shake a rain of rose-leaves from + the laden branches, and whirl them after the departing page. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MRS. FONSS + </h2> + <p> + In the graceful pleasure-gardens behind the Pope’s ancient palace in + Avignon stands a bench from which one can overlook the Rhone, the flowery + banks of the Durance, hills and fields, and a part of the town. + </p> + <p> + One October afternoon two Danish ladies were seated on this bench, Mrs. + Fonss, a widow, and her daughter Elinor. + </p> + <p> + Although they had been here several days and were already familiar with + the view before them, they nevertheless sat there and marveled that this + was the way the Provence looked. + </p> + <p> + And this really was the Provence! A clayey river with flakes of muddy + sand, and endless shores of stone-gray gravel; pale-brown fields without a + blade of grass, pale-brown slopes, pale-brown hills and dust-colored + roads, and here and there near the white houses, groups of black trees, + absolutely black bushes and trees. Over all this hung a whitish sky, + quivering with light, which made everything still paler, still dryer and + more wearily light; never a glimmer of luxuriant, satiated hues, nothing + but hungry, sun-parched colors; not a sound in the air, not a scythe + passing through the grass, not a wagon rattling over the roads; and the + town stretching out on both sides was also as if built of silence with all + the streets still as at noon time, with all the houses deaf and dumb, + every shutter closed, every blind drawn, each and every one; houses that + could neither see nor hear. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fonss viewed this lifeless monotony with a resigned smile, but it + made Elinor visibly nervous; not actively nervous as in the case of + annoyance, but mournful and weary, as one often becomes after many days of + rain, when all one’s gloomy thoughts seem to pour down upon one with the + rain; or as at the idiotically consoling tick-tack of a clock, when one + sits and grows incurably tired of one’s self; or at watching the flowers + of the wall-paper, when the same chain of worn-out dreams clanks about + against one’s will in the brain and the links are joined and come apart + and in a stifling endlessness are united again. It actually had a physical + effect upon her, this landscape, almost causing her to faint. To-day + everything seemed to have conspired with the memories of a hope which was + dead and of sweet and lively dreams which had become disagreeable and + nauseous; dreams which caused her to redden when she thought of them and + which yet she could not forget. And what had all that to do with the + region here? The blow had fallen upon her far from here amid the + surroundings of her home, by the edge of a sound with changing waters, + under pale green beech-trees. Yet it hovered on the lips of every pale + brown hill, and every green-shuttered house stood there and held silence + concerning it. + </p> + <p> + It was the old sorrow for young hearts which had touched her. She had + loved a man and believed in his love for her, and suddenly he had chosen + some one else. Why? For what reason? What had she done to him? Had she + changed? Was she no longer the same? And all the eternal questions over + again. She had not said a word about it to her mother, but her mother had + understood every bit of it, and had been very concerned about her. She + could have screamed at this thoughtfulness which knew and yet should not + have known; her mother understood this also, and for that reason they had + gone traveling. + </p> + <p> + The whole purpose of the journey was only that she might forget. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fonss did not need to make her daughter feel uneasy by scrutinizing + her face in order to know where her thoughts were. All she had to do was + to watch the nervous little hand which lay beside her and with such futile + despair stroked the bars of the bench; they changed their position every + moment like a fever-patient tossing from side to side in his hot bed. When + she did this and looked at the hand, she also knew how life-weary the + young eyes were that stared out into the distance, how pain quivered + through every feature of the delicate face, how pale it was beneath its + suffering, and how the blue veins showed at the temples beneath the soft + skin. + </p> + <p> + She was very sorry for her little girl, and would have loved to have had + her lean against her breast, and to whisper down to her all the words of + comfort she could think of, but she had the conviction that there were + sorrows which could only die away in secret and which must not be + expressed in loud words, not even between a mother and daughter. Otherwise + some day under new circumstances, when everything is building for joy and + happiness, these words may become an obstacle, something that weighs + heavily and takes away freedom. The person who has spoken hears their + whisper in the soul of the other, imagines them turned over and judged in + the thoughts of the other. + </p> + <p> + Then, too, she was afraid of doing injury to her daughter if she made + confidences too easy. She did not wish to have Elinor blush before her; + she did want, however much of a relief it might be, to help her over the + humiliation, which lies in opening the inmost recesses of one’s soul to + the gaze of another. On the contrary the more difficult it became for + both, the more she was pleased, that the aristocracy of soul which she + herself possessed was repeated in her young daughter in a certain healthy + inflexibility. + </p> + <p> + Once upon a time—it was a time many, many years ago, when she + herself had been an eighteen-year old girl, she had loved with all her + soul, with every sense in her body, every living hope, every thought. It + was not to be, could not be. He had had nothing to offer except his + loyalty which would have involved the test of an endlessly long + engagement, and there were circumstances in her home which could not wait. + So she had taken the one whom they had given her, the one who was master + over these circumstances. They were married, then came children: Tage, the + son, who was with her in Avignon, and the daughter, who sat beside her, + Everything had turned out so much better than she could have hoped for, + both easier and more friendly. Eight years it lasted, then the husband + died, and she mourned him with a sincere heart. She had learned to love + his fine, thin-blooded nature which with a tense, egotistic, almost morbid + love loved whatever belonged to it by ties of relationship or family, and + cared nought for anything in all the great world outside, except for what + they thought, what their opinion was—nothing else. After her + husband’s death she had lived chiefly for her children, but she had not + devoted herself exclusively to them; she had taken part in social life, as + was natural for so young and well-to-do a widow; and now her son was + twenty-one years old and she lacked not many days of forty. But she was + still beautiful. There was not a gray thread in her heavy dark-blonde + hair, not a wrinkle round her large, courageous eyes, and her figure was + slender with well-balanced fullness. The strong, fine lines of her + features were accentuated by the darker more deeply colored complexion + which the years had given her; the smile of her widely sweeping lips was + very sweet; an almost enigmatical youth in the dewy luminosity of her + brown eyes softened and mellowed everything again. And yet she also had + the round fullness of cheek, the strong-willed chin of a mature woman. + </p> + <p> + “That surely is Tage coming,” said Mrs. Fonss to her daughter when she + heard laughter and some Danish exclamations on the other side of the thick + hedge of hornbeam. + </p> + <p> + Elinor pulled herself together. + </p> + <p> + And it was Tage, Tage and Kastager, a wholesale merchant from Copenhagen, + with his sister and daughter; Mrs. Kastager lay ill at home in the hotel. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fonss and Elinor made room for the two ladies; the men tried for a + moment to converse standing, but were lured by the low wall of stone which + surrounded the spot. They sat there and said only what was absolutely + necessary, for the newcomers were tired from a little railway excursion + they had taken into the Provence with its blooming roses. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” cried Tage, striking his light trousers with the flat of his + hand, “look!” + </p> + <p> + They looked. + </p> + <p> + Out in the brown landscape appeared a cloud of dust, over it a mantle of + dust, and between the two they caught sight of a horse. “That’s the + Englishman, I told you about, who came the other day,” said Tage, turning + toward his mother. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever see any one ride like that?” he asked, turning toward + Kastager, “he reminds me of a gaucho.” + </p> + <p> + “Mazeppa?” said Kastager, questioningly. + </p> + <p> + The horseman disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Then they all rose, and set out for the hotel. + </p> + <p> + They had met the Kastagers in Belfort, and since they were pursuing the + same itinerary through southern France and along the Riviera, they for the + time being traveled together. Here in Avignon both families had made a + halt; Kastager because his wife had developed a varicose vein, the Fonss’ + because Elinor obviously needed a rest. + </p> + <p> + Tage was delighted at this living together. Day by day he fell more and + more incurably in love with the pretty Ida Kastager. Mrs. Fonss did not + especially like this. Though Tage was very self-reliant and mature for his + age, there was no reason for a hasty engagement—and there was Mr. + Kastager! Ida was a splendid little girl, Mrs. Kastager was a very + well-bred woman of excellent family, and Kastager himself was capable, + rich, and honest, but there was a hint of the absurd about him. A smile + came upon people’s lips and a twinkle into their eyes when any one + mentioned Mr. Kastager. + </p> + <p> + The reason for this was that he was full of fire and given to + extraordinary enthusiasms; he was frankly ingenuous, boisterous, and + communicative, and nowadays it requires a great deal of tact to be lavish + with enthusiasm. But Mrs. Fonss could not bear the thought that Tage’s + father-in-law should be mentioned with a twinkle in the eye and a smile + round the mouth, and for that reason she exhibited a certain coldness + toward the family to the great sorrow of the enamored Tage. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + On the morning of the following day Tage and his mother had gone to look + at the little museum of the town. They found the gate open, but the doors + to the collection locked; ringing the bell proved fruitless. The gateway, + however, gave admission to the not specially large court which was + surrounded by a freshly whitewashed arcade whose short squat columns had + black iron bars between them. + </p> + <p> + They walked about and looked at the objects placed along the wall: Roman + sepulchral monuments, pieces of sarcophagi, a headless draped figure, the + dorsal vertebra of a whale, and a series of architectural details. + </p> + <p> + On all the objects of interest there were fresh traces of the masons’ + brushes. + </p> + <p> + By now they had come back to their starting point. + </p> + <p> + Tage ran up the stairs to see if there might not be people somewhere in + the house, and Mrs. Fonss in the meantime walked up and down the arcade. + </p> + <p> + As she was on the turn toward the gate a tall man with a bearded, tanned + face, appeared at the end of the passage directly in front of her. He had + a guide-book in his hand; he listened for something, and then looked + forward, straight at her. + </p> + <p> + The Englishman of yesterday immediately came to her mind. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me?” he began interrogatively, and bowed. + </p> + <p> + “I am a stranger,” Mrs. Fonss replied, “nobody seems to be at home, but my + son has just run upstairs to see whether....” + </p> + <p> + These words were exchanged in French. + </p> + <p> + At this moment Tage arrived. “I have been everywhere,” he said, “even in + the living quarters, but didn’t find as much as a cat.” + </p> + <p> + “I hear,” said the Englishman, this time in Danish, “that I have the + pleasure of being with fellow-countrymen.” + </p> + <p> + He bowed again and retreated a couple of steps, as if to indicate that he + had merely said this to let them know that he understood what they were + saying. Suddenly he stepped closer than before with an intent, eager + expression on his face, and said to Mrs. Fonss, “is it possible that you + and I are old acquaintances?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you Emil Thorbrogger?” exclaimed Mrs. Fonss, and held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + He seized it. “Yes, I am he,” he said gayly, “and you are she?” + </p> + <p> + His eyes almost filled with tears as he looked at her. + </p> + <p> + Mrs Fonss introduced Tage as her son. + </p> + <p> + Tage had never in his life heard mention of Thorbrogger, but that was not + his thoughts; he thought only of the fact that this gaucho turned out to + be a Dane; when a pause set in, and some one had to say something he could + not help exclaiming, “and I who said yesterday that you reminded me of a + gaucho!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” replied Thorbrogger, “that wasn’t far from the truth; for + twenty-one years I have lived in the plains of La Plata, and in those + years certainly spent more time on horse-back than on foot.” + </p> + <p> + And now he had come back to Europe! + </p> + <p> + Yes, he had sold his land and his sheep and had come back to have a look + around in the old world where he belonged, but to his shame he had to + confess that he often found it very much of a bore to travel about merely + for pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps, he was homesick for the prairies? + </p> + <p> + No, he had never had any special feeling for places and countries; he + thought it was only his daily work which he missed. + </p> + <p> + In that way they went on talking for a while. At last the custodian + appeared, hot and out of breath, with heads of lettuce under his arms and + a bunch of scarlet tomatoes in his hand, and they were admitted into the + small, stuffy collection of paintings, where they gained only the vaguest + impression of the yellow thunder-clouds and black waters of old Vernet, + but on the contrary told each other with considerable detail of their + lives and the happenings during all the years since they had parted. + </p> + <p> + For it was he whom she had loved, at the time when she married another. In + the days which now followed they were much together, and the others + thinking that such old friends must have much to say to each other left + them often alone. In those days both soon noticed that however much they + might have changed during the course of the years, their hearts had + forgotten nothing. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was he who first became aware of this, for all the uncertainty + of youth, its sentimentality and its elegiac mood came upon him + simultaneously, and he suffered under it. It seemed out of place to the + mature man, that he should so suddenly be robbed of his peace of life and + the self-possession which he had acquired during the course of time, and + he wanted his love to bear a different stamp, wished it to be graver, more + subdued. + </p> + <p> + She did not feel herself younger, but it seemed to her as if a fountain of + tears that had been obstructed and dammed had burst open again and begun + to flow. There was great happiness and relief in crying, and these tears + gave her a feeling of richness; it was as if she had become more precious, + and everything had become more precious to her—in short it was a + feeling of youth after all. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + On an evening of one of these days Mrs. Fonss sat alone at home, Elinor + had gone to bed early, and Tage had gone to the theater with the + Kastagers. She had been sitting in the dull hotel-room and had dreamed in + the half light of a couple of candles. At length her dreams had come to a + stop after their incessant coming and going; she had grown tired, but with + that mild and smiling weariness which wraps itself round us, when happy + thoughts are falling asleep in our mind. + </p> + <p> + She could not go on sitting here, staring in front of her, the whole + evening long without so much as a book. It was still over an hour before + the theater let out. So she began to walk up and down the room, stood in + front of the mirror, and arranged her hair. + </p> + <p> + She would go down into the reading-room, and look over the illustrated + papers. At this time of the evening it was always empty there. + </p> + <p> + She threw a large black lace shawl over her head and went down. + </p> + <p> + The room was empty. + </p> + <p> + The small room, overfull with furniture, was brilliantly illuminated by + half a dozen large gas-flames; it was hot and the air was almost painfully + dry. + </p> + <p> + She drew the shawl down around the shoulders. + </p> + <p> + The white papers there on the table, the portfolios with their large gilt + letters, the empty plush chairs, the regular squares of the carpet and the + even folds of the rep curtains—all this looked dull under the strong + light. + </p> + <p> + She was still dreaming, and dreaming she stood, and listened to the + long-drawn singing of the gas-flames. + </p> + <p> + The heat was such as almost to make one dizzy. + </p> + <p> + To support herself she slowly reached out for a large, heavy bronze vase + which stood on a bracket fixed in the wall, and grasped the + flower-decorated edge. + </p> + <p> + It was comfortable to stand thus, and the bronze was gratefully cool to + the touch of her hand. But as she stood thus, there came another feeling + also. She began to feel a contentment in her limbs, in her body, because + of the plastically beautiful position which she had assumed. She was + conscious of how becoming it was to her, of the beauty which was hers at + the moment, and even of the physical sensation of harmony. All this + gathered in a feeling of triumph, and streamed through her like a strange + festive exultation. + </p> + <p> + She felt herself so strong at this hour, and life lay before her like a + great, radiant day; no longer like a day declining toward the calm, + melancholy hours of dusk. It seemed to her like an open, wide-awake space + of time, with hot pulses throbbing every second, with joyous light, with + energy and swiftness and an infinity without and within. And she was + thrilled with the fullness of life, and longed for it with the feverish + eagerness with which a traveler sets out on a journey. + </p> + <p> + For a long time she stood thus, wrapped in her thoughts, forgetting + everything around her. Then suddenly as if she heard the silence in the + room and the long-drawn singing of the gas-flames, she let her hand drop + from the vase and sat down by the table and began to turn over the leaves + of a portfolio. + </p> + <p> + She heard steps, passing by the door, heard them turn back, and saw + Thorbrogger enter. + </p> + <p> + They exchanged a few words but as she seemed occupied with the pictures, + he also began to look at the magazines that lay in front of him. They, + however, did not interest him very much for when a little later she looked + up, she met his eyes which rested searchingly upon her. + </p> + <p> + He looked as if he were just about to speak, and there was a nervous, + decided expression round his mouth, which told her so definitely what his + words would be that she reddened. + </p> + <p> + Instinctively, as if she wished to hold back these words, she held out a + picture across the table and pointed at some horsemen from the pampas, who + were throwing lassoes over wild steers. + </p> + <p> + He was just about to make some jesting remark about the draftsman’s naive + conception of the art of throwing a lasso. It was so enticingly easy to + speak of this rather than of that which he had on his mind. Resolutely, + however, he pushed the picture aside, leaned a little ways across the + table and said, + </p> + <p> + “I have thought a great deal about you since we met again; I have always + thought a great deal about you, both long ago in Denmark and over where I + was. And I have always loved you, and if it sometimes seems to me that it + is only now that I really love you since we have met again, it is not + true, however great my love may be, for I have always loved you, I have + always loved you. And if it should happen now that you would become mine—you + cannot imagine what that would mean to me, if you, who were taken from me + for so many years, were to come back.” + </p> + <p> + He was silent for a moment, then he rose, and came closer to her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do say a word! I am standing here talking blindly. I speak to you as + to an interpreter, a stranger, who has to repeat what I am saying to the + heart I am speaking to.. I don’t know... to stand here and weigh my + words... I don’t know, how far or how near. I dare not put into words the + adoration which fills me—or dare I?” + </p> + <p> + He let himself sink down on a chair by her side. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if I might, if I didn’t have to be afraid—is it true! Oh, God + bless you, Paula.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing now that need keep us apart any longer,” said she, with + her hand in his, “whatever may happen I have the right to be happy once, + to live fully in accordance with my being, my desire, and my dreams. I + have never renounced. Even though happiness was not my share, I have never + believed that life was nothing but grayness and duty. I knew that there + are people who are happy.” + </p> + <p> + Silently he kissed her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” she said sadly, “that those who will judge me least harshly will + not envy me the happiness which I shall have in having your love, but they + will also say that I should be satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “But that would not be enough for me, and you have not the right to send + me away.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “no.” + </p> + <p> + A little later she went upstairs to Elinor. + </p> + <p> + Elinor slept. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fonss sat down by her bed and looked at her pale child whose features + she could only dimly distinguish under the faint yellow glow of the night + lamp. + </p> + <p> + For Elinor’s sake they would have to wait. In a few days they would + separate from Thorbrogger, go to Nice, and stay there by themselves. + During the winter she would live only that Elinor might regain her health. + But to-morrow she would tell the children what had happened and what was + to be expected. However they might receive the news it was impossible for + her to live with them day in, day out, and yet be almost separated from + them by a secret like this. And they would need time to get used to the + idea, because it would mean a separation between them, whether greater or + smaller would depend on the children themselves. The arrangement of their + lives in so far as it concerned her and him was to be left entirely to + them. She would demand nothing. It was for them to <i>give</i>. + </p> + <p> + She heard Tage’s step in the sitting-room and went to him. + </p> + <p> + He was so radiant and at the same time so nervous that Mrs. Fonss knew + something had happened, and she had an intuition of what it was. + </p> + <p> + He sought for an opening to unburden his heart and sat and talked + absent-mindedly of the theater. Not until his mother went over to him and + put her hand on his forehead, forcing him to look at her, was he able to + tell her that he had wooed Ida Kastager and gained her “yes.” + </p> + <p> + They talked about it for a long time, but throughout Mrs. Fonss felt a + coldness in whatever she said, which she could not overcome. She was + afraid of being too sympathetic with Tage on account of her own emotion. + Besides, in the uncertain state of her mind she was distrustful of the + idea that there might be even the faintest shadow of an association + between her kindness of to-night and what she was to tell to-morrow.. + </p> + <p> + Tage, however, did not notice any coolness. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fonss did not sleep much that night; there were too many thoughts to + keep her awake. She thought how strange it was that he and she should have + met and that when they met they should love each other as in the old days. + </p> + <p> + It was long ago, especially for her; she was no longer, could no longer, + be young. And this would show; and he would be thoughtful with her, and + grow used to the fact that it was a long time since she was eighteen years + old. But she felt young, she was so in many respects, and yet all the + while she was conscious of her years. She saw it very clearly, in a + thousand movements, in expressions and gestures, in the way in which she + would respond to a hint, in the fashion in which she would smile at an + answer. Ten times a day she would betray her age, because she lacked the + courage to be outwardly as young as she was within. + </p> + <p> + And thoughts came and thoughts went, but through it all the same question + always rose, as to what her children would say. + </p> + <p> + On the forenoon of the following day she put the answer to the test. + </p> + <p> + They were in the sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + She said that she had something important to tell them, something that + would mean a great change in their lives, something that would be + unexpected news to them. She asked them to listen as calmly as they could, + and not to let themselves be carried away by the first impression into + thoughtlessness. They must know that what she was about to tell them was + definitely decided, and that nothing they might say could make her alter + her decision. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to marry again,” she said, and told them of how she had loved + Thorbrogger, before she had known their father; how she had become + separated from him, and how they had now met again. + </p> + <p> + Elinor cried, but Tage had risen from his seat, utterly bewildered. He + then went close to her, kneeled down before her, and seized her hand. + Sobbing, half-stifled with emotion, he pressed it against his cheek with + infinite tenderness, with an expression of helplessness in every line of + his face. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but mother, dearest mother, what have we done to you, have we not + always loved you, have we not always, both when we were with you and when + we were away from from you, wanted you as the best thing we possessed in + the world? We have never known father except through you; it was you who + taught us to love him, and if Elinor and I are so close to each other, is + it not because day after day you always pointed out to each of us what was + best in the other? And has it not been thus with every other person to + whom we became attached, do we not owe everything to you? We owe + everything to you, and we worship you, mother, if you only knew.... Oh, + you cannot imagine, how much we want your love, want you beyond all bounds + and limits, but there again you have taught us to restrain our love, and + we never dare to come as close to your heart as we should like. And now + you say that you are going to leave us entirely, and put us to one side. + But that is impossible. Only one who wanted to do us the greatest harm in + the world could do anything as frightful as that, and you don’t want to do + us the greatest harm, you want only what is best for us—how can it + then be possible? Say quickly that it is not true; say it is not true, + Tage, it is not true, Elinor.” + </p> + <p> + “Tage, Tage, don’t be so distressed, and don’t make it so hard, both for + yourself and us others.” + </p> + <p> + Tage rose. + </p> + <p> + “Hard,” he said, “hard, hard, oh were it nothing but that, but it is + horrible—unnatural; it is enough to drive one insane, merely to + think of it. Have you any idea of the things you make me think of? My + mother loved by a strange man, my mother desired, held in the arms of + another and holding him in hers. Nice thoughts for a son, worse than the + worst insult—but it is impossible, must be impossible, must be! Are + the prayers of a son to be as powerless as that! Elinor, don’t sit there + and cry, come and help me beg mother to have pity on us.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fonss made a restraining gesture with her hand and said: “Let Elinor + alone, she is probably tired enough, and besides I have told you that + nothing can be changed.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I were dead,” said Elinor, “but, mother, everything that Tage has + said is true, and it never can be right that at our age you should give us + a step-father.” + </p> + <p> + “Step-father,” cried Tage, “I hope that he does not for one moment + dare.... You are mad. Where he enters, we go out. There isn’t any power on + earth that can force me into the slightest intimacy with that person. + Mother must choose—he or we! If they go to Denmark after their + marriage, then we are exiles; if they stay here, we leave.” + </p> + <p> + “And those are your intentions, Tage?” asked Mrs. Fonss. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think you need doubt that; imagine the life. Ida and I are + sitting out there on the terrace on a moonlit evening, and behind the + laurel-bushes some one is whispering. Ida asks who is whispering, and I + reply that it is my mother and her new husband.—No, no, I shouldn’t + have said that; but you see the effect of it already, the pain it causes + me, and you may be sure that it won’t help Elinor’s health either.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fonss let the children go while she remained sitting here. + </p> + <p> + No, Tage was right, it had not been good for them. How far from her they + had already gone in that short hour! How they looked at her, not like her + children, but like their father’s! How quick they were to desert her as + soon as they saw that not every motion of her heart was theirs! But she + was not only Tage’s and Elinor’s mother alone; she was also a human being + on her own account, with a life of her own and hopes of her own, quite + apart from them. But she was, perhaps, not quite as young as she had + believed herself to be. This had come to her in the conversation with her + children. Had she not sat there, timid, in spite of her words; had she not + almost felt like one who was trespassing upon the rights of youth? Were + not all the exorbitant demands of youth and all its naive tyranny in + everything they had said?—It is for us to love, life belongs to us, + and your life it is but to exist for us. + </p> + <p> + She began to understand that there might be a satisfaction in being quite + old; not that she wished it, but yet old age smiled faintly at her like a + far-distant peace, coming after all the agitation of recent times, and now + when the prospect of so much discord was so near. For she did not believe + that her children would ever change their mind, and yet she had to discuss + it with them over and over again before she gave up hope. The best thing + would be for Thorbrogger to leave immediately. With his presence no longer + here the children might be less irritable, and she could try to show them + how eager she was to be as considerate as possible to them. In time the + first bitterness would disappear, and everything... no, she did not + believe, that everything would turn out well. + </p> + <p> + They agreed that Thorbrogger should leave for Denmark to arrange their + affairs. For the time being they would remain here. It seemed, however, + that nothing was gained by this. The children avoided her. Tage spent all + his time with Ida or her father, and Elinor stayed all the time with the + invalid, Mrs. Kastager. And when they happened to be actually together, + the old intimacy, the old feeling of comfort, was gone. Where were the + thousand subjects for conversation, and, when finally they found one, + where was the interest in it? They sat there keeping up a conversation + like people who for a while have enjoyed each other’s company, and now + must part. All the thoughts of those who are about to leave are fixed on + the journey’s end, and those who remain think only of settling hack into + the daily life and daily routine, as soon as the strangers have left. + </p> + <p> + There was no longer any common interest in their life; all the feeling of + belonging together had disappeared. They were able to talk about what they + were going to do next week, next month, or even the month following, but + it did not interest them as though it had to do with days out of their own + lives. It was merely a time of waiting, which somehow or other had to be + endured, for all three mentally asked themselves: And what then? They felt + no solid foundation in their lives; there was no ground to build upon + before this, which had separated them, was settled. + </p> + <p> + Every day that passed the children forgot more and more what their mother + had meant to them, in the fashion in which children who believe themselves + wronged will forget a thousand benefactions for the sake of one injustice. + </p> + <p> + Tage was the most sensitive of them, but also the one who was hurt most + deeply, because he had loved most. He had wept through long nights because + of his mother whom he could not retain in the way in which he wanted. + There were times when the memory of her love almost deafened all other + feelings in his heart. One day he even went to her and beseeched and + implored her that she might belong to them, to them alone, and not to any + other one, and the answer had been a “no.” And this “no” had made him hard + and cold. At first he had been afraid of this coldness, because it was + accompanied by a frightful emptiness. + </p> + <p> + The case with Elinor was different. In a strange way she had felt that it + was an injustice toward her father, and she began to worship him like a + fetish. Even though she but dimly remembered him, she recreated him for + herself in most vivid fashion by becoming absorbed in everything she had + ever heard about him. She asked Kastager about him and Tage, and every + morning and night she kissed a medallion-portrait of his which belonged to + her. She longed with a somewhat hysterical desire for some letters from + him which she had left at home, and for things which had once belonged to + him. + </p> + <p> + In proportion as the father in this way rose in her estimation, the mother + sank. The fact that she had fallen in love with a man harmed her less in + her daughter’s eyes; but she was no lenger the mother, the unfailing, the + wisest, the supreme, most beautiful. She was a woman like other women; not + quite, but just because not quite, it was possible to criticize and judge + her and to find weaknesses and faults in her. Elinor was glad that she had + not confided her unhappy love to her mother; but she did not know how much + it was due to her mother that she had not done so. + </p> + <p> + One day passed like another, and their life became more and more + unendurable. All three felt that it was useless; instead of bringing them + together, it only drove them further apart. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Kastager had now recovered. Though she had not played an active part + in anything that had happened, she knew more about the situation than any + one else, because everything had been told her. One day she had a long + talk with Mrs. Fonss who was glad that there was some one who would + quietly listen to her plans for the future. In this conversation Mrs. + Kastager suggested that the children go with her to Nice, while they sent + for Thorbrogger to come to Avignon, so that they might be married. + Kastager could stay on as witness. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fonss wavered a little while longer, for she had been unable to + discover what her children’s reaction would be. When they were told, they + accepted it with proud silence, and when they were pressed for answer, + they merely said that they would, of course, adjust themselves to whatever + she decided to do. + </p> + <p> + So things turned out as Mrs. Kastager had proposed. She said good-by to + the children, and they left; Thorbrogger came, and they were married. + </p> + <p> + Spain became their home; Thorbrogger chose it for the sake of + sheep-farming. + </p> + <p> + Neither of them wished to return to Denmark. + </p> + <p> + And they lived happily in Spain. + </p> + <p> + She wrote several times to her children, but in their first violent anger + that she had left them, they returned the letters. Later they regretted + it; they were unable, however, to admit this to their mother and to write + to her; for that reason all communication between them ceased. But now and + then in round about ways they heard about each other’s lives. + </p> + <p> + For five years Thorbrogger and his wife lived happily, but then she + suddenly fell ill. It was a disease whose course ran swiftly and whose end + was necessarily fatal. Her strength dwindled hourly, and one day when the + grave was no longer far away she wrote to her children. + </p> + <p> + “Dear children,” she wrote, “I know that you will read this letter, for it + will not reach you until after my death. Do not be afraid, there are no + reproaches in these lines; would that I might make them bear enough love. + </p> + <p> + “When people love, Tage and Elinor, little Elinor, the one who loves most + must always humble himself, and therefore I come to you once more, as in + my thoughts I shall come to you every hour as long as I am able. One who + is about to die, dear children, is very poor; I am very poor, for all this + beautiful world, which for so many years has been my abundant and kindly + home, is to be taken from me. My chair will stand here empty, the door + will close behind me, and never again will I set my foot here. Therefore I + look at everything with the prayer in my eye that it shall hold me in kind + memory. Therefore I come to you and beg that you will love me with all the + love which once you had for me; for remember that not to be forgotten is + the only part in the living world which from now on is to be mine; just to + be remembered, nothing more. + </p> + <p> + “I have never doubted your love; I knew very well that it was your great + love, that caused your great anger; had you loved me less, you would have + let me go more easily. And therefore I want to say to you, that should + some day it happen that a man bowed down with sorrow come to your door to + speak with you concerning me, to talk about me to relieve his sorrow, then + remember that no one has loved me as he has, and that all the happiness + which can radiate from a human heart has come from him to me. And soon in + the last great hour he will hold my hand in his when the darkness comes, + and his words will be the last I shall hear.... + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, I say it here, but it is not the farewell which will be the + last to you; it I will say as late as I dare, and all my love will be in + it, and all the longings for so many, many years, and the memories of the + time when you were small, and a thousand wishes and a thousand thanks. + Farewell Tage, farewell Elinor, farewell until the last farewell. + </p> + <p> + “YOUR MOTHER.” <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Mogens and Other Stories, by Jens Peter Jacobsen + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOGENS AND OTHER STORIES *** + +***** This file should be named 6765-h.htm or 6765-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/7/6/6765/ + +Produced by Eric Eldred, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mogens and Other Stories + Mogens; The Plague At Bergamo; There Should Have Been Roses; Mrs. Fonss + +Author: Jens Peter Jacobsen + +Translator: Anna Grabow, 1921 + +Release Date: October, 2004 [EBook #6765] +Posting Date: April 21, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOGENS AND OTHER STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by Eric Eldred + + + + + +MOGENS AND OTHER STORIES + +(1882) + + +By Jens Peter Jacobsen + +(1847-1885) + + +Translated from the Danish By Anna Grabow + +(1921) + + +CONTENTS + + + INTRODUCTION + + MOGENS + + THE PLAGUE AT BERGAMO + + THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN ROSES + + MRS. FONSS + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +In the decade from 1870 to 1880 a new spirit was stirring in the +intellectual and literary world of Denmark. George Brandes was +delivering his lectures on the _Main Currents of Nineteenth Century +Literature_; from Norway came the deeply probing questionings of the +granitic Ibsen; from across the North Sea from England echoes of the +evolutionary theory and Darwinism. It was a time of controversy and +bitterness, of a conflict joined between the old and the new, both going +to extremes, in which nearly every one had a share. How many of the +works of that period are already out-worn, and how old-fashioned the +theories that were then so violently defended and attacked! Too much +logic, too much contention for its own sake, one might say, and too +little art. + +This was the period when Jens Peter Jacobsen began to write, but he +stood aside from the conflict, content to be merely artist, a creator +of beauty and a seeker after truth, eager to bring into the realm of +literature "the eternal laws of nature, its glories, its riddles, its +miracles," as he once put it. That is why his work has retained its +living colors until to-day, without the least trace of fading. + +There is in his work something of the passion for form and style +that one finds in Flaubert and Pater, but where they are often hard, +percussive, like a piano, he is soft and strong and intimate like a +violin on which he plays his reading of life. Such analogies, however, +have little significance, except that they indicate a unique and +powerful artistic personality. + +Jacobsen is more than a mere stylist. The art of writers who are too +consciously that is a sort of decorative representation of life, a +formal composition, not a plastic composition. One element particularly +characteristic of Jacobsen is his accuracy of observation and minuteness +of detail welded with a deep and intimate understanding of the human +heart. His characters are not studied tissue by tissue as under a +scientist's microscope, rather they are built up living cell by living +cell out of the author's experience and imagination. He shows how they +are conditioned and modified by their physical being, their inheritance +and environment, Through each of his senses he lets impressions from +without pour into him. He harmonizes them with a passionate desire for +beauty into marvelously plastic figures and moods. A style which grows +thus organically from within is style out of richness; the other is +style out of poverty. + +In a letter he once stated his belief that every book to be of real +value must embody the struggle of one or more persons against all those +things which try to keep one from existing in one's own way. That is the +fundamental ethos which runs through all of Jacobsen's work. It is in +Marie Grubbe, Niels Lyhne, Mogens, and the infinitely tender Mrs. Fonss. + +They are types of the kind he has described in the following passage: +"Know ye not that there is here in this world a secret confraternity, +which one might call the Company of Melancholiacs? That people there +are who by natural constitution have been given a different nature and +disposition than the others; that have a larger heart and a swifter +blood, that wish and demand more, have stronger desires and a yearning +which is wilder and more ardent than that of the common herd. They are +fleet as children over whose birth good fairies have presided; their +eyes are opened wider; their senses are more subtile in all their +perceptions. The gladness and joy of life, they drink with the roots of +their heart, the while the others merely grasp them with coarse hands." + +He himself was one of these, and in this passage his own art and +personality is described better than could be done in thousands of words +of commentary. + +Jens Peter Jacobsen was born in the little town of Thisted in Jutland, +on April 7, 1847. In 1868 he matriculated at the University of +Copenhagen, where he displayed a remarkable talent for science, winning +the gold medal of the university with a dissertation on Seaweeds. +He definitely chose science as a career, and was among the first in +Scandinavia to recognize the importance of Darwin. He translated +the Origin of Species and Descent of Man into Danish. In 1872 while +collecting plants he contracted tuberculosis, and as a consequence, +was compelled to give up his scientific career. This was not as great +a sacrifice, as it may seem, for he had long been undecided whether to +choose science or literature as his life work. + +The remainder of his short life--he died April 30, 1885--was one of +passionate devotion to literature and a constant struggle with ill +health. The greater part of this period was spent in his native town of +Thisted, but an advance royalty from his publisher enabled him to visit +the South of Europe. His journey was interrupted at Florence by a severe +hemorrhage. + +He lived simply, unobtrusively, bravely. His method of work was slow +and laborious. He shunned the literary circles of the capital with their +countless intrusions and interruptions, because he knew that the time +allotted him to do his work was short. "When life has sentenced you to +suffer," he has written in Niels Lyhne, "the sentence is neither a fancy +nor a threat, but you are dragged to the rack, and you are tortured, and +there is no marvelous rescue at the last moment," and in this book there +is also a corollary, "It is on the healthy in you you must live, it +is the healthy that becomes great." The realization of the former has +given, perhaps, a subdued tone to his canvasses; the recognition of the +other has kept out of them weakness or self-pity. + +Under the encouragement of George Brandes his novel Marie Grubbe was +begun in 1873, and published in 1876. His other novel Niels Lyhne +appeared in 1880. Excluding his early scientific works, these two books +together with a collection of short stories, Mogens and Other Tales, +published in 1882, and a posthumous volume of poems, constitute +Jacobsen's literary testament. The present volume contains Mogens, the +story with which he made his literary debut, and other characteristic +stories. + +The physical measure of Jacobsen's accomplishment was not great, but +it was an important milestone in northern literature. It is hardly +an exaggeration to say that in so far as Scandinavia is concerned he +created a new method of literary approach and a new artistic prose. +There is scarcely a writer in these countries, since 1880, with any +pretension toward literary expression who has not directly or indirectly +come under Jacobsen's influence. + +O. F. THEIS. + + + + +MOGENS + + +SUMMER it was; in the middle of the day; in a corner of the enclosure. +Immediately in front of it stood an old oaktree, of whose trunk one +might say, that it agonized in despair because of the lack of harmony +between its fresh yellowish foliage and its black and gnarled branches; +they resembled most of all grossly misdrawn old gothic arabesques. +Behind the oak was a luxuriant thicket of hazel with dark sheenless +leaves, which were so dense, that neither trunk nor branches could be +seen. Above the hazel rose two straight, joyous maple-trees with gayly +indented leaves, red stems and long dangling clusters of green fruit. +Behind the maples came the forest--a green evenly rounded slope, where +birds went out and in as elves in a grasshill. + +All this you could see if you came wandering along the path through the +fields beyond the fence. If, however, you were lying in the shadow of +the oak with your back against the trunk and looking the other way--and +there was a some one, who did that--then you would see first your own +legs, then a little spot of short, vigorous grass, next a large +cluster of dark nettles, then the hedge of thorn with the big, white +convolvulus, the stile, a little of the ryefield outside, finally the +councilor's flagpole on the hill, and then the sky. + +It was stifling hot, the air was quivering with heat, and then it was +very quiet; the leaves were hanging from the trees as if asleep. Nothing +moved except the lady-birds and the nettles and a few withered leaves +that lay on the grass and rolled themselves up with sudden little jerks +as if they were shrinking from the sunbeams. + +And then the man underneath the oak; he lay there gasping for air and +with a melancholy look stared helplessly towards the sky. He tried to +hum a tune, but gave it up; whistled, then gave that up too; turned +round, turned round again and let his eyes rest upon an old mole-hill, +that had become quite gray in the drought. Suddenly a small dark spot +appeared upon the light-gray mold, another, three, four, many, still +more, the entire mole-hill suddenly was quite dark-gray. The air was +filled with nothing but long, dark streaks, the leaves nodded and swayed +and there rose a murmur which turned into a hissing--rain was pouring +down. Everything gleamed, sparkled, spluttered. Leaves, branches, +trunks, everything shone with moisture; every little drop that fell on +earth, on grass, on the fence, on whatever it was, broke and scattered +in a thousand delicate pearls. Little drops hung for a while and became +big drops, trickled down elsewhere, joined with other drops, formed +small rivulets, disappeared into tiny furrows, ran into big holes and +out of small ones, sailed away laden with dust, chips of wood and ragged +bits of foliage, caused them to run aground, set them afloat, whirled +them round and again caused them to ground. Leaves, which had been +separated since they were in the bud, were reunited by the flood; moss, +that had almost vanished in the dryness, expanded and became soft, +crinkly, green and juicy; and gray lichens which nearly had turned to +snuff, spread their delicate ends, puffed up like brocade and with a +sheen like that of silk. The convolvuluses let their white crowns be +filled to the brim, drank healths to each other, and emptied the water +over the heads of the nettles. The fat black wood-snails crawled forward +on their stomachs with a will, and looked approvingly towards the +sky. And the man? The man was standing bareheaded in the midst of the +downpour, letting the drops revel in his hair and brows, eyes, nose, +mouth; he snapped his fingers at the rain, lifted a foot now and again +as if he were about to dance, shook his head sometimes, when there was +too much water in the hair, and sang at the top of his voice without +knowing what he was singing, so pre-occupied was he with the rain: + + Had I, oh had I a grandson, trala, + And a chest with heaps and heaps of gold, + Then very likely had I had a daughter, trala, + And house and home and meadows untold. + + Had I, oh had I a daughter dear, trala, + And house and home and meadows untold, + Then very like had I had a sweetheart, trala. + And a chest with heaps and heaps of gold. + +There he stood and sang in the rain, but yonder between the dark +hazelbushes the head of a little girl was peeping out. A long end of +her shawl of red silk had become entangled in a branch which projected +a little beyond the others, and from time to time a small hand went +forward and tugged at the end, but this had no other result, further +than to produce a little shower of rain from the branch and its +neighbors. The rest of the shawl lay close round the little girl's head +and hid half of the brow; it shaded the eyes, then turned abruptly and +became lost among the leaves, but reappeared in a big rosette of folds +underneath the girl's chin. The face of the little girl looked very +astonished, she was just about to laugh; the smile already hovered +in the eyes. Suddenly he, who stood there singing in the midst of the +downpour, took a few steps to the side, saw the red shawl, the face, the +big brown eyes, the astonished little open mouth; instantly his position +became awkward, in surprise he looked down himself; but in the same +moment a small cry was heard, the projecting branch swayed violently, +the red end of the shawl disappeared in a flash, the girl's face +disappeared, and there was a rustling and rustling further and further +away behind the hazelbushes. Then he ran. He did not know why, he did +not think at all. The gay mood, which the rainstorm had called forth, +welled up in him again, and he ran after the face of the little girl. +It did not enter his head that it was a person he pursued. To him it +was only the face of a little girl. He ran, it rustled to the right, it +rustled to the left, it rustled in front, it rustled behind, he rustled, +she rustled, and all these sounds and the running itself excited him, +and he cried: "Where are you? Say cuckoo!" Nobody answered. When he +heard his own voice, he felt just a little uneasy, but he continued +running; then a thought came to him, only a single one, and he murmured +as he kept on running: "What am I going to say to her? What am I +going to say to her?" He was approaching a big bush, there she had hid +herself, he could just see a corner of her skirt. "What am I going to +say to her? What am I going to say to her?" he kept on murmuring while +he ran. He was quite near the bush, then turned abruptly, ran on still +murmuring the same, came out upon the open road, ran a distance, stopped +abruptly and burst out laughing, walked smiling quietly a few paces, +then burst out laughing loudly again, and did not cease laughing all the +way along the hedge. + +It was on a beautiful autumn day; the fall of the foliage was going +on apace and the path which led to the lake was quite covered with the +citron-yellow leaves from the elms and maples; here and there were spots +of a darker foliage. It was very pleasant, very clean to walk on this +tigerskin-carpet, and to watch the leaves fall down like snow; the birch +looked even lighter and more graceful with its branches almost bare and +the roan-tree was wonderful with its heavy scarlet cluster of berries. +And the sky was so blue, so blue, and the wood seemed so much bigger, +one could look so far between the trunks. And then of course one could +not help thinking that soon all this would be of the past. Wood, field, +sky, open air, and everything soon would have to give way to the time of +the lamps, the carpets, and the hyacinths. For this reason the councilor +from Cape Trafalgar and his daughter were walking down to the lake, +while their carriage stopped at the bailiff's. + +The councilor was a friend of nature, nature was something quite +special, nature was one of the finest ornaments of existence. The +councilor patronized nature, he defended it against the artificial; +gardens were nothing but nature spoiled; but gardens laid out in +elaborate style were nature turned crazy. There was no style in nature, +providence had wisely made nature natural, nothing but natural. Nature +was that which was unrestrained, that which was unspoiled. But with the +fall of man civilization had come upon mankind; now civilization had +become a necessity; but it would have been better, if it had not +been thus. The state of nature was something quite different, quite +different. The councilor himself would have had no objection to +maintaining himself by going about in a coat of lamb-skin and shooting +hares and snipes and golden plovers and grouse and haunches of venison +and wild boars. No, the state of nature really was like a gem, a perfect +gem. + +The councilor and his daughter walked down to the lake. For some time +already it had glimmered between the trees, but now when they turned the +corner where the big poplar stood, it lay quite open before them. There +it lay with large spaces of water clear as a mirror, with jagged tongues +of gray-blue rippled water, with streaks that were smooth and streaks +that were rippled, and the sunlight rested on the smooth places and +quivered in the ripples. It captured one's eye and drew it across its +surface, carried it along the shores, past slowly rounded curves, past +abruptly broken lines, and made it swing around the green tongues of +land; then it let go of one's glance and disappeared in large bays, but +it carried along the thought--Oh, to sail! Would it be possible to hire +boats here? + +No, there were none, said a little fellow, who lived in the white +country-house near by, and stood at the shore skipping stones over the +surface of the water. Were there really no boats at all? + +Yes, of course, there were some; there was the miller's, but it could +not be had; the miller would not permit it. Niels, the miller's son, had +nearly gotten a spanking when he had let it out the other day. It was +useless to think about it; but then there was the gentleman, who lived +with Nicolai, the forest-warden. He had a fine boat, one which was black +at the top and red at the bottom, and he lent it to each and every one. + +The councilor and his daughter went up to Nicolai's, the forest-warden. +At a short distance from the house they met a little girl. She was +Nicolai's, and they told her to run in and ask if they might see the +gentleman. She ran as if her life depended on it, ran with both arms and +legs, until she reached the door; there she placed one leg on the high +doorstep, fastened her garter, and then rushed into the house. She +reappeared immediately afterwards with two doors ajar behind her and +called long before she reached the threshold, that the gentleman would +be there in a moment; then she sat down on the doorstep, leaned against +the wall, and peered at the strangers from underneath one of her arms. + +The gentleman came, and proved to be a tall strongly-built man of some +twenty years. The councilor's daughter was a little startled, when she +recognized in him the man, who had sung during the rainstorm. But he +looked so strange and absentminded; quite obviously he had just been +reading a book, one could tell that from the expression in his eyes, +from his hair, from the abstracted way in which he managed his hands. + +The councilor's daughter dropped him an exuberant courtesy and said +"Cuckoo," and laughed. + +"Cuckoo?" asked the councilor. Why, it was the little girl's face! The +man went quite crimson, and tried to say something when the councilor +came with a question about the boat. Yes, it was at his service. But who +was going to do the rowing? Why, he of course, said the girl, and paid +no attention to what her father said about it; it was immaterial whether +it was a bother to the gentleman, for sometimes he himself did not mind +at all troubling other people. Then they went down to the boat, and on +the way explained things to the councilor. They stepped into the boat, +and were already a good ways out, before the girl had settled herself +comfortably and found time to talk. + +"I suppose it was something very learned you were reading," she said, +"when I came and called cuckoo and fetched you out sailing?" + +"Rowing, you mean. Something learned! It was the 'History of Sir Peter +with the Silver Key and the Beautiful Magelone.'" + +"Who is that by?" + +"By no one in particular. Books of that sort never are. 'Vigoleis +with the Golden Wheel' isn't by anybody either, neither is 'Bryde, the +Hunter.'" + +"I have never heard of those titles before." + +"Please move a little to the side, otherwise we will list.--Oh no, that +is quite likely, they aren't fine books at all; they are the sort you +buy from old women at fairs." + +"That seems strange. Do you always read books of that kind?" + +"Always? I don't read many books in the course of a year, and the kind I +really like the best are those that have Indians in them." + +"But poetry? Oehlenschlager, Schiller, and the others?" + +"Oh, of course I know them; we had a whole bookcase full of them at +home, and Miss Holm--my mother's companion--read them aloud after lunch +and in the evenings; but I can't say that I cared for them; I don't like +verse." + +"Don't like verse? You said had, isn't your mother living any more?" + +"No, neither is my father." + +He said this with a rather sullen, hostile tone, and the conversation +halted for a time and made it possible to hear clearly the many little +sounds created by the movement of the boat through the water. The girl +broke the silence: + +"Do you like paintings?" + +"Altar-pieces? Oh, I don't know." + +"Yes, or other pictures, landscapes for instance?" + +"Do people paint those too? Of course they do, I know that very well." + +"You are laughing at me?" + +"I? Oh yes, one of us is doing that" + +"But aren't you a student?" + +"Student? Why should I be? No, I am nothing." + +"But you must be something. You must do something?" + +"But why?" + +"Why, because--everybody does something!" + +"Are you doing something?" + +"Oh well, but you are not a lady." + +"No, heaven be praised." + +"Thank you." + +He stopped rowing, drew the oars out of the water, looked her into the +face and asked: + +"What do you mean by that?--No, don't be angry with me; I will tell you +something, I am a queer sort of person. You cannot understand it. You +think because I wear good clothes, I must be a fine man. My father was a +fine man; I have been told that he knew no end of things, and I daresay +he did, since he was a district-judge. I know nothing because mother and +I were all to each other, and I did not care to learn the things they +teach in the schools, and don't care about them now either. Oh, you +ought to have seen my mother; she was such a tiny wee lady. When I was +no older than thirteen I could carry her down into the garden. She was +so light; in recent years I would often carry her on my arm through the +whole garden and park. I can still see her in her black gowns with the +many wide laces...." + +He seized the oars and rowed violently. The councilor became a little +uneasy, when the water reached so high at the stern, and suggested, that +they had better see about getting home again; so back they went. + +"Tell me," said the girl, when the violence of his rowing had decreased +a little. "Do you often go to town?" + +"I have never been there." + +"Never been there? And you only live twelve miles away?" + +"I don't always live here, I live at all sorts of places since my +mother's death, but the coming winter I shall go to town to study +arithmetic." + +"Mathematics?" + +"No, timber," he said laughingly, "but that is something you don't +understand. I'll tell you, when I am of age I shall buy a sloop and sail +to Norway, and then I shall have to know how to figure on account of the +customs and clearance." + +"Would you really like that?" + +"Oh, it, is magnificent on the sea, there is such a feeling of being +alive in sailing--here we are at the landing-stage!" + +He came alongside; the councilor and his daughter stepped ashore after +having made him promise to come and see them at Cape Trafalgar. Then +they returned to the bailiff's, while he again rowed out on the lake. At +the poplar they could still hear the sounds of the oars. + +"Listen, Camilla," said the councilor, who had been out to lock the +outer door, "tell me," he said, extinguishing his hand-lamp with the +bit of his key, "was the rose they had at the Carlsens a Pompadour or +Maintenon?" + +"Cendrillon," the daughter answered. + +"That's right, so it was,--well, I suppose we had better see that we get +to bed now; good night, little girl, good night, and sleep well." + +When Camilla had entered her room, she pulled up the blind, leaned +her brow against the cool pane, and hummed Elizabeth's song from "The +Fairy-hill." At sunset a light breeze had begun to blow and a few tiny, +white clouds, illumined by the moon, were driven towards Camilla. For +a long while she stood regarding them; her eye followed them from a +far distance, and she sang louder and louder as they drew nearer, kept +silent a few seconds while they disappeared above her, then sought +others, and followed them too. With a little sigh she pulled down the +blind. She went to the dressing table, rested her elbows against her +clasped hands and regarded her own picture in the mirror without really +seeing it. + +She was thinking of a tall young man, who carried a very delicate, +tiny, blackdressed lady in his arms; she was thinking of a tall man, +who steered his small ship in between cliffs and rocks in a devastating +gale. She heard a whole conversation over again. She blushed: Eugene +Carlson might have thought that you were paying court to him! With a +little jealous association of ideas she continued: No one would ever run +after Clara in a wood in the rainstorm, she would never have invited +a stranger--literally asked him--to sail with her. "Lady to her +fingertips," Carlson had said of Clara; that really was a reprimand +for you, you peasant-girl Camilla! Then she undressed with affected +slowness, went to bed, took a small elegantly bound book from the +bookshelf near by and opened the first page. She read through a short +hand-written poem with a tired, bitter expression on her face, then let +the book drop to the floor and burst into tears; afterwards she tenderly +picked it up again, put it back in its place and blew out the candle; +lay there for a little while gazing disconsolately at the moonlit blind, +and finally went to sleep. + +A few days later the "rainman" started on his way to Cape Trafalgar. He +met a peasant driving a load of rye straw, and received permission to +ride with him. Then he lay down on his back in the straw and gazed at +the cloudless sky. The first couple of miles he let his thoughts come +and go as they listed, besides there wasn't much variety in them. Most +of them would come and ask him how a human being possibly could be so +wonderfully beautiful, and they marveled that it really could be an +entertaining occupation for several days to recall the features of a +face, its changes of expression and coloring, the small movements of a +head and a pair of hands, and the varying inflections in a voice. But +then the peasant pointed with his whip towards the slate-roof about a +mile away and said that the councilor lived over there, and the good +Mogens rose from the straw and stared anxiously towards the roof. He had +a strange feeling of oppression and tried to make himself believe that +nobody was at home, but tenaciously came back to the conception that +there was a large party, and he could not free himself from that idea, +even though he counted how many cows "Country-joy" had on the meadow +and how many heaps of gravel he could see along the road. At last the +peasant stopped near a small path leading down to the country-house, and +Mogens slid down from the cart and began to brush away the bits of straw +while the cart slowly creaked away over the gravel on the road. + +He approached the garden-gate step by step, saw a red shawl disappear +behind the balcony windows, a small deserted white sewing-basket on the +edge of the balcony, and the back of a still moving empty rocking-chair. +He entered the garden, with his eyes fixed intently on the balcony, +heard the councilor say good-day, turned his head toward the sound, and +saw him standing there nodding, his arms full of empty flowerpots. They +spoke of this and that, and the councilor began to explain, as one might +put it, that the old specific distinction between the various kinds of +trees had been abolished by grafting, and that for his part he did not +like this at all. Then Camilla slowly approached wearing a brilliant +glaring blue shawl. Her arms were entirely wrapped up in the shawl, +and she greeted him with a slight inclination of the head and a faint +welcome. The councilor left with his flower-pots, Camilla stood looking +over her shoulders towards the balcony; Mogens looked at her. How had +he been since the other day? Thank you, nothing especial had been the +matter with him. Done much rowing? Why, yes, as usual, perhaps not quite +as much. She turned her head towards him, looked coldly at him, inclined +her head to one side and asked with half-closed eyes and a faint smile +whether it was the beautiful Magelone who had engrossed his time. He did +not know what she meant, but he imagined it was. Then they stood for a +while and said nothing. Camilla took a few steps towards a corner, where +a bench and a garden-chair stood. She sat down on the bench and asked +him, after she was seated, looking at the chair, to be seated; he must +be very tired after his long walk. He sat down in the chair. + +Did he believe anything would come of the projected royal alliance? +Perhaps, he was completely indifferent? Of course, he had no interest +in the royal house. Naturally he hated aristocracy? There were very few +young men who did not believe that democracy was, heaven only knew what. +Probably he was one of those who attributed not the slightest political +importance to the family alliances of the royal house? Perhaps he was +mistaken. It had been seen.... She stopped suddenly, surprised +that Mogens who had at first been somewhat taken aback at all this +information, now looked quite pleased. He wasn't to sit there, and laugh +at her! She turned quite red. + +"Are you very much interested in politics?" she asked timidly. + +"Not in the least." + +"But why do you let me sit here talking politics eternally?" + +"Oh, you say everything so charmingly, that it does not matter what you +are talking about." + +"That really is no compliment." + +"It certainly is," he assured her eagerly, for it seemed to him she +looked quite hurt. + +Camilla burst out laughing, jumped up, and ran to meet her father, took +his arm, and walked back with him to the puzzled Mogens. + +When dinner was through and they had drunk their coffee up on the +balcony, the councilor suggested a walk. So the three of them went along +the small way across the main road, and along a narrow path with stubble +of rye on both sides, across the stile, and into the woods. There was +the oak and everything else; there even were still convolvuluses on the +hedge. Camilla asked Mogens to fetch some for her. He tore them all off, +and came back with both hands full. + +"Thank you, I don't want so many," she said, selected a few and let the +rest fall to the ground. "Then I wish I had let them be," Mogens said +earnestly. + +Camilla bent down and began to gather them up. She had expected him to +help her and looked up at him in surprise, but he stood there quite +calm and looked down at her. Now as she had begun, she had to go on, and +gathered up they were; but she certainly did not talk to Mogens for a +long while. She did not even look to the side where he was. But somehow +or other they must have become reconciled, for when on their way back +they reached the oak again, Camilla went underneath it and looked up +into its crown. She tripped from one side to the other, gesticulated +with her hands and sang, and Mogens had to stand near the hazelbushes to +see what sort of a figure he had cut. Suddenly Camilla ran towards him, +but Mogens lost his cue, and forgot both to shriek and to run away, and +then Camilla laughingly declared that she was very dissatisfied with +herself and that she would not have had the boldness to remain +standing there, when such a horrible creature--and she pointed towards +herself--came rushing towards her. But Mogens declared that he was very +well satisfied with himself. + +When towards sunset he was going home the councilor and Camilla +accompanied him a little way. And as they were going home she said to +her father that perhaps they ought to invite that lonesome young man +rather frequently during the month, while it was still possible to stay +in the country. He knew no one here about, and the councilor said "yes," +and smiled at being thought so guileless, but Camilla walked along and +looked so gentle and serious, that one would not doubt but that she was +the very personification of benevolence itself. + +The autumn weather remained so mild that the councilor stayed on at Cape +Trafalgar for another whole month, and the effect of the benevolence was +that Mogens came twice the first week and about every day the third. + +It was one of the last days of fair weather. + +It had rained early in the morning and had remained overclouded far +down into the forenoon; but now the sun had come forth. Its rays were +so strong and warm, that the garden-paths, the lawns and the branches +of the trees were enveloped in a fine filmy mist. The councilor walked +about cutting asters. Mogens and Camilla were in a corner of the garden +to take down some late winter apples. He stood on a table with a basket +on his arm, she stood on a chair holding out a big white apron by the +corners. + +"Well, and what happened then?" she called impatiently to Mogens, who +had interrupted the fairy-tale he was telling in order to reach an apple +which hung high up. + +"Then," he continued, "the peasant began to run three times round +himself and to sing: 'To Babylon, to Babylon, with an iron ring through +my head.' Then he and his calf, his great-grandmother, and his black +rooster flew away. They flew across oceans as broad as Arup Vejle, over +mountains as high as the church at Jannerup, over Himmerland and through +the Holstein lands even to the end of the world. There the kobold sat +and ate breakfast; he had just finished when they came. + +"'You ought to be a little more god-fearing, little father,' said the +peasant, 'otherwise it might happen that you might miss the kingdom of +heaven.'" + +"Well, he would gladly be god-fearing." + +"'Then you must say grace after meals,' said the peasant...." + +"No, I won't go on with the story," said Mogens impatiently. + +"Very well, then don't," said Camilla, and looked at him in surprise. + +"I might as well say it at once," continued Mogens, "I want to ask you +something, but you mustn't laugh at me." + +Camilla jumped down from the chair. + +"Tell me--no, I want to tell you something myself--here is the table and +there is the hedge, if you won't be my bride, I'll leap with the basket +over the hedge and stay away. One!" + +Camilla glanced furtively at him, and noticed that the smile had +vanished from his face. + +"Two!" + +He was quite pale with emotion. + +"Yes," she whispered, and let go the ends of her apron so that the +apples rolled toward all corners of the world and then she ran. But she +did not run away from Mogens. + +"Three," said she, when he reached her, but he kissed her nevertheless. + +The councilor was interrupted among his asters, but the district-judge's +son was too irreproachable a blending of nature and civilization for the +councilor to raise objections. + +***** + +It was late winter; the large heavy cover of snow, the result of a whole +week's uninterrupted blowing, was in the process of rapidly melting +away. The air was full of sunlight and reflection from the white snow, +which in large, shining drops dripped down past the windows. Within the +room all forms and colors had awakened, all lines and contours had come +to life. Whatever was flat extended, whatever was bent curved, whatever +was inclined slid, and whatever was broken refracted the more. All kinds +of green tones mingled on the flower-table, from the softest dark-green +to the sharpest yellow-green. Reddish brown tones flooded in flames +across the surface of the mahogany table, and gold gleamed and sparkled +from the knick-knacks, from the frames and moldings, but on the carpet +all the colors broke and mingled in a joyous, shimmering confusion. + +Camilla sat at the window and sewed, and she and the Graces on the +mantle were quite enveloped in a reddish light from the red curtains +Mogens walked slowly up and down the room, and passed every moment in +and out of slanting beams of light of pale rainbow-colored dust. + +He was in talkative mood. + +"Yes," he said, "they are a curious kind of people, these with whom +you associate. There isn't a thing between heaven and earth which they +cannot dispose of in the turn of a hand. This is common, and that +is noble; this is the most stupid thing that has been done since the +creation of the world, and that is the wisest; this is so ugly, so +ugly, and that is so beautiful it cannot be described. They agree so +absolutely about all this, that it seems as if they had some sort of a +table or something like that by which they figured things out, for they +always get the same result, no matter what it may be. How alike they are +to each other, these people! Every one of them knows the same things and +talks about the same things, and all of them have the same words and the +same opinions." + +"You don't mean to say," Camilla protested, "that Carlsen and Ronholt +have the same opinions." + +"Yes, they are the finest of all, they belong to different parties! +Their fundamental principles are as different as night and day. No, they +are not. They are in such agreement that it is a perfect joy. Perhaps +there may be some little point about which they don't agree; perhaps, +it is merely a misunderstanding. But heaven help me, if it isn't +pure comedy to listen to them. It is as if they had prearranged to do +everything possible not to agree. They begin by talking in a loud voice, +and immediately talk themselves into a passion. Then one of them in his +passion says something which he doesn't mean, and then the other one +says the direct opposite which he doesn't mean either, and then the one +attacks that which the other doesn't mean, and the other that which the +first one didn't mean, and the game is on." + +"But what have they done to you?" + +"They annoy me, these fellows. If you look into their faces it is just +as if you had it under seal that nothing especial is ever going to +happen in the world in the future." Camilla laid down her sewing, +went over and took hold of the corners of his coat collar and looked +roguishly and questioningly at him. + +"I cannot bear Carlsen," he said angrily, and tossed his head. + +"Well, and then." + +"And then you are very, very sweet," he murmured with a comic +tenderness. + +"And then?" + +"And then," he burst out, "he looks at you and listens to you and talks +to you in a way I don't like. He is to quit that, for you are mine and +not his. Aren't you? You are not his, not his in any way. You are mine, +you have bonded yourself to me as the doctor did to the devil; you are +mine, body and soul, skin and bones, till all eternity." + +She nodded a little frightened, looked trustfully at him; her eyes +filled with tears, then she pressed close to him and he put his arms +around her, bent over her, and kissed her on the forehead. + +The same evening Mogens went to the station with the councilor who had +received a sudden order in reference to an official tour which he was to +make. On this account Camilla was to go to her aunt's the next morning +and stay there until he returned. + +When Mogens had seen his future father-in-law off, he went home, +thinking of the fact that he now would not see Camilla for several days. +He turned into the street where she lived. It was long and narrow and +little frequented. A cart rumbled away at the furthest end; in this +direction, too, there was the sound of footsteps, which grew fainter and +fainter. At the moment he heard nothing but the barking of a dog within +the building behind him. He looked up at the house in which Camilla +lived; as usual the ground-floor was dark. The white-washed panes +received only a little restless life from the flickering gleam of the +lantern of the house next door. On the second story the windows were +open and from one of them a whole heap of planks protruded beyond the +window-frame. Camilla's window was dark, dark also was everything above, +except that in one of the attic windows there shimmered a white-golden +gleam from the moon. Above the house the clouds were driving in a wild +flight. In the houses on both sides the windows were lighted. + +The dark house made Mogens sad. It stood there so forlorn and +disconsolate; the open windows rattled on their hinges; water ran +monotonously droning down the rainpipe; now and then a little water fell +with a hollow dull thud at some spot which he could not see; the wind +swept heavily through the street. The dark, dark house! Tears came into +Mogen's eyes, an oppressive weight lay on his chest, and he was +seized by a strange dark sensation that he had to reproach himself for +something concerning Camilla. Then he had to think of his mother, and he +felt a great desire of laying his head on her lap and weeping his fill. + +For a long while he stood thus with his hand pressed against his breast +until a wagon went through the street at a sharp pace; he followed it +and went home. He had to stand for a long time and rattle the front door +before it would open, then he ran humming up the stairs, and when he +had entered the room he threw himself down on the sofa with one of +Smollett's novels in his hand, and read and laughed till after midnight. +At last it grew too cold in the room, he leaped up and went stamping up +and down to drive away the chill. He stopped at the window. The sky in +one corner was so bright, that the snow-covered roofs faded into it. In +another corner several long-drawn clouds drifted by, and the atmosphere +beneath them had a curious reddish tinge, a sheen that wavered +unsteadily, a red smoking fog. He tore open the window, fire had broken +out in the direction of the councilor's. Down the stairs, down the +street as fast as he could; down a cross-street, through a side-street, +and then straight ahead. As yet he could not see anything, but as he +turned round the corner he saw the red glow of fire. About a score of +people clattered singly down the street. As they ran past each other, +they asked where the fire was. The answer was "The sugar-refinery." +Mogens kept on running as quickly as before, but much easier at heart. +Still a few streets, there were more and more people, and they +were talking now of the soap-factory. It lay directly opposite the +councilor's. Mogens ran on as if possessed. There was only a +single slanting cross-street left. It was quite filled with people: +well-dressed men, ragged old women who stood talking in a slow, whining +tone, yelling apprentices, over-dressed girls who whispered to each +other, corner-loafers who stood as if rooted to the spot and cracked +jokes, surprised drunkards and drunkards who quarreled, helpless +policemen, and carriages that would go neither forwards nor backwards. +Mogens forced his way through the multitude. Now he was at the corner; +the sparks were slowly falling down upon him. Up the street; there +were showers of sparks, the window-panes on both sides were aglow, the +factory was burning, the councilor's house was burning and the house +next door also. There was nothing but smoke, fire and confusion, cries, +curses, tiles that rattled down, blows of axes, wood that splintered, +window-panes that jingled, jets of water that hissed, spluttered, and +splashed, and amid all this the regular dull sob-like throb of the +engines. Furniture, bedding, black helmets, ladders, shining buttons, +illuminated faces, wheels, ropes, tarpaulin, strange instruments; Mogens +rushed into their midst, over, under it all, forward to the house. + +The facade was brightly illuminated by the flames from the burning +factory, smoke issued from between the tiles of the roof and rolled +out of the open windows of the first story. Within the fire rumbled and +crackled. There was a slow groaning sound, that turned into a rolling +and crashing, and ended in a dull boom. Smoke, sparks, and flames issued +in torment out of all the openings of the house. And then the flames +began to play and crackle with redoubled strength and redoubled +clearness. It was the middle part of the ceiling of the first floor that +fell. Mogens with both hands seized a large scaling-ladder which leaned +against the part of the factory which was not yet in flames. For a +moment he held it vertically, but then it slipped away from him and fell +over toward the councilor's house where it broke in a window-frame on +the second story. Mogens ran up the ladder, and in through the opening. +At first he had to close his eyes on account of the pungent wood-smoke, +and the heavy suffocating fumes which rose from the charred wood that +the water had reached took his breath away. He was in the dining-room. +The living-room was a huge glowing abyss; the flames from the lower part +of the house, now and then, almost reached up to the ceiling; the few +boards that had remained hanging when the floor fell burned in brilliant +yellowish-white flames; shadows and the gleam of flames flooded over the +walls; the wall-paper here and there curled up, caught fire, and flew +in flaming tatters down into the abyss; eager yellow flames licked their +way up on the loosened moldings and picture-frames. Mogens crept over +the ruins and fragments of the fallen wall towards the edge of the +abyss, from which cold and hot blasts of air alternately struck his +face; on the other side so much of the wall had fallen, that he could +look into Camilla's room, while the part that hid the councilor's office +still stood. It grew hotter and hotter; the skin of his face became +taut, and he noticed, that his hair was crinkling. Something heavy +glided past his shoulder and remained lying on his back and pressed him +down to the floor; it was the girder which slowly had slipped out of +place. He could not move, breathing became more and more difficult, his +temples throbbed violently; to his left a jet of water splashed against +the wall of the dining-room, and the wish rose in him, that the cold, +cold drops, which scattered in all directions might fall on him. Then he +heard a moan on the other side of the abyss, and he saw something white +stir on the floor in Camilla's room. It was she. She lay on her knees, +and while her hips were swaying, held her hands pressed against each +side of her head. She rose slowly, and came towards the edge of the +abyss. She stood straight upright, her arms hung limply down, and the +head went to and fro limply on the neck. Very, very slowly the upper +part of her body fell forward, her long, beautiful hair swept the floor; +a short violent flash of flame, and it was gone, the next moment she +plunged down into the flames. + +Mogens uttered a moaning sound, short, deep and powerful, like the roar +of a wild beast, and at the same time made a violent movement, as if to +get away from the abyss. It was impossible on account of the girder. His +hands groped over the fragments of wall, then they stiffened as it were +in a mighty clasp over the debris, and he began to strike his forehead +against the wreckage with a regular beat, and moaned: "Lord God, Lord +God, Lord God." + +Thus he lay. In the course of a little while, he noticed that there was +something standing beside him and touching him. It was a fireman who had +thrown the girder aside, and was about to carry him out of the house. +With a strong feeling of annoyance, Mogens noticed that he was lifted up +and led away. The man carried him to the opening, and then Mogens had a +clear perception that a wrong was being committed against him, and that +the man who was carrying him had designs on his life. He tore himself +out of his arms, seized a lathe that lay on the floor, struck the man +over the head with it so that he staggered backward; he himself issued +from the opening and ran erect down the ladder, holding the lathe above +his head. Through the tumult, the smoke, the crowd of people, through +empty streets, across desolate squares, out into the fields. Deep snow +everywhere, at a little distance a black spot, it was a gravel-heap, +that jutted out above the snow. He struck at it with the lathe, struck +again and again, continued to strike at it; he wished to strike it dead, +so that it might disappear; he wanted to run far away, and ran round +about the heap and struck at it as if possessed. It would not, would not +disappear; he hurled the lathe far away and flung himself upon the black +heap to give it the finishing stroke. He got his hands full of small +stones, it was gravel, it was a black heap of gravel. Why was he out +here in the field burrowing in a black gravel-heap?--He smelled the +smoke, the flames flashed round him, he saw Camilla sink down into them, +he cried out aloud and rushed wildly across the field. He could not +rid himself of the sight of the flames, he held his eyes shut: Flames, +flames! He threw himself on the ground and pressed his face down into +the snow: Flames! He leaped up, ran backward, ran forward, turned aside: +Flames everywhere! He rushed further across the snow, past houses, past +trees, past a terror-struck face, that stared out through a window-pane, +round stacks of grain and through farm-yards, where dogs howled and tore +at their chains. He ran round the front wing of a building and stood +suddenly before a brightly, restlessly lighted window. The light did him +good, the flames yielded to it; he went to the window and looked in. It +was a brew-room, a girl stood at the hearth and stirred the kettle. The +light which she held in her hand had a slightly reddish sheen on account +of the dense fumes. Another girl was sitting down, plucking poultry, and +a third was singeing it over a blazing straw-fire. When the flames grew +weaker, new straw was put on, and they flared up again; then they again +became weaker and still weaker; they went out. Mogens angrily broke a +pane with his elbow, and slowly walked away. The girls inside screamed. +Then he ran again for a long time with a low moaning. Scattered flashes +of memory of happy days came to him, and when they had passed the +darkness was twice as black. He could not bear to think of what had +happened. It was impossible for it to have happened. He threw himself +down on his knees and raised his hands toward heaven, the while he +pleaded that that which had happened might be as though it had not +occurred. For a long time he dragged himself along on his knees with his +eyes steadfastly fixed on the sky, as if afraid it might slip away from +him to escape his pleas, provided he did not keep it incessantly in his +eye. Then pictures of his happy time came floating toward him, more and +more in mist-like ranks. There were also pictures that rose in a sudden +glamor round about him, and others flitted by so indefinite, so distant, +that they were gone before he really knew what they were. He sat +silently in the snow, overcome by light and color, by light and +happiness, and the dark fear which he had had at first that something +would come and extinguish all this had gone. It was very still round +about him, a great peace was within him, the pictures had disappeared, +but happiness was here. A deep silence! There was not a sound, but +sounds were in the air. And there came laughter and song and low words +came and light and footsteps and dull sobbing of the beats of the pumps. +Moaning he ran away, ran long and far, came to the lake, followed the +shore, until he stumbled over the root of a tree, and then he was so +tired that he remained lying. + +With a soft clucking sound the water ran over the small stones; +spasmodically there was a soft soughing among the barren limbs; now and +then a crow cawed above the lake; and morning threw its sharp bluish +gleam over forest and sea, over the snow, and over the pallid face. + +At sunrise he was found by the ranger from the neighboring forest, and +carried up to the forester Nicolai; there he lay for weeks and days +between life and death. + +***** + +About the time when Mogens was being carried up to Nicolai's, a crowd +collected around a carriage at the end of the street where the councilor +lived. The driver could not understand why the policeman wanted to +prevent him from carrying out his legitimate order, and on that account +they had an argument. It was the carriage which was to take Camilla to +her aunt's. + +***** + +"No, since poor Camilla lost her life in that dreadful manner, we have +not seen anything of him!" + +"Yes, it is curious, how much may lie hidden in a person. No one would +have suspected anything, so quiet and shy, almost awkward. Isn't it so? +You did not suspect anything?" + +"About the sickness! How can you ask such a question! Oh, you mean--I +did not quite understand you--you mean it was in the blood, something +hereditary?--Oh, yes, I remember there was something like that, they +took his father to Aarhus. Wasn't it so, Mr. Carlsen?" + +"No! Yes, but it was to bury him, his first wife is buried there. No, +what I was thinking of was the dreadful--yes, the dreadful life he has +been leading the last two or two and a half years." + +"Why no, really! I know nothing about that." + +"Well, you see, of course, it is of the things one doesn't like to talk +about.... You understand, of course, consideration for those nearest. +The councilor's family...." + +"Yes, there is a certain amount of justice in what you say--but on the +other hand--tell me quite frankly, isn't there at present a false, +a sanctimonious striving to veil, to cover up the weaknesses of our +fellow-men? As for myself I don't understand much about that sort of +thing, but don't you think that truth or public morals, I don't mean +this morality, but--morals, conditions, whatever you will, suffer under +it?" + +"Of course, and I am very glad to be able to agree so with you, and in +this case... the fact simply is, that he has given himself to all sorts +of excesses. He has lived in the most disreputable manner with the +lowest dregs, people without honor, without conscience, without +position, religion, or anything else, with loafers, mountebanks, +drunkards, and--and to tell the truth with women of easy virtue." + +"And this after having been engaged to Camilla, good heavens, and after +having been down with brain-fever for three months!" + +"Yes--and what tendencies doesn't this let us suspect, and who knows +what his past may have been, what do you think?" + +"Yes, and heaven knows how things really were with him during the time +of their engagement? There always was something suspicious about him. +That is my opinion. + +"Pardon me, and you, too, Mr. Carlsen, pardon me, but you look at the +whole affair in rather an abstract way, very abstractedly. By chance I +have in my possession a very concrete report from a friend in Jutland, +and can present the whole affair in all its details." + +"Mr. Ronholt, you don't mean to...?" + +"To give details? Yes, that is what I intend. Mr. Carlsen, with the +lady's permission. Thank you! He certainly did not live as one should +live after a brain-fever. He knocked about from fair to fair with a +couple of boon-companions, and, it is said, was somewhat mixed up with +troupes of mountebanks, and especially with the women of the company. +Perhaps it would be wisest if I ran upstairs, and got my friend's +letter. Permit me. I'll be back in a moment." + +"Don't you think, Mr. Carlsen, that Ronholt is in a particularly good +humor to-day?" + +"Yes, but you must not forget that he exhausted all his spleen on an +article in the morning paper. Imagine, to dare to maintain--why, that is +pure rebellion, contempt of law, for him...." + +"You found the letter?" + +"Yes, I did. May I begin? Let me see, oh yes: 'Our mutual friend whom we +met last year at Monsted, and whom, as you say, you knew in Copenhagen, +has during the last months haunted the region hereabouts. He looks just +as he used to, he is the same pale knight of the melancholy mien. He is +the most ridiculous mixture of forced gayety and silent hopelessness, +he is affected--ruthless and brutal toward himself and others. He is +taciturn and a man of few words, and doesn't seem to be enjoying himself +at all, though he does nothing but drink and lead a riotous life. It +is as I have already said, as if he had a fixed idea that he received +a personal insult from destiny. His associates here were especially a +horse-dealer, called "Mug-sexton," because he does nothing but sing and +drink all the time, and a disreputable, lanky, over-grown cross +between a sailor and peddler, known and feared under the name of Peter +"Rudderless," to say nothing of the fair Abelone. She, however, recently +has had to give way to a brunette, belonging to a troupe of mountebanks, +which for some time has favored us with performances of feats of +strength and rope-dancing. You have seen this kind of women with +sharp, yellow, prematurely-aged faces, creatures that are shattered by +brutality, poverty, and miserable vices, and who always over-dress in +shabby velvet and dirty red. There you have his crew. I don't understand +our friend's passion. It is true that his fiancee met with a horrible +death, but that does not explain the matter. I must still tell you how +he left us. We had a fair a few miles from here. He, "Rudderless," the +horse-dealer, and the woman sat in a drinking-tent, dissipating until +far into the night. At three o'clock or thereabouts they were at last +ready to leave. They got on the wagon, and so far everything went all +right; but then our mutual friend turns off from the main road and +drives with them over fields and heath, as fast as the horses can go. +The wagon is flung from one side to the other. Finally things get too +wild for the horse-dealer and he yells that he wants to get down. After +he has gotten off our mutual friend whips up the horses again, and +drives straight at a large heather-covered hill. The woman becomes +frightened and jumps off, and now up the hill they go and down on the +other side at such a terrific pace that it is a miracle the wagon did +not arrive at the bottom ahead of the horses. On the way up Peter had +slipped from the wagon, and as thanks for the ride he threw his big +clasp-knife at the head of the driver.'" + +"The poor fellow, but this business of the woman is nasty." + +"Disgusting, madam, decidedly disgusting. Do you really think, Mr. +Ronholt, that this description puts the man in a better light?" + +"No, but in a surer one; you know in the darkness things often seem +larger than they are." + +"Can you think of anything worse?" + +"If not, then this is the worst, but you know one should never think the +worst of people." + +"Then you really mean, that the whole affair is not so bad, that there +is something bold in it, something in a sense eminently plebeian, which +pleases your liking for democracy." + +"Don't you see, that in respect to his environment his conduct is quite +aristocratic?" + +"Aristocratic? No, that is lather paradoxical. If he is not a democrat, +then I really don't know what he is." + +"Well, there are still other designations." + +***** + +White alders, bluish lilac, red hawthorn, and radiant laburnum were in +flower and gave forth their fragrance in front of the house. The windows +were open and the blinds were drawn. Mogens leaned in over the sill and +the blinds lay on his back. It was grateful to the eye after all the +summer-sun on forest and water and in the air to look into the subdued, +soft, quiet light of a room. A tall woman of opulent figure stood +within, the back toward the window, and was putting flowers in a large +vase. The waist of her pink morning-gown was gathered high up below, +the bosom by a shining black leather-belt; on the floor behind her lay a +snow-white dressing-jacket; her abundant, very blond hair was hanging in +a bright-red net. + +"You look rather pale after the celebration last night," was the first +thing Mogens said. + +"Good-morning," she replied and held out without turning around her +hand with the flowers in it towards him. Mogens took one of the flowers. +Laura turned the head half towards him, opened her hand slightly and +let the flowers fall to the floor in little lots. Then she again busied +herself with the vase. + +"Ill?" asked Mogens. + +"Tired." + +"I won't eat breakfast with you to-day." + +"No?" + +"We can't have dinner together either." + +"You are going fishing?" + +"No--Good-by!" + +"When are you coming back?" + +"I am not coming back." + +"What do you mean by that?" she asked arranging her gown; she went to +the window, and there sat down on the chair. + +"I am tired of you. That's all." + +"Now you are spiteful, what's the matter with you? What have I done to +you?" + +"Nothing, but since we are neither married nor madly in love with each +other, I don't see anything very strange in the fact, that I am going my +own way." + +"Are you jealous?" she asked very softly. + +"Of one like you! I haven't lost my senses!" + +"But what is the meaning of all this?" + +"It means that I am tired of your beauty, that I know your voice and +your gestures by heart, and that neither your whims nor your stupidity +nor your craftiness can any longer entertain me. Can you tell me then +why I should stay?" + +Laura wept. "Mogens, Mogens, how can you have the heart to do this? +Oh, what shall I, shall I, shall I, shall I do! Stay only today, only +to-day, Mogens. You dare not go away from me!" + +"Those are lies, Laura, you don't even believe it yourself. It is not +because you think such a terrible lot of me, that you are distressed +now. You are only a little bit alarmed because of the change, you are +frightened because of the slight disarrangement of your daily habits. +I am thoroughly familiar with that, you are not the first one I have +gotten tired of." + +"Oh, stay with me only to-day, I won't torment you to stay a single hour +longer. + +"You really are dogs, you women! You haven't a trace of fine feelings in +your body. If one gives you a kick, you come crawling back again." + +"Yes, yes, that's what we do, but stay only for to-day--won't +you--stay!" + +"Stay, stay! No!" + +"You have never loved me, Mogens!" + +"No!" + +"Yes, you did; you loved me the day when there was such a violent wind, +oh, that beautiful day down at the sea-shore, when we sat in the shelter +of the boat." + +"Stupid girl!" + +"If I only were a respectable girl with fine parents, and not such a one +as I am, then you would stay with me; then you would not have the heart +to be so hard--and I, who love you so!" + +"Oh, don't bother about that." + +"No, I am like the dust beneath your feet, you care no more for me. Not +one kind word, only hard words; contempt, that is good enough for me." + +"The others are neither better nor worse than you. Good-by, Laura!" + +He held out his hand to her, but she kept hers on her back and wailed: +"No, no, not good-by! not good-by!" + +Mogens raised the blind, stepped back a couple of paces and let it +fall down in front of the window. Laura quickly leaned down over the +window-sill beneath it and begged: "Come to me! come and give me your +hand." + +"No." + +When he had gone a short distance she cried plaintively: + +"Good-by, Mogens!" + +He turned towards the house with a slight greeting. Then he walked on: +"And a girl like that still believes in love!--no, she does not!" + +***** + +The evening wind blew from the ocean over the land, the strand-grass +swung its pale spikes to and fro and raised its pointed leaves a little, +the rushes bowed down, the water of the lake was darkened by thousands +of tiny furrows, and the leaves of the water-lilies tugged restlessly at +their stalks. Then the dark tops of the heather began to nod, and on +the fields of sand the sorrel swayed unsteadily to and fro. Towards the +land! The stalks of oats bowed downward, and the young clover trembled +on the stubble-fields, and the wheat rose and fell in heavy billows; the +roofs groaned, the mill creaked, its wings swung about, the smoke was +driven back into the chimneys, and the window-panes became covered with +moisture. + +There was a swishing of wind in the gable-windows, in the poplars of the +manor-house; the wind whistled through tattered bushes on the green hill +of Bredbjerg. Mogens lay up there, and gazed out over the dark earth. +The moon was beginning to acquire radiance, and mists were drifting down +on the meadow. Everything was very sad, all of life, all of life, empty +behind him, dark before him. But such was life. Those who were happy +were also blind. Through misfortune he had learned to see; everything +was full of injustice and lies, the entire earth was a huge, rotting +lie; faith, friendship, mercy, a lie it was, a lie was each and +everything; but that which was called love, it was the hollowest of all +hollow things, it was lust, flaming lust, glimmering lust, smoldering +lust, but lust and nothing else. Why had he to know this? Why had he not +been permitted to hold fast to his faith in all these gilded lies? Why +was he compelled to see while the others remained blind? He had a right +to blindness, he had believed in everything in which it was possible to +believe. + +Down in the village the lights were being lit. + +Down there home stood beside home. My home! my home! And my childhood's +belief in everything beautiful in the world.--And what if they were +right, the others! If the world were full of beating hearts and the +heavens full of a loving God! But why do I not know that, why do I know +something different? And I do know something different, cutting, bitter, +true... + +He rose; fields and meadows lay before him bathed in moonlight. He went +down into the village, along the way past the garden of the manor-house; +he went and looked over the stone-wall. Within on a grass-plot in +the garden stood a silver poplar, the moonlight fell sharply on the +quivering leaves; sometimes they showed their dark side, sometimes +their white. He placed his elbows on the wall and stared at the tree; it +looked as if the leaves were running in a fine rain down the limbs. +He believed, that he was hearing the sound which the foliage produced. +Suddenly the lovely voice of a woman became audible quite near by: + + "Flower in dew! Flower in dew! + Whisper to me thy dreams, thine own. + Does in them lie the same strange air + The same wonderful elfin air, + As in mine own? + Are they filled with whispers and sobbing and sighing + Amid radiance slumbering and fragrances dying, + Amid trembling ringing, amid rising singing: + In longing, + In longing, + I live." + +Then silence fell again. Mogens drew a long breath and listened +intently: no more singing; up in the house a door was heard. Now he +clearly heard the sound from the leaves of the silver poplar. He bowed +his head in his arms and wept. + +The next day was one of those in which late summer is rich. A day with +a brisk, cool wind, with many large swiftly flying clouds, with +everlasting alternations of darkness and light, according as the clouds +drift past the sun. Mogens had gone up to the cemetery, the garden of +the manor abutted on it. Up there it looked rather barren, the grass +had recently been cut; behind an old quadrangular iron-fence stood a +wide-spreading, low elder with waving foliage. Some of the graves had +wooden frames around them, most were only low, quadrangular hills; a +few of them had metal-pieces with inscriptions on them, others wooden +crosses from which the colors had peeled, others had wax wreaths, the +greater number had nothing at all. Mogens wandered about hunting for a +sheltered place, but the wind seemed to blow on all sides of the church. +He threw himself down near the embankment, drew a book out of his +pocket; but he did not get on with his reading; every time when a cloud +went past the sun, it seemed to him as though it were growing chilly, +and he thought of getting up, but then the light came again and he +remained lying. A young girl came slowly along the way, a greyhound and +a pointer ran playfully ahead of her. She stopped and it seemed as if +she wanted to sit down, but when she saw Mogens she continued her walk +diagonally across the cemetery out through the gate. Mogens rose and +looked after her; she walked down on the main road, the dogs still +played. Then he began reading the inscription on one of the graves; +it quickly made him smile. Suddenly a shadow fell across the grave and +remained lying there, Mogens looked sideways. A tanned, young man stood +there, one hand in his game-bag, in the other he held his gun. + +"It isn't really half bad," he said, indicating the inscription. + +"No," said Mogens and straightened up from his bent position. + +"Tell me," continued the hunter, and looked to the side, as if seeking +something, "you have been here for a couple of days, and I have been +going about wondering about you, but up to the present didn't come near +you. You go and drift about so alone, why haven't you looked in on us? +And what in the world do you do to kill the time? For you haven't any +business in the neighborhood, have you?" + +"No, I am staying here for pleasure." + +"There isn't much of that here," the stranger exclaimed and laughed, +"don't you shoot? Wouldn't you like to come with me? Meanwhile I have +to go down to the inn and get some small shot, and while you are getting +ready, I can go over, and call down the blacksmith. Well! Will you +join?" + +"Yes, with pleasure." + +"Oh, by the way,--Thora! haven't you seen a girl?" he jumped up on the +embankment. + +"Yes, there she is, she is my cousin, I can't introduce you to her, +but come along, let us follow her; we made a wager, now you can he the +judge. She was to be in the cemetery with the dogs and I was to pass +with gun and game-bag, but was not to call or to whistle, and if the +dogs nevertheless went with me she would lose; now we will see." + +After a little while they overtook the lady; the hunter looked straight +ahead, but could not help smiling; Mogens bowed when they passed. The +dogs looked in surprise after the hunter and growled a bit; then +they looked up at the lady and barked, she wanted to pat them, but +indifferently they walked away from her and barked after the hunter. +Step by step they drew further and further away from her, squinted +at her, and then suddenly darted off after the hunter. And when they +reached him, they were quite out of control; they jumped up on him and +rushed off in every direction and back again. + +"You lose," he called out to her; she nodded smilingly, turned round and +went on. + +They hunted till late in the afternoon. Mogens and William got along +famously and Mogens had to promise that he would come to the manor-house +in the evening. This he did, and later he came almost every day, but in +spite of all the cordial invitations he continued living at the inn. + +Now came a restless period for Mogens. At first Thora's proximity +brought back to life all his sad and gloomy memories. Often he had +suddenly to begin a conversation with one of the others or leave, so +that his emotion might not completely master him. She was not at all +like Camilla, and yet he heard and saw only Camilla. Thora was small, +delicate, and slender, roused easily to laughter, easily to tears, and +easily to enthusiasm. If for a longer time she spoke seriously with some +one, it was not like a drawing near, but rather as if she disappeared +within her own self. If some one explained something to her or developed +an idea, her face, her whole figure expressed the most intimate trust +and now and again, perhaps, also expectancy. William and his little +sister did not treat her quite like a comrade, but yet not like +a stranger either. The uncle and the aunt, the farm-hands, the +maid-servants, and the peasants of the neighborhood all paid court to +her, but very carefully, and almost timidly. In respect to her they were +almost like a wanderer in the forest, who sees close beside him one +of those tiny, graceful song-birds with very clear eyes and light, +captivating movements. He is enraptured by this tiny, living creature, +he would so much like to have it come closer and closer, but he does not +care to move, scarcely to take breath, lest it may be frightened and fly +away. + +As Mogens saw Thora more and more frequently, memories came more and +more rarely, and he began to see her as she was. It was a time of peace +and happiness when he was with her, full of silent longing and quiet +sadness when he did not see her. Later he told her of Camilla and of +his past life, and it was almost with surprise that he looked back upon +himself. Sometimes it seemed inconceivable to him that it was he who had +thought, felt, and done all the strange things of which he told. + +On an evening he and Thora stood on a height in the garden, and watched +the sunset. William and his little sister were playing hide-and-seek +around the hill. There were thousands of light, delicate colors, +hundreds of strong radiant ones. Mogens turned away from them and +looked at the dark figure by his side. How insignificant it looked in +comparison with all this glowing splendor; he sighed, and looked up +again at the gorgeously colored clouds. It was not like a real thought, +but it came vague and fleeting, existed for a second and disappeared; it +was as if it had been the eye that thought it. + +"The elves in the green hill are happy now that the sun has gone down," +said Thora. + +"Oh--are they?" + +"Don't you know that elves love darkness?" + +Mogens smiled. + +"You don't believe in elves, but you should. It is beautiful to believe +in all that, in gnomes and elves. I believe in mermaids too, and +elder-women, but goblins! What can one do with goblins and three-legged +horses? Old Mary gets angry when I tell her this; for to believe what +I believe, she says is not God-fearing. Such things have nothing to do +with people, but warnings and spirits are in the gospel, too. What do +you say?" + +"I, oh, I don't know--what do you really mean?" + +"You surely don't love nature?" + +"But, quite the contrary." + +"I don't mean nature, as you see it from benches placed where there is +a fine view on hills up which they have built steps; where it is like a +set scene, but nature every day, always." + +"Just so! I can take joy in every leaf, every twig, every beam of light, +every shadow. There isn't a hill so barren, nor a turf-pit so square, +nor a road so monotonous, that I cannot for a moment fall in love with +it." + +"But what joy can you take in a tree or a bush, if you don't imagine +that a living being dwells within it, that opens and closes the flowers +and smooths the leaves? When you see a lake, a deep, clear lake, don't +you love it for this reason, that you imagine creatures living deep, +deep down below, that have their own joys and sorrows, that have their +own strange life with strange yearnings? And what, for instance, is +there beautiful about the green hill of Berdbjerg, if you don't imagine, +that inside very tiny creatures swarm and buzz, and sigh when the sun +rises, but begin to dance and play with their beautiful treasure-troves, +as soon as evening comes." + +"How wonderfully beautiful that is! And you see that?" + +"But you?" + +"Yes, I can't explain it, but there is something in the color, in the +movements, and in the shapes, and then in the life which lives in them; +in the sap which rises in trees and flowers, in the sun and rain that +make them grow, in the sand which blows together in hills, and in the +showers of rain that furrow and fissure the hillsides. Oh, I cannot +understand this at all, when I am to explain it." + +"And that is enough for you?" + +"Oh, more than enough sometimes--much too much! And when shape and color +and movement are so lovely and so fleeting and a strange world lies +behind all this and lives and rejoices and desires and can express all +this in voice and song, then you feel so lonely, that you cannot come +closer to this world, and life grows lusterless and burdensome." + +"No, no, you must not think of your fiancee in that way." + +"Oh, I am not thinking of her." + +William and his sister came up to them, and together they went into the +house. + +***** + +On a morning several days later Mogens and Thora were walking in the +garden. He was to look at the grape-vine nursery, where he had not yet +been. It was a rather long, but not very high hothouse. The sun sparkled +and played over the glass-roof. They entered, the air was warm and +moist, and had a peculiar heavy aromatic odor as of earth that has just +been turned. The beautiful incised leaves and the heavy dewy grapes were +resplendent and luminous under the sunlight. They spread out beneath the +glass-cover in a great green field of blessedness. Thora stood there +and happily looked upward; Mogens was restless and stared now and then +unhappily at her, and then up into the foliage. + +"Listen," Thora said gayly, "I think, I am now beginning to understand +what you said the other day on the hill about form and color." + +"And you understood nothing besides?" Mogens asked softly and seriously. + +"No," she whispered, looked quickly at him, dropped the glance, and grew +red, "not then." + +"Not then," Mogens repeated softly and kneeled down before her, "but +now, Thora?" She bent down toward him, gave him one of her hands, +and covered her eyes with the other and wept. Mogens pressed the hand +against his breast, as he rose; she lifted her head, and he kissed her +on the forehead. She looked up at him with radiant, moist eyes, smiled +and whispered: "Heaven be praised!" + +Mogens stayed another week. The arrangement was that the wedding was to +take place in midsummer. Then he left, and winter came with dark days, +long nights, and a snowstorm of letters. + +***** + +All the windows of the manor-house were lighted, leaves and flowers were +above every door, friends and acquaintances in a dense crowd stood on +the large stone stairway, all looking out into the dusk.--Mogens had +driven off with his bride. + +The carriage rumbled and rumbled. The closed windows rattled. Thora +sat and looked out of one of them, at the ditch of the highway, at the +smith's hill where primroses blossomed in spring, at Bertel Nielsen's +huge elderberry bushes, at the mill and the miller's geese, and the hill +of Dalum where not many years ago she and William slid down on sleighs, +at the Dalum meadows, at the long, unnatural shadows of the horses that +rushed over the gravel-heaps, over the turf-pits and rye-field. She sat +there and wept very softly; from time to time when wiping the dew +from the pane, she looked stealthily over towards Mogens. He sat bowed +forward, his traveling-cloak was open, his hat lay and rocked on the +front seat; his hands he held in front of his face. All the things he +had to think of! It had almost robbed him of his courage. She had had +to say good-by to all her relatives and friends and to an infinity of +places, where memories lay ranged in strata, one above the other, right +up to the sky, and all this so that she might go away with him. And was +he the right sort of a man to place all one's trust in, he with his past +of brutalities and debaucheries! It was not even certain that all +this was merely his past. He had changed, it is true, and he found it +difficult to understand what he himself had been. But one never can +wholly escape from one's self, and what had been surely still was there. +And now this innocent child had been given him to guard and protect. +He had managed to get himself into the mire till over his head, and +doubtless he would easily succeed in drawing her down into it too. No, +no, it shall not be thus--no, she is to go on living her clear, bright +girl's life in spite of him. And the carriage rattled and rattled. +Darkness had set in, and here and there he saw through the thickly +covered panes, lights in the houses and yards past which they drove. +Thora slumbered. Toward morning they came to their new home, an estate +that Mogens had bought. The horses steamed in the chill morning air; the +sparrows twittered on the huge linden in the court, and the smoke rose +slowly from the chimneys. Thora looked smiling and contented at all this +after Mogens had helped her out of the carriage; but there was no other +way about, she was sleepy and too tired to conceal it. Mogens took her +to her room and then went into the garden, sat down on a bench, and +imagined that he was watching the sunrise, but he nodded too violently +to keep up the deception. About noon he and Thora met again, happy and +refreshed. They had to look at things and express their surprise; they +consulted and made decisions; they made the absurdest suggestions; +and how Thora struggled to look wise and interested when the cows +were introduced to her; and how difficult it was not to be all too +unpractically enthusiastic over a small shaggy young dog; and how Mogens +talked of drainage and the price of grain, while he stood there and in +his heart wondered how Thora would look with red poppies in her hair! +And in the evening, when they sat in their conservatory and the moon so +clearly drew the outline of the windows on the floor, what a comedy they +played, he on his part seriously representing to her that she should +go to sleep, really go to sleep, since she must be tired, the while +he continued to hold her hand in his; and she on her part, when she +declared he was disagreeable and wanted to be rid of her, that he +regretted having taken a wife. Then a reconciliation, of course, +followed, and they laughed, and the hour grew late. Finally Thora went +to her room, but Mogens remained sitting in the conservatory, miserable +that she had gone. He drew black imaginings for himself, that she was +dead and gone, and that he was sitting here all alone in the world and +weeping over her, and then he really wept. At length he became angry at +himself and stalked up and down the floor, and wanted to be sensible. +There was a love, pure and noble, without any coarse, earthly passion; +yes, there was, and if there was not, there was going to be one. Passion +spoiled everything, and it was very ugly and unhuman. How he hated +everything in human nature that was not tender and pure, fine and +gentle! He had been subjugated, weighed down, tormented, by this ugly +and powerful force; it had lain in his eyes and ears, it had poisoned +all his thoughts. + +He went to his room. He intended to read and took a book; he read, but +had not the slightest notion what--could anything have happened to her! +No, how could it? But nevertheless he was afraid, possibly there might +have--no, he could no longer stand it. He stole softly to her door; no, +everything was still and peaceful. When he listened intently it seemed +as if he could hear her breathing--how his heart throbbed, it seemed, he +could hear it too. He went back to his room and his book. He closed his +eyes; how vividly he saw her; he heard her voice, she bent down toward +him and whispered--how he loved her, loved her, loved her! It was like a +song within him; it seemed as if his thoughts took on rhythmic form, +and how clearly he could see everything of which he thought! Still and +silent she lay and slept, her arm beneath the neck, her hair loosened, +her eyes were closed, she breathed very softly--the air trembled within, +it was red like the reflection of roses. Like a clumsy faun, imitating +the dance of the nymphs, so the bed-cover with its awkward folds +outlined her delicate form. No, no, he did not want to think of her, not +in that way, for nothing in all the world, no; and now it all came back +again, it could not be kept away, but he would keep it away, away! And +it came and went, came and went, until sleep seized him, and the night +passed. + +***** + +When the sun had set on the evening of the next day, they walked about +together in the garden. Arm in arm they walked very slowly and very +silently up one path and down the other, out of the fragrance of +mignonettes through that of roses into that of jasmine. A few moths +fluttered past them; out in the grain-field a wild duck called, +otherwise most of the sounds came from Thora's silk dress. + +"How silent we can be," exclaimed Thora. + +"And how we can walk!" Mogens continued, "we must have walked about four +miles by now." + +Then they walked again for a while and were silent. + +"Of what are you thinking now?" she asked. + +"I am thinking of myself." + +"That's just what I am doing." + +"Are you also thinking of yourself?" + +"No, of yourself--of you, Mogens." + +He drew her closer. They were going up to the conservatory. The door +was open; it was very light in there, and the table with the snowy-white +cloth, the silver dish with the dark red strawberries, the shining +silver pot and the chandelier gave quite a festive impression. + +"It is as in the fairy-tale, where Hansel and Gretel come to the +cake-house out in the wood," Thora said. + +"Do you want to go in?" + +"Oh, you quite forget, that in there dwells a witch, who wants to put us +unhappy little children into an oven and eat us. No, it is much better +that we resist the sugar-panes and the pancake-roof, take each other by +the hand, and go back into the dark, dark wood." + +They walked away from the conservatory. She leaned closely toward Mogens +and continued: "It may also be the palace of the Grand Turk and you are +the Arab from the desert who wants to carry me off, and the guard is +pursuing us; the curved sabers flash, and we run and run, but they have +taken your horse, and then they take us along and put us into a big bag, +and we are in it together and are drowned in the sea.--Let me see, or +might it be...?" + +"Why might it not be, what it is?" + +"Well, it might be that, but it is not enough.... If you knew how I love +you, but I am so unhappy--I don't know what it is--there is such a great +distance between us--no--" + +She flung her arms round his neck and kissed him passionately and +pressed her burning cheek against his: + +"I don't know how it is, but sometimes I almost wish that you beat me--I +know it is childish, and that I am very happy, very happy, and yet I +feel so unhappy!" + +She laid her head on his breast and wept, and then she began while her +tears were still streaming, to sing, at first very gently, but then +louder and louder: + + "In longing + In longing! live!" + +"My own little wife!" and he lifted her up in his arms and carried her +in. + +In the morning he stood beside her bed. The light came faintly and +subdued through the drawn blinds. It softened all the lines in the room +and made all the colors seem sated and peaceful. It seemed to Mogens +as if the air rose and fell with her bosom in gentle rarifications. +Her head rested a little sidewise on the pillow, her hair fell over her +white brow, one of her cheeks was a brighter red than the other, now and +then there was a faint quivering in the calmly-arched eyelids, and +the lines of her mouth undulated imperceptibly between unconscious +seriousness and slumbering smiles. Mogens stood for a long time +and looked at her, happy and quiet. The last shadow of his past had +disappeared. Then he stole away softly and sat down in the living-room +and waited for her in silence. He had sat there for a while, when he +felt her head on his shoulder and her cheek against his. + +***** + +They went out together into the freshness of the morning. The sunlight +was jubilant above the earth, the dew sparkled, flowers that had +awakened early gleamed, a lark sang high up beneath the sky, swallows +flew swiftly through the air. He and she walked across the green field +toward the hill with the ripening rye; they followed the footpath which +led over there. She went ahead, very slowly and looked back over her +shoulder toward him, and they talked and laughed. The further they +descended the hill, the more the grain intervened, soon they could no +longer be seen. + + + + +THE PLAGUE IN BERGAMO + + +Old Bergamo lay on the summit of a low mountain, hedged in by walls and +gates, and New Bergamo lay at the foot of the mountain, exposed to all +winds. + +One day the plague broke out in the new town and spread at a terrific +speed; a multitude of people died and the others fled across the plains +to all four corners of the world. And the citizens in Old Bergamo set +fire to the deserted town in order to purify the air, but it did no +good. People began dying up there too, at first one a day, then five, +then ten, then twenty, and when the plague had reached its height, a +great many more. + +And they could not flee as those had done, who lived in the new town. + +There were some, who tried it, but they led the life of a hunted animal, +hid in ditches and sewers, under hedges, and in the green fields; for +the peasants, into whose homes in many places the first fugitives had +brought the plague, stoned every stranger they came across, drove him +from their lands, or struck him down like a mad dog without mercy or +pity, in justifiable self-defense, as they believed. + +The people of Old Bergamo had to stay where they were, and day by day it +grew hotter; and day by day the gruesome disease became more voracious +and more grasping. Terror grew to madness. What there had been of order +and good government was as if the earth had swallowed it, and what was +worst in human nature came in its stead. + +At the very beginning when the plague broke out people worked together +in harmony and concord. They took care that the corpses were duly and +properly buried, and every day saw to it that big bonfires were lighted +in squares and open places so that the healthful smoke might drift +through the streets. Juniper and vinegar were distributed among the +poor, and above all else, the people sought the churches early and late, +alone and in processions. Every day they went with their prayers before +God and every day when the sun was setting behind the mountains, all the +churchbells called wailingly towards heaven from hundreds of swinging +throats. Fasts were ordered and every day holy relics were set out on +the altars. + +At last one day when they did not know what else to do, from the balcony +of the town hall, amid the sound of trumpets and horns, they proclaimed +the Holy Virgin, podesta or lordmayor of the town now and forever. + +But all this did not help; there was nothing that helped. + +And when the people felt this and the belief grew stronger that heaven +either would not or could not help, they not only let their hands lie +idly in the lap, saying, "Let there come what may." Nay, it seemed, as +if sin had grown from a secret, stealthy disease into a wicked, open, +raging plague, which hand in hand with the physical contagion sought +to slay the soul as the other strove to destroy the body, so incredible +were their deeds, so enormous their depravity! The air was filled with +blasphemy and impiety, with the groans of the gluttons and the howling +of drunkards. The wildest night hid not greater debauchery than was here +committed in broad daylight. + +"To-day we shall eat, for to-morrow we die!"--It was as if they had set +these words to music, and played on manifold instruments a never-ending +hellish concert. Yea, if all sins had not already been invented, they +would have been invented here, for there was no road they would not have +followed in their wickedness. The most unnatural vices flourished among +them, and even such rare sins as necromancy, magic, and exorcism were +familiar to them, for there were many who hoped to obtain from the +powers of evil the protection which heaven had not vouchsafed them. + +Whatever had to do with mutual assistance or pity had vanished from +their minds; each one had thoughts only for himself. He who was sick +was looked upon as a common foe, and if it happened that any one was +unfortunate enough to fall down on the street, exhausted by the first +fever-paroxysm of the plague, there was no door that opened to him, +but with lance-pricks and the casting of stones they forced him to drag +himself out of the way of those who were still healthy. + +And day by day the plague increased, the summer's sun blazed down upon +the town, not a drop of rain fell, not the faintest breeze stirred. From +corpses that lay rotting in the houses and from corpses that were only +half-buried in the earth, there was engendered a suffocating stench +which mingled with the stagnant air of the streets and attracted swarms +and clouds of ravens and crows until the walls and roofs were black with +them. And round about the wall encircling the town sat strange, +large, outlandish birds from far away with beaks eager for spoil and +expectantly crooked claws; and they sat there and looked down with their +tranquil greedy eyes as if only waiting for the unfortunate town to turn +into one huge carrion-pit. + +It was just eleven weeks since the plague had broken out, when the +watchman in the tower and other people who were standing in high places +saw a strange procession wind from the plain into the streets of the new +town between the smoke-blackened stone walls and the black ash-heaps of +the wooden houses. A multitude of people! At least, six hundred or more, +men and women, old and young, and they carried big black crosses between +them and above their heads floated wide banners, red as fire and blood. +They sing as they are moving onward and heartrending notes of despair +rise up into the silent sultry air. + +Brown, gray, and black are their clothes, but all wear a red badge on +their breast. A cross it proves to be, as they draw nearer. For all the +time they are drawing nearer. They press upward along the steep road, +flanked by walls, which leads up to the old town. It is a throng of +white faces; they carry scourges in their hands. On their red banners +a rain of fire is pictured. And the black crosses sway from one side to +the other in the crowd. + +From the dense mass there rises a smell of sweat, of ashes, of the dust +of the roadway, and of stale incense. + +They no longer sing, neither do they speak, nothing is audible but the +tramping, herd-like sound of their naked feet. + +Face after face plunges into the darkness of the tower-gate, and emerges +into the light on the other side with a dazed, tired expression and +half-closed lids. + +Then the singing begins again: a miserere; they grasp their scourges +more firmly and walk with a brisker step as if to a war-song. + +They look as if they came from a famished city, their cheeks are hollow, +their bones stand out, their lips are bloodless, and they have dark +rings beneath their eyes. + +The people of Bergamo have flocked together and watch them with +amazement--and uneasiness. Red dissipated faces stand contrasted with +these pale white ones; dull glances exhausted by debauchery are +lowered before these piercing, flaming eyes; mocking blasphemers stand +open-mouthed before these hymns. + +And there is blood on their scourges. + +A feeling of strange uneasiness filled the people at the sight of these +strangers. + +But it did not take long, however, before they shook off this +impression. Some of them recognized a half-crazy shoemaker from Brescia +among those who bore crosses, and immediately the whole mob through him +became a laughingstock. Anyhow, it was something new, a distraction +amid the everyday, and when the strangers marched toward the cathedral, +everybody followed behind as they would have followed a band of jugglers +or a tame bear. + +But as they pushed their way forward they became embittered; they felt +so matter-of-fact in comparison with the solemnity of these people. They +understood very well, that those shoemakers and tailors had come here +to convert them, to pray for them, and to utter the words which they did +not wish to hear. There were two lean, gray-haired philosophers who had +elaborated impiety into a system; they incited the people, and out of +the malice of their hearts stirred their passions, so that with each +step as they neared the church the attitude of the crowd became more +threatening and their cries of anger wilder. It would not have taken +much to have made them lay violent hands on those unknown flagellants. +Not a hundred steps from the church entrance, the door of a tavern was +thrown open, and a whole flock of carousers tumbled out, one on top of +the other. They placed themselves at the head of the procession and led +the way, singing and bellowing with grotesquely solemn gestures--all +except one who turned handsprings right up the grass-grown stones of +the church-steps. This, of course, caused laughter, and so all entered +peacefully into the sanctuary. + +It seemed strange to be here again, to pass through this great cool +space, in this atmosphere pungent with the smell of old drippings from +wax candles--across the sunken flag-stones which their feet knew so well +and over these stones whose worn-down designs and bright inscriptions +had so often caused their thoughts to grow weary. And while their eyes +half-curiously, half-unwillingly sought rest in the gently subdued +light underneath the vaults or glided over the dim manifoldness of the +gold-dust and smoke-stained colors, or lost themselves in the strange +shadows of the altar, there rose in their hearts a longing which could +not be suppressed. + +In the meantime those from the tavern continued their scandalous +behavior upon the high altar. A huge, massive butcher among them, a +young man, had taken off his white apron and tied it around his neck, so +that it hung down his back like a surplice, and he celebrated mass +with the wildest and maddest words, full of obscenity and blasphemy. An +oldish little fellow with a fat belly, active and nimble in spite of +his weight, with a face like a skinned pumpkin was the sacristan +and responded with the most frivolous refrains. He kneeled down and +genuflected and turned his back to the altar and rang the bell as though +it were a jester's and swung the censer round like a wheel. The others +lay drunk on the steps at full length, bellowing with laughter and +hiccoughing with drunkenness. + +The whole church laughed and howled and mocked at the strangers. They +called out to them to pay close attention so that they might know what +the people thought of their God, here in Old Bergamo. For it was not so +much their wish to insult God that made them rejoice in the tumult; but +they felt satisfaction in knowing that each of their blasphemies was a +sting in the hearts of these holy people. + +They stopped in the center of the nave and groaned with pain, their +hearts boiling with hatred and vengeance. They lifted their eyes and +hands to God, and prayed that His vengeance might fall because of +the mock done to Him here in His own house. They would gladly go to +destruction together with these fool-hardy, if only He would show His +might. Joyously they would let themselves be crushed beneath His heel, +if only He would triumph, that cries of terror, despair, and repentance, +that were too late, might rise up toward Him from these impious lips. + +And they struck up a miserere. Every note of it sounded like a cry for +the rain of fire that overwhelmed Sodom, for the strength which +Samson possessed when he pulled down the columns in the house of the +Philistines. They prayed with song and with words; they denuded their +shoulders and prayed with their scourges. They lay kneeling row after +row, stripped to their waist, and swung the sharp-pointed and knotted +cords down on their bleeding backs. Wildly and madly they beat +themselves so that the blood clung in drops on their hissing whips. +Every blow was a sacrifice to God. Would that they might beat themselves +in still another way, would that they might tear themselves into a +thousand bloody shreds here before His eyes! This body with which +they had sinned against His commandments had to be punished, tortured, +annihilated, that He might see how hateful it was to them, that He might +see how they became like unto dogs in order to please Him, lower than +dogs before His will, the lowliest of vermin that ate the dust beneath +the soles of His feet! Blow upon blow--until their arms dropped or +until cramps turned them to knots. There they lay row on row with eyes +gleaming with madness, with foam round their mouths, the blood trickling +down their flesh. + +And those who watched this suddenly felt their hearts throb, noticed how +hotness rose into their cheeks and how their breathing grew difficult. +It seemed as if something cold was growing out beneath their scalps, +and their knees grew weak. It seized hold of them; in their brains was a +little spot of madness which understood this frenzy. + +To feel themselves the slaves of a harsh and powerful deity, to thrust +themselves down before His feet; to be His, not in gentle piety, not +in the inactivity of silent prayer, but madly, in a frenzy of +self-humiliation, in blood, and wailing, beneath wet gleaming +scourges--this they were capable of understanding. Even the butcher +became silent, and the toothless philosophers lowered their gray heads +before the eyes that roved about. + +And it became quite still within the church; only a slight wave-like +motion swept through the mob. + +Then one from among the strangers, a young monk, rose up and spoke. He +was pale as a sheet of linen, his black eyes glowed like coals, which +are just going to die out, and the gloomy, pain-hardened lines around +his mouth were as if carven in wood with a knife, and not like the folds +in the face of a human being. + +He raised his thin, sickly hands toward heaven in prayer, and the +sleeves of his robe slipped down over his lean, white arms. + +Then he spoke. + +Of hell he spoke, that it is infinite as heaven is infinite, of the +lonely world of torments which each one of the condemned must endure and +fill with his wails. Seas of sulphur were there, fields of scorpions, +flames that wrap themselves round a person like a cloak, and silent +flames that have hardened and plunged into the body like a spear twisted +round in a wound. + +It was quite still; breathlessly they listened to his words, for he +spoke as if he had seen it with his own eyes, and they asked themselves: +is he one of the condemned, sent up to us from the caverns of hell to +bear witness before us? + +Then he preached for a long time concerning the law and the power of +the law, that its every title must be fulfilled, and that every +transgression of which they were guilty would be counted against them +by grain and ounce. "But Christ died for our sins, say ye, and we are no +longer subject to the law. But I say unto you, hell will not be cheated +of a single one of you, and not a single iron tooth of the torture +wheel of hell shall pass beside your flesh. You build upon the cross of +Golgotha, come, come! Come and look at it! I shall lead you straight to +its foot. It was on a Friday, as you know, that they thrust Him out +of one of their gates and laid the heavier end of a cross upon His +shoulders. They made Him bear it to a barren and unfruitful hill without +the city, and in crowds they followed Him, whirling up the dust with +their many feet so that it seemed a red cloud was over the place. And +they tore the garments from Him and bared His body, as the lords of the +law have a malefactor exposed before the eyes of all, so that all may +see the flesh that is to be committed to torture. And they flung Him on +the cross and stretched Him out and they drove a nail of iron through +each of His resistant hands and a nail through His crossed feet. With +clubs they struck the nails till they were in to the heads. And they +raised upright the cross in a hole in the ground, but it would not stand +firm and straight, and they moved it from one side to the other, and +drove wedges and posts all around, and those who did this pulled down +the brims of their hats so that the blood from His hands might not drop +into their eyes. And He on the cross looked down on the soldiers, who +were casting lots for His unstitched garment and down on the whole +turbulent mob, for whose sake He suffered, that they might be saved; and +in all the multitude there was not one pitiful eye. + +"And those below looked up toward Him, who hung there suffering and +weak; they looked at the tablet above His head, whereon was written +'King of the Jews,' and they reviled Him and called out to Him: 'Thou +that destroyest the temple, and buildest it in three days, save thyself. +If thou be the Son of God, come down from the cross.' Then He, the only +begotten Son of God was taken with anger, and saw that they were not +worthy of salvation, these mobs that fill the earth. He tore free His +feet over the heads of the nails, and He clenched His hands round the +nails and tore them out, so that the arms of the cross bent like a bow. +Then He leaped down upon the earth and snatched up His garment so that +the dice rolled down the slope of Golgotha, and flung it round himself +with the wrath of a king and ascended into heaven. And the cross stood +empty, and the great work of redemption was never fulfilled. There is +no mediator between God and us; there is no Jesus who died for us on the +cross; there is no Jesus who died for us on the cross, there is no Jesus +who died for us on the cross!" + +He was silent. + +As he uttered the last words he leaned forward over the multitude and +with his lips and hands hurled the last words over their heads. A groan +of agony went through the church, and in the corners they had begun to +sob. + +Then the butcher pushed forward with raised, threatening hands, pale +as a corpse, and shouted: "Monk, monk, you must nail Him on the cross +again, you must!" and behind him there was a hoarse, hissing sound: +"Yea, yea, crucify, crucify Him!" And from all mouths, threatening, +beseeching, peremptory, rose a storm of cries up to the vaulted roof: +"Crucify, crucify Him!" + +And clear and serene a single quivering voice: "Crucify Him!" + +But the monk looked down over this wave of outstretched hands, upon +these distorted faces with the dark openings of screaming lips, where +rows of teeth gleamed white like the teeth of enraged beasts of prey, +and in a moment of ecstasy he spread out his arms toward heaven and +laughed. Then he stepped down, and his people raised their banners with +the rain of fire and their empty black crosses, and crowded their way +out of the church and again passed singing across the square and again +through the opening of the tower-gate. + +And those of Old Bergamo stared after them, as they went down the +mountain. The steep road, lined by walls, was misty in the light of the +sun setting beyond the plain, but on the red wall encircling the city +the shadows of the great crosses which swayed from side to side in the +crowd stood out black and sharply outlined. + +Further away sounded the singing; one or another of the banners still +gleamed red out of the new town's smoke-blackened void; then they +disappeared in the sun-lit plain. + + + + +THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN ROSES + + +There should have been roses + +Of the large, pale yellow ones. + +And they should hang in abundant clusters over the garden-wall, +scattering their tender leaves carelessly down into the wagon-tracks on +the road: a distinguished glimmer of all the exuberant wealth of flowers +within. + +And they should have the delicate, fleeting fragrance of roses, which +cannot be seized and is like that of unknown fruits of which the senses +tell legends in their dreams. + +Or should they have been red, the roses? + +Perhaps. + +They might be of the small, round, hardy roses, and they would have to +hang down in slender twining branches with smooth leaves, red and fresh, +and like a salutation or a kiss thrown to the wanderer, who is walking, +tired and dusty, in the middle of the road, glad that he now is only +half a mile from Rome. + +Of what may he be thinking? What may be his life? + +And now the houses hide him, they hide everything on that side. They +hide one another and the road and the city, but on the other side there +is still a distant view. There the road swings in an indolent, slow +curve down toward the river, down toward the mournful bridge. And behind +this lies the immense Campagna. The gray and the green of such large +plains.... It is as if the weariness of many tedious miles rose out of +them and settled with a heavy weight upon one, and made one feel lonely +and forsaken, and filled one with desires and yearning. So it is much +better that one should take one's ease here in a corner between high +garden-walls, where the air lies tepid and soft and still--to sit on the +sunny side, where a bench curves into a niche of the wall, to sit there +end gaze upon the shimmering green acanthus in the roadside ditches, +upon the silver-spotted thistles, and the pale-yellow autumn flowers. + +The roses should have been on the long gray wall opposite, a wall full +of lizard holes and chinks with withered grass; and they should have +peeped out at the very spot where the long, monotonous flatness is +broken by a large, swelling basket of beautiful old wrought iron, a +latticed extension, which forms a spacious balcony, reaching higher than +the breast. It must have been refreshing to go up there when one was +weary of the enclosed garden. + +And this they often were. + +They hated the magnificent old villa, which is said to be within, with +its marble stair-cases and its tapestries of coarse weave; and the +ancient trees with their proud large crowns, pines and laurels, ashes, +cypresses, and oaks. During all the period of their growth they were +hated with the hatred which restless hearts feel for that which is +commonplace, trivial, uneventful, for that which stands still and +therefore seems hostile. + +But from the balcony one could at least range outside with one's eyes, +and that is why they stood there, one generation after the other, and +all stared into the distance, each one with pro and each one with his +con. Arms adorned with golden bracelets have lain on the edge of the +iron railing and many a silk-covered knee has pressed against the black +arabesques, the while colored ribbons waved from all its points as +signals of love and rendezvous. Heavy, pregnant housewives have also +stood here and sent impossible messages out into the distance. Large, +opulent, deserted women, pale as hatred... could one but kill with a +thought or open hell with a wish!... Women and men! It is always women +and men, even these emaciated white virgin souls which press against the +black latticework like a flock of lost doves and cry out, "Take us!" to +imagined, noble birds of prey. + +One might imagine a _proverbe_ here. + +The scenery would be very suitable for a _proverbe_. + +The wall there, just as it is; only the road would have to be wider and +expand into a circular space. In its center there would have to be +an old, modest fountain of yellowish tuff and with a bowl of broken +porphyry. As figure for the fountain a dolphin with a broken-off tail, +and one of the nostrils stopped up. From the other the fine jet of water +rises. On one side of the fountain a semicircular bench of tuff and +terracotta. + +The loose, grayish white dust; the reddish, molded stone, the hewn, +yellowish, porous tuff; the dark, polished porphyry, gleaming with +moisture, and the living, tiny, silvery jet of water: material and +colors harmonize rather well. + +The characters: two pages. + +Not of a definite, historical period, for the pages of reality in no +way correspond with the pages of the ideal. The pages here, however, are +pages such as dream in pictures and books. Accordingly it is merely the +costume which has a historical effect. + +The actress who is to represent the youngest of the pages wears thin +silk which clings closely and is pale-blue, and has heraldic lilies of +the palest gold woven into it. This and as much lace as can possibly be +employed are the most distinctive feature of the costume. It does +not aim at any definite century, but seeks to emphasize the youthful +voluptuousness of the figure, the magnificent blond hair, and the clear +complexion. + +She is married, but it lasted only a year and a half, when she was +divorced from her husband, and she is said to have acted in anything but +a proper fashion towards him. And that may well be, but it is impossible +to imagine anything more innocent in appearance than she. That is +to say, it is not the gracious elemental innocence which has such +attractive qualities; but it is rather the cultivated, mature innocence, +in which no one can be mistaken, and which goes straight to the heart. +It captivates one with all the power which something that has reached +completion only can have. + +The second actress in the _proverbe_ is slender and melancholy. She is +unmarried and has no past, absolutely none. There is no one who knows +the least thing about her. Yet these finely delineated, almost lean +limbs, and these amber-pale, regular features are vocal. The face is +shaded by raven-black curls, and borne on a strong masculine neck. Its +mocking smile, in which there is also hungry desire, allures. The eyes +are unfathomable and their depths are as soft and luminous as the dark +petals in the flower of the pansy. + +The costume is of pale-yellow, in the manner of a corselet with wide, +up-and-down stripes, a stiff ruff and buttons of topaz. There is +a narrow frilled stripe on the edge of the collar, and also on the +close-fitting sleeves. The trunks are short, wide-slashed, and of +a dead-green color with pale purple in the slashes. The hose is +gray.--Those of the blue page, of course, are pure white.--Both wear +barrets. + +Such is their appearance. + +And now the yellow one is standing up on the balcony, leaning over the +edge, the while the blue is sitting on the bench down by the fountain, +comfortably leaning back, with his ring-covered hands clasped around one +knee. He stares dreamily out upon the Campagna. + +Now he speaks: + +"No, nothing exists in the world but women!--I don't understand it... +there must be a magic in the lines out of which they are created, merely +when I see them pass: Isaura, Rosamond, and Donna Lisa, and the others. +When I see how their garment clings around their figure and how it +drapes as they walk, it is as if my heart drank the blood out of all +my arteries, and left my head empty and without thoughts and my limbs +trembling and without strength. It is as though my whole being were +gathered into a single, tremulous, uneasy breath of desire. What is it? +Why is it? It is as if happiness went invisibly past my door, and I +had to snatch it and hold it close, and make it my own. It is so +wonderful--and yet I cannot seize it, for I cannot see it." + +Then the other page speaks from his balcony: + +"And if now you sat at her feet, Lorenzo, and lost in her thoughts she +had forgotten why she had called you, and you sat silent and waiting, +and her lovely face were bent over you further from you in the clouds of +its dreams than the star in the heavens, and yet so near you that every +expression was surrendered to your admiration, every beauty-engendered +line, every tint of the skin in its white stillness as well as in its +soft rosy glow--would it not then be as if she who is sitting there +belonged to another world than the one in which you kneel in adoration! +Would it not be as if hers were another world, as if another world +surrounded her, in which her festively garbed thoughts are going out to +meet some goal which is unknown to you? Her love is far away from all +that is yours, from your world, from everything. She dreams of far +distances and her desires are of far distances. And it seems as if not +the slightest space could be found for you in her thoughts, however +ardently you might desire to sacrifice yourself for her, your life, your +all, to the end that that might be between her and you which is hardly a +faint glimmer of companionship, much less a belonging together." + +"Yes, you know that it is thus. But...." Now a greenish-yellow lizard +runs along the edge of the balcony. It stops and looks about The tail +moves.... + +If one could only find a stone... + +Look out, my four-legged friend. + +No, you cannot hit them, they hear the stone long before it reaches +them. Anyhow he got frightened. + +But the pages disappeared at the same moment. + +The blue one had been sitting there so prettily. And in her eyes lay +a yearning which was genuine and unconscious and in her movements a +nervousness that was full of presentiment. Around her mouth was a faint +expression of pain, when she spoke, and even more when she listened to +the soft, somewhat low voice of the yellow page, which spoke to her +from the balcony in words that were provocative and at the same time +caressing, that had a note of mockery and a note of sympathy. + +And doesn't it seem now as if both were still here! + +They are there, and have carried on the action of the _proverbe_, while +they were gone. They have spoken of that vague young love which never +finds peace but unceasingly flits through all the lands of foreboding +and through all the heavens of hope; this love that is dying to satisfy +itself in the powerful, fervent glow of a single great emotion! Of this +they spoke; the younger one in bitter complaint, the elder one with +regretful tenderness. Now the latter said--the yellow one to the +blue--that he should not so impatiently demand the love of a woman to +capture him and hold him bound. + +"For believe me," he said, "the love that you will find in the clasp of +two white arms, with two eyes as your immediate heaven and the certain +bliss of two lips--this love lies nigh unto the earth and unto the dust. +It has exchanged the eternal freedom of dreams for a happiness which is +measured by hours and which hourly grows older. For even if it always +grows young again, yet each time it loses one of the rays which in a +halo surround the eternal youth of dreams. No, you are happy." + +"No, you are happy," answered the blue one, "I would give a world, were +I as you are." + +And the blue one rises, and begins to walk down the road to the +Campagna, and the yellow one looks after him with a sad smile and says +to himself: "No, he is happy!" + +But far down the road the blue one turns round once more toward the +balcony, and raising his barret calls: "No, you are happy!" + +***** + +There should have been roses. + +And now a breath of wind might come and shake a rain of rose-leaves from +the laden branches, and whirl them after the departing page. + + + + +MRS. FONSS + + +In the graceful pleasure-gardens behind the Pope's ancient palace +in Avignon stands a bench from which one can overlook the Rhone, the +flowery banks of the Durance, hills and fields, and a part of the town. + +One October afternoon two Danish ladies were seated on this bench, Mrs. +Fonss, a widow, and her daughter Elinor. + +Although they had been here several days and were already familiar with +the view before them, they nevertheless sat there and marveled that this +was the way the Provence looked. + +And this really was the Provence! A clayey river with flakes of muddy +sand, and endless shores of stone-gray gravel; pale-brown fields without +a blade of grass, pale-brown slopes, pale-brown hills and dust-colored +roads, and here and there near the white houses, groups of black trees, +absolutely black bushes and trees. Over all this hung a whitish sky, +quivering with light, which made everything still paler, still dryer and +more wearily light; never a glimmer of luxuriant, satiated hues, nothing +but hungry, sun-parched colors; not a sound in the air, not a scythe +passing through the grass, not a wagon rattling over the roads; and the +town stretching out on both sides was also as if built of silence with +all the streets still as at noon time, with all the houses deaf and +dumb, every shutter closed, every blind drawn, each and every one; +houses that could neither see nor hear. + +Mrs. Fonss viewed this lifeless monotony with a resigned smile, but +it made Elinor visibly nervous; not actively nervous as in the case of +annoyance, but mournful and weary, as one often becomes after many days +of rain, when all one's gloomy thoughts seem to pour down upon one with +the rain; or as at the idiotically consoling tick-tack of a clock, when +one sits and grows incurably tired of one's self; or at watching the +flowers of the wall-paper, when the same chain of worn-out dreams clanks +about against one's will in the brain and the links are joined and come +apart and in a stifling endlessness are united again. It actually had a +physical effect upon her, this landscape, almost causing her to faint. +To-day everything seemed to have conspired with the memories of a +hope which was dead and of sweet and lively dreams which had become +disagreeable and nauseous; dreams which caused her to redden when she +thought of them and which yet she could not forget. And what had all +that to do with the region here? The blow had fallen upon her far from +here amid the surroundings of her home, by the edge of a sound with +changing waters, under pale green beech-trees. Yet it hovered on the +lips of every pale brown hill, and every green-shuttered house stood +there and held silence concerning it. + +It was the old sorrow for young hearts which had touched her. She had +loved a man and believed in his love for her, and suddenly he had chosen +some one else. Why? For what reason? What had she done to him? Had she +changed? Was she no longer the same? And all the eternal questions over +again. She had not said a word about it to her mother, but her mother +had understood every bit of it, and had been very concerned about her. +She could have screamed at this thoughtfulness which knew and yet should +not have known; her mother understood this also, and for that reason +they had gone traveling. + +The whole purpose of the journey was only that she might forget. + +Mrs. Fonss did not need to make her daughter feel uneasy by scrutinizing +her face in order to know where her thoughts were. All she had to do +was to watch the nervous little hand which lay beside her and with +such futile despair stroked the bars of the bench; they changed their +position every moment like a fever-patient tossing from side to side in +his hot bed. When she did this and looked at the hand, she also knew how +life-weary the young eyes were that stared out into the distance, how +pain quivered through every feature of the delicate face, how pale it +was beneath its suffering, and how the blue veins showed at the temples +beneath the soft skin. + +She was very sorry for her little girl, and would have loved to have had +her lean against her breast, and to whisper down to her all the words of +comfort she could think of, but she had the conviction that there +were sorrows which could only die away in secret and which must not +be expressed in loud words, not even between a mother and daughter. +Otherwise some day under new circumstances, when everything is building +for joy and happiness, these words may become an obstacle, something +that weighs heavily and takes away freedom. The person who has spoken +hears their whisper in the soul of the other, imagines them turned over +and judged in the thoughts of the other. + +Then, too, she was afraid of doing injury to her daughter if she made +confidences too easy. She did not wish to have Elinor blush before her; +she did want, however much of a relief it might be, to help her over the +humiliation, which lies in opening the inmost recesses of one's soul to +the gaze of another. On the contrary the more difficult it became for +both, the more she was pleased, that the aristocracy of soul which +she herself possessed was repeated in her young daughter in a certain +healthy inflexibility. + +Once upon a time--it was a time many, many years ago, when she herself +had been an eighteen-year old girl, she had loved with all her soul, +with every sense in her body, every living hope, every thought. It was +not to be, could not be. He had had nothing to offer except his loyalty +which would have involved the test of an endlessly long engagement, and +there were circumstances in her home which could not wait. So she had +taken the one whom they had given her, the one who was master over these +circumstances. They were married, then came children: Tage, the son, +who was with her in Avignon, and the daughter, who sat beside her, +Everything had turned out so much better than she could have hoped for, +both easier and more friendly. Eight years it lasted, then the husband +died, and she mourned him with a sincere heart. She had learned to love +his fine, thin-blooded nature which with a tense, egotistic, almost +morbid love loved whatever belonged to it by ties of relationship or +family, and cared nought for anything in all the great world outside, +except for what they thought, what their opinion was--nothing else. +After her husband's death she had lived chiefly for her children, but +she had not devoted herself exclusively to them; she had taken part in +social life, as was natural for so young and well-to-do a widow; and now +her son was twenty-one years old and she lacked not many days of forty. +But she was still beautiful. There was not a gray thread in her heavy +dark-blonde hair, not a wrinkle round her large, courageous eyes, and +her figure was slender with well-balanced fullness. The strong, fine +lines of her features were accentuated by the darker more deeply colored +complexion which the years had given her; the smile of her widely +sweeping lips was very sweet; an almost enigmatical youth in the dewy +luminosity of her brown eyes softened and mellowed everything again. And +yet she also had the round fullness of cheek, the strong-willed chin of +a mature woman. + +"That surely is Tage coming," said Mrs. Fonss to her daughter when she +heard laughter and some Danish exclamations on the other side of the +thick hedge of hornbeam. + +Elinor pulled herself together. + +And it was Tage, Tage and Kastager, a wholesale merchant from +Copenhagen, with his sister and daughter; Mrs. Kastager lay ill at home +in the hotel. + +Mrs. Fonss and Elinor made room for the two ladies; the men tried for +a moment to converse standing, but were lured by the low wall of +stone which surrounded the spot. They sat there and said only what was +absolutely necessary, for the newcomers were tired from a little railway +excursion they had taken into the Provence with its blooming roses. + +"Hello!" cried Tage, striking his light trousers with the flat of his +hand, "look!" + +They looked. + +Out in the brown landscape appeared a cloud of dust, over it a mantle +of dust, and between the two they caught sight of a horse. "That's +the Englishman, I told you about, who came the other day," said Tage, +turning toward his mother. + +"Did you ever see any one ride like that?" he asked, turning toward +Kastager, "he reminds me of a gaucho." + +"Mazeppa?" said Kastager, questioningly. + +The horseman disappeared. + +Then they all rose, and set out for the hotel. + +They had met the Kastagers in Belfort, and since they were pursuing the +same itinerary through southern France and along the Riviera, they for +the time being traveled together. Here in Avignon both families had made +a halt; Kastager because his wife had developed a varicose vein, the +Fonss' because Elinor obviously needed a rest. + +Tage was delighted at this living together. Day by day he fell more and +more incurably in love with the pretty Ida Kastager. Mrs. Fonss did not +especially like this. Though Tage was very self-reliant and mature for +his age, there was no reason for a hasty engagement--and there was +Mr. Kastager! Ida was a splendid little girl, Mrs. Kastager was a very +well-bred woman of excellent family, and Kastager himself was capable, +rich, and honest, but there was a hint of the absurd about him. A smile +came upon people's lips and a twinkle into their eyes when any one +mentioned Mr. Kastager. + +The reason for this was that he was full of fire and given to +extraordinary enthusiasms; he was frankly ingenuous, boisterous, and +communicative, and nowadays it requires a great deal of tact to be +lavish with enthusiasm. But Mrs. Fonss could not bear the thought that +Tage's father-in-law should be mentioned with a twinkle in the eye and +a smile round the mouth, and for that reason she exhibited a certain +coldness toward the family to the great sorrow of the enamored Tage. + +***** + +On the morning of the following day Tage and his mother had gone to +look at the little museum of the town. They found the gate open, but the +doors to the collection locked; ringing the bell proved fruitless. The +gateway, however, gave admission to the not specially large court which +was surrounded by a freshly whitewashed arcade whose short squat columns +had black iron bars between them. + +They walked about and looked at the objects placed along the wall: Roman +sepulchral monuments, pieces of sarcophagi, a headless draped figure, +the dorsal vertebra of a whale, and a series of architectural details. + +On all the objects of interest there were fresh traces of the masons' +brushes. + +By now they had come back to their starting point. + +Tage ran up the stairs to see if there might not be people somewhere in +the house, and Mrs. Fonss in the meantime walked up and down the arcade. + +As she was on the turn toward the gate a tall man with a bearded, tanned +face, appeared at the end of the passage directly in front of her. He +had a guide-book in his hand; he listened for something, and then looked +forward, straight at her. + +The Englishman of yesterday immediately came to her mind. + +"Pardon me?" he began interrogatively, and bowed. + +"I am a stranger," Mrs. Fonss replied, "nobody seems to be at home, but +my son has just run upstairs to see whether...." + +These words were exchanged in French. + +At this moment Tage arrived. "I have been everywhere," he said, "even in +the living quarters, but didn't find as much as a cat." + +"I hear," said the Englishman, this time in Danish, "that I have the +pleasure of being with fellow-countrymen." + +He bowed again and retreated a couple of steps, as if to indicate that +he had merely said this to let them know that he understood what they +were saying. Suddenly he stepped closer than before with an intent, +eager expression on his face, and said to Mrs. Fonss, "is it possible +that you and I are old acquaintances?" + +"Are you Emil Thorbrogger?" exclaimed Mrs. Fonss, and held out her hand. + +He seized it. "Yes, I am he," he said gayly, "and you are she?" + +His eyes almost filled with tears as he looked at her. + +Mrs Fonss introduced Tage as her son. + +Tage had never in his life heard mention of Thorbrogger, but that was +not his thoughts; he thought only of the fact that this gaucho turned +out to be a Dane; when a pause set in, and some one had to say something +he could not help exclaiming, "and I who said yesterday that you +reminded me of a gaucho!" + +"Well," replied Thorbrogger, "that wasn't far from the truth; for +twenty-one years I have lived in the plains of La Plata, and in those +years certainly spent more time on horse-back than on foot." + +And now he had come back to Europe! + +Yes, he had sold his land and his sheep and had come back to have a look +around in the old world where he belonged, but to his shame he had +to confess that he often found it very much of a bore to travel about +merely for pleasure. + +Perhaps, he was homesick for the prairies? + +No, he had never had any special feeling for places and countries; he +thought it was only his daily work which he missed. + +In that way they went on talking for a while. At last the custodian +appeared, hot and out of breath, with heads of lettuce under his arms +and a bunch of scarlet tomatoes in his hand, and they were admitted into +the small, stuffy collection of paintings, where they gained only the +vaguest impression of the yellow thunder-clouds and black waters of old +Vernet, but on the contrary told each other with considerable detail +of their lives and the happenings during all the years since they had +parted. + +For it was he whom she had loved, at the time when she married another. +In the days which now followed they were much together, and the others +thinking that such old friends must have much to say to each other left +them often alone. In those days both soon noticed that however much +they might have changed during the course of the years, their hearts had +forgotten nothing. + +Perhaps it was he who first became aware of this, for all the +uncertainty of youth, its sentimentality and its elegiac mood came upon +him simultaneously, and he suffered under it. It seemed out of place +to the mature man, that he should so suddenly be robbed of his peace of +life and the self-possession which he had acquired during the course of +time, and he wanted his love to bear a different stamp, wished it to be +graver, more subdued. + +She did not feel herself younger, but it seemed to her as if a fountain +of tears that had been obstructed and dammed had burst open again and +begun to flow. There was great happiness and relief in crying, and these +tears gave her a feeling of richness; it was as if she had become more +precious, and everything had become more precious to her--in short it +was a feeling of youth after all. + +***** + +On an evening of one of these days Mrs. Fonss sat alone at home, +Elinor had gone to bed early, and Tage had gone to the theater with the +Kastagers. She had been sitting in the dull hotel-room and had dreamed +in the half light of a couple of candles. At length her dreams had come +to a stop after their incessant coming and going; she had grown tired, +but with that mild and smiling weariness which wraps itself round us, +when happy thoughts are falling asleep in our mind. + +She could not go on sitting here, staring in front of her, the whole +evening long without so much as a book. It was still over an hour before +the theater let out. So she began to walk up and down the room, stood in +front of the mirror, and arranged her hair. + +She would go down into the reading-room, and look over the illustrated +papers. At this time of the evening it was always empty there. + +She threw a large black lace shawl over her head and went down. + +The room was empty. + +The small room, overfull with furniture, was brilliantly illuminated +by half a dozen large gas-flames; it was hot and the air was almost +painfully dry. + +She drew the shawl down around the shoulders. + +The white papers there on the table, the portfolios with their large +gilt letters, the empty plush chairs, the regular squares of the carpet +and the even folds of the rep curtains--all this looked dull under the +strong light. + +She was still dreaming, and dreaming she stood, and listened to the +long-drawn singing of the gas-flames. + +The heat was such as almost to make one dizzy. + +To support herself she slowly reached out for a large, heavy bronze +vase which stood on a bracket fixed in the wall, and grasped the +flower-decorated edge. + +It was comfortable to stand thus, and the bronze was gratefully cool to +the touch of her hand. But as she stood thus, there came another feeling +also. She began to feel a contentment in her limbs, in her body, because +of the plastically beautiful position which she had assumed. She was +conscious of how becoming it was to her, of the beauty which was hers +at the moment, and even of the physical sensation of harmony. All +this gathered in a feeling of triumph, and streamed through her like a +strange festive exultation. + +She felt herself so strong at this hour, and life lay before her like +a great, radiant day; no longer like a day declining toward the calm, +melancholy hours of dusk. It seemed to her like an open, wide-awake +space of time, with hot pulses throbbing every second, with joyous +light, with energy and swiftness and an infinity without and within. And +she was thrilled with the fullness of life, and longed for it with the +feverish eagerness with which a traveler sets out on a journey. + +For a long time she stood thus, wrapped in her thoughts, forgetting +everything around her. Then suddenly as if she heard the silence in the +room and the long-drawn singing of the gas-flames, she let her hand +drop from the vase and sat down by the table and began to turn over the +leaves of a portfolio. + +She heard steps, passing by the door, heard them turn back, and saw +Thorbrogger enter. + +They exchanged a few words but as she seemed occupied with the pictures, +he also began to look at the magazines that lay in front of him. They, +however, did not interest him very much for when a little later she +looked up, she met his eyes which rested searchingly upon her. + +He looked as if he were just about to speak, and there was a nervous, +decided expression round his mouth, which told her so definitely what +his words would be that she reddened. + +Instinctively, as if she wished to hold back these words, she held out +a picture across the table and pointed at some horsemen from the pampas, +who were throwing lassoes over wild steers. + +He was just about to make some jesting remark about the draftsman's +naive conception of the art of throwing a lasso. It was so enticingly +easy to speak of this rather than of that which he had on his mind. +Resolutely, however, he pushed the picture aside, leaned a little ways +across the table and said, + +"I have thought a great deal about you since we met again; I have always +thought a great deal about you, both long ago in Denmark and over where +I was. And I have always loved you, and if it sometimes seems to me that +it is only now that I really love you since we have met again, it is not +true, however great my love may be, for I have always loved you, I have +always loved you. And if it should happen now that you would become +mine--you cannot imagine what that would mean to me, if you, who were +taken from me for so many years, were to come back." + +He was silent for a moment, then he rose, and came closer to her. + +"Oh, do say a word! I am standing here talking blindly. I speak to you +as to an interpreter, a stranger, who has to repeat what I am saying to +the heart I am speaking to.. I don't know... to stand here and weigh my +words... I don't know, how far or how near. I dare not put into words +the adoration which fills me--or dare I?" + +He let himself sink down on a chair by her side. + +"Oh, if I might, if I didn't have to be afraid--is it true! Oh, God +bless you, Paula." + +"There is nothing now that need keep us apart any longer," said she, +with her hand in his, "whatever may happen I have the right to be happy +once, to live fully in accordance with my being, my desire, and my +dreams. I have never renounced. Even though happiness was not my share, +I have never believed that life was nothing but grayness and duty. I +knew that there are people who are happy." + +Silently he kissed her hand. + +"I know," she said sadly, "that those who will judge me least harshly +will not envy me the happiness which I shall have in having your love, +but they will also say that I should be satisfied." + +"But that would not be enough for me, and you have not the right to send +me away." + +"No," she said, "no." + +A little later she went upstairs to Elinor. + +Elinor slept. + +Mrs. Fonss sat down by her bed and looked at her pale child whose +features she could only dimly distinguish under the faint yellow glow of +the night lamp. + +For Elinor's sake they would have to wait. In a few days they would +separate from Thorbrogger, go to Nice, and stay there by themselves. +During the winter she would live only that Elinor might regain her +health. But to-morrow she would tell the children what had happened +and what was to be expected. However they might receive the news it was +impossible for her to live with them day in, day out, and yet be almost +separated from them by a secret like this. And they would need time to +get used to the idea, because it would mean a separation between them, +whether greater or smaller would depend on the children themselves. The +arrangement of their lives in so far as it concerned her and him was to +be left entirely to them. She would demand nothing. It was for them to +_give_. + +She heard Tage's step in the sitting-room and went to him. + +He was so radiant and at the same time so nervous that Mrs. Fonss knew +something had happened, and she had an intuition of what it was. + +He sought for an opening to unburden his heart and sat and talked +absent-mindedly of the theater. Not until his mother went over to him +and put her hand on his forehead, forcing him to look at her, was he +able to tell her that he had wooed Ida Kastager and gained her "yes." + +They talked about it for a long time, but throughout Mrs. Fonss felt +a coldness in whatever she said, which she could not overcome. She was +afraid of being too sympathetic with Tage on account of her own emotion. +Besides, in the uncertain state of her mind she was distrustful of the +idea that there might be even the faintest shadow of an association +between her kindness of to-night and what she was to tell to-morrow.. + +Tage, however, did not notice any coolness. + +Mrs. Fonss did not sleep much that night; there were too many thoughts +to keep her awake. She thought how strange it was that he and she should +have met and that when they met they should love each other as in the +old days. + +It was long ago, especially for her; she was no longer, could no longer, +be young. And this would show; and he would be thoughtful with her, and +grow used to the fact that it was a long time since she was eighteen +years old. But she felt young, she was so in many respects, and yet all +the while she was conscious of her years. She saw it very clearly, in a +thousand movements, in expressions and gestures, in the way in which she +would respond to a hint, in the fashion in which she would smile at an +answer. Ten times a day she would betray her age, because she lacked the +courage to be outwardly as young as she was within. + +And thoughts came and thoughts went, but through it all the same +question always rose, as to what her children would say. + +On the forenoon of the following day she put the answer to the test. + +They were in the sitting-room. + +She said that she had something important to tell them, something +that would mean a great change in their lives, something that would +be unexpected news to them. She asked them to listen as calmly as they +could, and not to let themselves be carried away by the first impression +into thoughtlessness. They must know that what she was about to tell +them was definitely decided, and that nothing they might say could make +her alter her decision. + +"I am going to marry again," she said, and told them of how she had +loved Thorbrogger, before she had known their father; how she had become +separated from him, and how they had now met again. + +Elinor cried, but Tage had risen from his seat, utterly bewildered. He +then went close to her, kneeled down before her, and seized her hand. +Sobbing, half-stifled with emotion, he pressed it against his cheek with +infinite tenderness, with an expression of helplessness in every line of +his face. + +"Oh, but mother, dearest mother, what have we done to you, have we not +always loved you, have we not always, both when we were with you +and when we were away from from you, wanted you as the best thing we +possessed in the world? We have never known father except through you; +it was you who taught us to love him, and if Elinor and I are so close +to each other, is it not because day after day you always pointed out +to each of us what was best in the other? And has it not been thus with +every other person to whom we became attached, do we not owe everything +to you? We owe everything to you, and we worship you, mother, if you +only knew.... Oh, you cannot imagine, how much we want your love, want +you beyond all bounds and limits, but there again you have taught us to +restrain our love, and we never dare to come as close to your heart as +we should like. And now you say that you are going to leave us entirely, +and put us to one side. But that is impossible. Only one who wanted to +do us the greatest harm in the world could do anything as frightful as +that, and you don't want to do us the greatest harm, you want only what +is best for us--how can it then be possible? Say quickly that it is not +true; say it is not true, Tage, it is not true, Elinor." + +"Tage, Tage, don't be so distressed, and don't make it so hard, both for +yourself and us others." + +Tage rose. + +"Hard," he said, "hard, hard, oh were it nothing but that, but it is +horrible--unnatural; it is enough to drive one insane, merely to think +of it. Have you any idea of the things you make me think of? My mother +loved by a strange man, my mother desired, held in the arms of another +and holding him in hers. Nice thoughts for a son, worse than the worst +insult--but it is impossible, must be impossible, must be! Are the +prayers of a son to be as powerless as that! Elinor, don't sit there and +cry, come and help me beg mother to have pity on us." + +Mrs. Fonss made a restraining gesture with her hand and said: "Let +Elinor alone, she is probably tired enough, and besides I have told you +that nothing can be changed." + +"I wish I were dead," said Elinor, "but, mother, everything that Tage +has said is true, and it never can be right that at our age you should +give us a step-father." + +"Step-father," cried Tage, "I hope that he does not for one moment +dare.... You are mad. Where he enters, we go out. There isn't any power +on earth that can force me into the slightest intimacy with that +person. Mother must choose--he or we! If they go to Denmark after their +marriage, then we are exiles; if they stay here, we leave." + +"And those are your intentions, Tage?" asked Mrs. Fonss. + +"I don't think you need doubt that; imagine the life. Ida and I are +sitting out there on the terrace on a moonlit evening, and behind the +laurel-bushes some one is whispering. Ida asks who is whispering, and +I reply that it is my mother and her new husband.--No, no, I shouldn't +have said that; but you see the effect of it already, the pain it causes +me, and you may be sure that it won't help Elinor's health either." + +Mrs. Fonss let the children go while she remained sitting here. + +No, Tage was right, it had not been good for them. How far from her they +had already gone in that short hour! How they looked at her, not like +her children, but like their father's! How quick they were to desert her +as soon as they saw that not every motion of her heart was theirs! But +she was not only Tage's and Elinor's mother alone; she was also a human +being on her own account, with a life of her own and hopes of her own, +quite apart from them. But she was, perhaps, not quite as young as she +had believed herself to be. This had come to her in the conversation +with her children. Had she not sat there, timid, in spite of her words; +had she not almost felt like one who was trespassing upon the rights of +youth? Were not all the exorbitant demands of youth and all its naive +tyranny in everything they had said?--It is for us to love, life belongs +to us, and your life it is but to exist for us. + +She began to understand that there might be a satisfaction in being +quite old; not that she wished it, but yet old age smiled faintly at +her like a far-distant peace, coming after all the agitation of recent +times, and now when the prospect of so much discord was so near. For she +did not believe that her children would ever change their mind, and yet +she had to discuss it with them over and over again before she gave up +hope. The best thing would be for Thorbrogger to leave immediately. With +his presence no longer here the children might be less irritable, and +she could try to show them how eager she was to be as considerate as +possible to them. In time the first bitterness would disappear, and +everything... no, she did not believe, that everything would turn out +well. + +They agreed that Thorbrogger should leave for Denmark to arrange their +affairs. For the time being they would remain here. It seemed, however, +that nothing was gained by this. The children avoided her. Tage spent +all his time with Ida or her father, and Elinor stayed all the time +with the invalid, Mrs. Kastager. And when they happened to be actually +together, the old intimacy, the old feeling of comfort, was gone. Where +were the thousand subjects for conversation, and, when finally they +found one, where was the interest in it? They sat there keeping up +a conversation like people who for a while have enjoyed each other's +company, and now must part. All the thoughts of those who are about to +leave are fixed on the journey's end, and those who remain think only +of settling hack into the daily life and daily routine, as soon as the +strangers have left. + +There was no longer any common interest in their life; all the feeling +of belonging together had disappeared. They were able to talk about +what they were going to do next week, next month, or even the month +following, but it did not interest them as though it had to do with days +out of their own lives. It was merely a time of waiting, which somehow +or other had to be endured, for all three mentally asked themselves: And +what then? They felt no solid foundation in their lives; there was no +ground to build upon before this, which had separated them, was settled. + +Every day that passed the children forgot more and more what their +mother had meant to them, in the fashion in which children who believe +themselves wronged will forget a thousand benefactions for the sake of +one injustice. + +Tage was the most sensitive of them, but also the one who was hurt +most deeply, because he had loved most. He had wept through long nights +because of his mother whom he could not retain in the way in which he +wanted. There were times when the memory of her love almost deafened all +other feelings in his heart. One day he even went to her and beseeched +and implored her that she might belong to them, to them alone, and not +to any other one, and the answer had been a "no." And this "no" had made +him hard and cold. At first he had been afraid of this coldness, because +it was accompanied by a frightful emptiness. + +The case with Elinor was different. In a strange way she had felt that +it was an injustice toward her father, and she began to worship him like +a fetish. Even though she but dimly remembered him, she recreated him +for herself in most vivid fashion by becoming absorbed in everything +she had ever heard about him. She asked Kastager about him and Tage, +and every morning and night she kissed a medallion-portrait of his which +belonged to her. She longed with a somewhat hysterical desire for some +letters from him which she had left at home, and for things which had +once belonged to him. + +In proportion as the father in this way rose in her estimation, the +mother sank. The fact that she had fallen in love with a man harmed +her less in her daughter's eyes; but she was no lenger the mother, the +unfailing, the wisest, the supreme, most beautiful. She was a woman like +other women; not quite, but just because not quite, it was possible to +criticize and judge her and to find weaknesses and faults in her. Elinor +was glad that she had not confided her unhappy love to her mother; but +she did not know how much it was due to her mother that she had not done +so. + +One day passed like another, and their life became more and more +unendurable. All three felt that it was useless; instead of bringing +them together, it only drove them further apart. + +Mrs. Kastager had now recovered. Though she had not played an active +part in anything that had happened, she knew more about the situation +than any one else, because everything had been told her. One day she +had a long talk with Mrs. Fonss who was glad that there was some one who +would quietly listen to her plans for the future. In this conversation +Mrs. Kastager suggested that the children go with her to Nice, while +they sent for Thorbrogger to come to Avignon, so that they might be +married. Kastager could stay on as witness. + +Mrs. Fonss wavered a little while longer, for she had been unable to +discover what her children's reaction would be. When they were told, +they accepted it with proud silence, and when they were pressed for +answer, they merely said that they would, of course, adjust themselves +to whatever she decided to do. + +So things turned out as Mrs. Kastager had proposed. She said good-by to +the children, and they left; Thorbrogger came, and they were married. + +Spain became their home; Thorbrogger chose it for the sake of +sheep-farming. + +Neither of them wished to return to Denmark. + +And they lived happily in Spain. + +She wrote several times to her children, but in their first violent +anger that she had left them, they returned the letters. Later they +regretted it; they were unable, however, to admit this to their mother +and to write to her; for that reason all communication between them +ceased. But now and then in round about ways they heard about each +other's lives. + +For five years Thorbrogger and his wife lived happily, but then she +suddenly fell ill. It was a disease whose course ran swiftly and whose +end was necessarily fatal. Her strength dwindled hourly, and one day +when the grave was no longer far away she wrote to her children. + +"Dear children," she wrote, "I know that you will read this letter, for +it will not reach you until after my death. Do not be afraid, there are +no reproaches in these lines; would that I might make them bear enough +love. + +"When people love, Tage and Elinor, little Elinor, the one who loves +most must always humble himself, and therefore I come to you once more, +as in my thoughts I shall come to you every hour as long as I am able. +One who is about to die, dear children, is very poor; I am very poor, +for all this beautiful world, which for so many years has been my +abundant and kindly home, is to be taken from me. My chair will stand +here empty, the door will close behind me, and never again will I set my +foot here. Therefore I look at everything with the prayer in my eye that +it shall hold me in kind memory. Therefore I come to you and beg that +you will love me with all the love which once you had for me; for +remember that not to be forgotten is the only part in the living world +which from now on is to be mine; just to be remembered, nothing more. + +"I have never doubted your love; I knew very well that it was your great +love, that caused your great anger; had you loved me less, you would +have let me go more easily. And therefore I want to say to you, that +should some day it happen that a man bowed down with sorrow come to your +door to speak with you concerning me, to talk about me to relieve his +sorrow, then remember that no one has loved me as he has, and that all +the happiness which can radiate from a human heart has come from him to +me. And soon in the last great hour he will hold my hand in his when the +darkness comes, and his words will be the last I shall hear.... + +"Farewell, I say it here, but it is not the farewell which will be the +last to you; it I will say as late as I dare, and all my love will be +in it, and all the longings for so many, many years, and the memories +of the time when you were small, and a thousand wishes and a thousand +thanks. Farewell Tage, farewell Elinor, farewell until the last +farewell. + +"YOUR MOTHER." + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Mogens and Other Stories, by Jens Peter Jacobsen + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOGENS AND OTHER STORIES *** + +***** This file should be named 6765.txt or 6765.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/7/6/6765/ + +Produced by Eric Eldred + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Mogens and Other Stories + +Author: Jens Peter Jacobsen + +Release Date: October, 2004 [EBook #6765] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on January 24, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, MOGENS AND OTHER STORIES *** + + + + +This eBook was supplied by Eric Eldred. + + + + + +MOGENS AND OTHER STORIES +(1882) + +By JENS PETER JACOBSEN +(1847-1885) + +Translated from the Danish By ANNA GRABOW +(1921) + +Reprint of the 1921 ed., +which was issued as v. 2. of The Sea gull library. + + +CONTENTS + + +INTRODUCTION + +MOGENS + +THE PLAGUE AT BERGAMO + +THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN ROSES + +MRS. FONSS + + + +INTRODUCTION + +In the decade from 1870 to 1880 a new spirit was stirring in the +intellectual and literary world of Denmark. George Brandes was +delivering his lectures on the _Main Currents of Nineteenth Century +Literature_; from Norway came the deeply probing questionings of the +granitic Ibsen; from across the North Sea from England echoes of the +evolutionary theory and Darwinism. It was a time of controversy and +bitterness, of a conflict joined between the old and the new, both +going to extremes, in which nearly every one had a share. How many of +the works of that period are already out-worn, and how old-fashioned +the theories that were then so violently defended and attacked! Too +much logic, too much contention for its own sake, one might say, and +too little art. + +This was the period when Jens Peter Jacobsen began to write, but he +stood aside from the conflict, content to be merely artist, a creator +of beauty and a seeker after truth, eager to bring into the realm of +literature "the eternal laws of nature, its glories, its riddles, its +miracles," as he once put it. That is why his work has retained its +living colors until to-day, without the least trace of fading. + +There is in his work something of the passion for form and style that +one finds in Flaubert and Pater, but where they are often hard, +percussive, like a piano, he is soft and strong and intimate like a +violin on which he plays his reading of life. Such analogies, however, +have little significance, except that they indicate a unique and +powerful artistic personality. + +Jacobsen is more than a mere stylist. The art of writers who are too +consciously that is a sort of decorative representation of life, a +formal composition, not a plastic composition. One element +particularly characteristic of Jacobsen is his accuracy of observation +and minuteness of detail welded with a deep and intimate understanding +of the human heart. His characters are not studied tissue by tissue as +under a scientist's microscope, rather they are built up living cell +by living cell out of the author's experience and imagination. He +shows how they are conditioned and modified by their physical being, +their inheritance and environment, Through each of his senses he lets +impressions from without pour into him. He harmonizes them with a +passionate desire for beauty into marvelously plastic figures and +moods. A style which grows thus organically from within is style out +of richness; the other is style out of poverty. + +In a letter he once stated his belief that every book to be of real +value must embody the struggle of one or more persons against all +those things which try to keep one from existing in one's own way. +That is the fundamental ethos which runs through all of Jacobsen's +work. It is in Marie Grubbe, Niels Lyhne, Mogens, and the infinitely +tender Mrs. Fonss. + +They are types of the kind he has described in the following passage: +"Know ye not that there is here in this world a secret confraternity, +which one might call the Company of Melancholiacs? That people there +are who by natural constitution have been given a different nature and +disposition than the others; that have a larger heart and a swifter +blood, that wish and demand more, have stronger desires and a yearning +which is wilder and more ardent than that of the common herd. They are +fleet as children over whose birth good fairies have presided; their +eyes are opened wider; their senses are more subtile in all their +perceptions. The gladness and joy of life, they drink with the roots +of their heart, the while the others merely grasp them with coarse +hands." + +He himself was one of these, and in this passage his own art and +personality is described better than could be done in thousands of +words of commentary. + +Jens Peter Jacobsen was born in the little town of Thisted in Jutland, +on April 7, 1847. In 1868 he matriculated at the University of +Copenhagen, where he displayed a remarkable talent for science, +winning the gold medal of the university with a dissertation on +Seaweeds. He definitely chose science as a career, and was among the +first in Scandinavia to recognize the importance of Darwin. He +translated the Origin of Species and Descent of Man into Danish. In +1872 while collecting plants he contracted tuberculosis, and as a +consequence, was compelled to give up his scientific career. This was +not as great a sacrifice, as it may seem, for he had long been +undecided whether to choose science or literature as his life work. + +The remainder of his short life--he died April 30, 1885--was one of +passionate devotion to literature and a constant struggle with ill +health. The greater part of this period was spent in his native town +of Thisted, but an advance royalty from his publisher enabled him to +visit the South of Europe. His journey was interrupted at Florence by +a severe hemorrhage. + +He lived simply, unobtrusively, bravely. His method of work was slow +and laborious. He shunned the literary circles of the capital with +their countless intrusions and interruptions, because he knew that the +time allotted him to do his work was short. "When life has sentenced +you to suffer," he has written in Niels Lyhne, "the sentence is neither +a fancy nor a threat, but you are dragged to the rack, and you are +tortured, and there is no marvelous rescue at the last moment," and in +this book there is also a corollary, "It is on the healthy in you you +must live, it is the healthy that becomes great." The realization of +the former has given, perhaps, a subdued tone to his canvasses; the +recognition of the other has kept out of them weakness or self-pity. + +Under the encouragement of George Brandes his novel Marie Grubbe was +begun in 1873, and published in 1876. His other novel Niels Lyhne +appeared in 1880. Excluding his early scientific works, these two +books together with a collection of short stories, Mogens and Other +Tales, published in 1882, and a posthumous volume of poems, constitute +Jacobsen's literary testament. The present volume contains Mogens, the +story with which he made his literary debut, and other characteristic +stories. + +The physical measure of Jacobsen's accomplishment was not great, but +it was an important milestone in northern literature. It is hardly an +exaggeration to say that in so far as Scandinavia is concerned he +created a new method of literary approach and a new artistic prose. +There is scarcely a writer in these countries, since 1880, with any +pretension toward literary expression who has not directly or +indirectly come under Jacobsen's influence. + +O. F. THEIS. + + + +MOGENS + + + +MOGENS + + +SUMMER it was; in the middle of the day; in a corner of the enclosure. +Immediately in front of it stood an old oaktree, of whose trunk one +might say, that it agonized in despair because of the lack of harmony +between its fresh yellowish foliage and its black and gnarled +branches; they resembled most of all grossly misdrawn old gothic +arabesques. Behind the oak was a luxuriant thicket of hazel with dark +sheenless leaves, which were so dense, that neither trunk nor branches +could be seen. Above the hazel rose two straight, joyous maple-trees +with gayly indented leaves, red stems and long dangling clusters of +green fruit. Behind the maples came the forest--a green evenly rounded +slope, where birds went out and in as elves in a grasshill. + +All this you could see if you came wandering along the path through +the fields beyond the fence. If, however, you were lying in the shadow +of the oak with your back against the trunk and looking the other +way--and there was a some one, who did that--then you would see first +your own legs, then a little spot of short, vigorous grass, next a +large cluster of dark nettles, then the hedge of thorn with the big, +white convolvulus, the stile, a little of the ryefield outside, +finally the councilor's flagpole on the hill, and then the sky. + +It was stifling hot, the air was quivering with heat, and then it was +very quiet; the leaves were hanging from the trees as if asleep. +Nothing moved except the lady-birds and the nettles and a few withered +leaves that lay on the grass and rolled themselves up with sudden +little jerks as if they were shrinking from the sunbeams. + +And then the man underneath the oak; he lay there gasping for air and +with a melancholy look stared helplessly towards the sky. He tried to +hum a tune, but gave it up; whistled, then gave that up too; turned +round, turned round again and let his eyes rest upon an old mole-hill, +that had become quite gray in the drought. Suddenly a small dark spot +appeared upon the light-gray mold, another, three, four, many, still +more, the entire mole-hill suddenly was quite dark-gray. The air was +filled with nothing but long, dark streaks, the leaves nodded and +swayed and there rose a murmur which turned into a hissing--rain was +pouring down. Everything gleamed, sparkled, spluttered. Leaves, +branches, trunks, everything shone with moisture; every little drop +that fell on earth, on grass, on the fence, on whatever it was, broke +and scattered in a thousand delicate pearls. Little drops hung for a +while and became big drops, trickled down elsewhere, joined with other +drops, formed small rivulets, disappeared into tiny furrows, ran into +big holes and out of small ones, sailed away laden with dust, chips of +wood and ragged bits of foliage, caused them to run aground, set them +afloat, whirled them round and again caused them to ground. Leaves, +which had been separated since they were in the bud, were reunited by +the flood; moss, that had almost vanished in the dryness, expanded and +became soft, crinkly, green and juicy; and gray lichens which nearly +had turned to snuff, spread their delicate ends, puffed up like +brocade and with a sheen like that of silk. The convolvuluses let +their white crowns be filled to the brim, drank healths to each other, +and emptied the water over the heads of the nettles. The fat black +wood-snails crawled forward on their stomachs with a will, and looked +approvingly towards the sky. And the man? The man was standing +bareheaded in the midst of the downpour, letting the drops revel in +his hair and brows, eyes, nose, mouth; he snapped his fingers at the +rain, lifted a foot now and again as if he were about to dance, shook +his head sometimes, when there was too much water in the hair, and +sang at the top of his voice without knowing what he was singing, so +pre-occupied was he with the rain: + + Had I, oh had I a grandson, trala, + And a chest with heaps and heaps of gold, + Then very likely had I had a daughter, trala, + And house and home and meadows untold. + + Had I, oh had I a daughter dear, trala, + And house and home and meadows untold, + Then very like had I had a sweetheart, trala. + And a chest with heaps and heaps of gold. + +There he stood and sang in the rain, but yonder between the dark +hazelbushes the head of a little girl was peeping out. A long end of +her shawl of red silk had become entangled in a branch which projected +a little beyond the others, and from time to time a small hand went +forward and tugged at the end, but this had no other result, further +than to produce a little shower of rain from the branch and its +neighbors. The rest of the shawl lay close round the little girl's +head and hid half of the brow; it shaded the eyes, then turned +abruptly and became lost among the leaves, but reappeared in a big +rosette of folds underneath the girl's chin. The face of the little +girl looked very astonished, she was just about to laugh; the smile +already hovered in the eyes. Suddenly he, who stood there singing in +the midst of the downpour, took a few steps to the side, saw the red +shawl, the face, the big brown eyes, the astonished little open mouth; +instantly his position became awkward, in surprise he looked down +himself; but in the same moment a small cry was heard, the projecting +branch swayed violently, the red end of the shawl disappeared in a +flash, the girl's face disappeared, and there was a rustling and +rustling further and further away behind the hazelbushes. Then he ran. +He did not know why, he did not think at all. The gay mood, which the +rainstorm had called forth, welled up in him again, and he ran after +the face of the little girl. It did not enter his head that it was a +person he pursued. To him it was only the face of a little girl. He +ran, it rustled to the right, it rustled to the left, it rustled in +front, it rustled behind, he rustled, she rustled, and all these +sounds and the running itself excited him, and he cried: "Where are +you? Say cuckoo!" Nobody answered. When he heard his own voice, he +felt just a little uneasy, but he continued running; then a thought +came to him, only a single one, and he murmured as he kept on running: +"What am I going to say to her? What am I going to say to her?" He was +approaching a big bush, there she had hid herself, he could just see a +corner of her skirt. "What am I going to say to her? What am I going +to say to her?" he kept on murmuring while he ran. He was quite near +the bush, then turned abruptly, ran on still murmuring the same, came +out upon the open road, ran a distance, stopped abruptly and burst out +laughing, walked smiling quietly a few paces, then burst out laughing +loudly again, and did not cease laughing all the way along the hedge. + +It was on a beautiful autumn day; the fall of the foliage was going on +apace and the path which led to the lake was quite covered with the +citron-yellow leaves from the elms and maples; here and there were +spots of a darker foliage. It was very pleasant, very clean to walk on +this tigerskin-carpet, and to watch the leaves fall down like snow; the +birch looked even lighter and more graceful with its branches almost +bare and the roan-tree was wonderful with its heavy scarlet cluster of +berries. And the sky was so blue, so blue, and the wood seemed so much +bigger, one could look so far between the trunks. And then of course +one could not help thinking that soon all this would be of the past. +Wood, field, sky, open air, and everything soon would have to give way +to the time of the lamps, the carpets, and the hyacinths. For this +reason the councilor from Cape Trafalgar and his daughter were walking +down to the lake, while their carriage stopped at the bailiff's. + +The councilor was a friend of nature, nature was something quite +special, nature was one of the finest ornaments of existence. The +councilor patronized nature, he defended it against the artificial; +gardens were nothing but nature spoiled; but gardens laid out in +elaborate style were nature turned crazy. There was no style in +nature, providence had wisely made nature natural, nothing but +natural. Nature was that which was unrestrained, that which was +unspoiled. But with the fall of man civilization had come upon +mankind; now civilization had become a necessity; but it would have +been better, if it had not been thus. The state of nature was +something quite different, quite different. The councilor himself +would have had no objection to maintaining himself by going about in a +coat of lamb-skin and shooting hares and snipes and golden plovers and +grouse and haunches of venison and wild boars. No, the state of nature +really was like a gem, a perfect gem. + +The councilor and his daughter walked down to the lake. For some time +already it had glimmered between the trees, but now when they turned +the corner where the big poplar stood, it lay quite open before them. +There it lay with large spaces of water clear as a mirror, with jagged +tongues of gray-blue rippled water, with streaks that were smooth and +streaks that were rippled, and the sunlight rested on the smooth +places and quivered in the ripples. It captured one's eye and drew it +across its surface, carried it along the shores, past slowly rounded +curves, past abruptly broken lines, and made it swing around the green +tongues of land; then it let go of one's glance and disappeared in +large bays, but it carried along the thought--Oh, to sail! Would it be +possible to hire boats here? + +No, there were none, said a little fellow, who lived in the white +country-house near by, and stood at the shore skipping stones over the +surface of the water. Were there really no boats at all? + +Yes, of course, there were some; there was the miller's, but it could +not be had; the miller would not permit it. Niels, the miller's son, +had nearly gotten a spanking when he had let it out the other day. It +was useless to think about it; but then there was the gentleman, who +lived with Nicolai, the forest-warden. He had a fine boat, one which +was black at the top and red at the bottom, and he lent it to each and +every one. + +The councilor and his daughter went up to Nicolai's, the +forest-warden. At a short distance from the house they met a little +girl. She was Nicolai's, and they told her to run in and ask if they +might see the gentleman. She ran as if her life depended on it, ran +with both arms and legs, until she reached the door; there she placed +one leg on the high doorstep, fastened her garter, and then rushed +into the house. She reappeared immediately afterwards with two doors +ajar behind her and called long before she reached the threshold, that +the gentleman would be there in a moment; then she sat down on the +doorstep, leaned against the wall, and peered at the strangers from +underneath one of her arms. + +The gentleman came, and proved to be a tall strongly-built man of some +twenty years. The councilor's daughter was a little startled, when she +recognized in him the man, who had sung during the rainstorm. But he +looked so strange and absentminded; quite obviously he had just been +reading a book, one could tell that from the expression in his eyes, +from his hair, from the abstracted way in which he managed his hands. + +The councilor's daughter dropped him an exuberant courtesy and said +"Cuckoo," and laughed. + +"Cuckoo?" asked the councilor. Why, it was the little girl's face! The +man went quite crimson, and tried to say something when the councilor +came with a question about the boat. Yes, it was at his service. But +who was going to do the rowing? Why, he of course, said the girl, and +paid no attention to what her father said about it; it was immaterial +whether it was a bother to the gentleman, for sometimes he himself did +not mind at all troubling other people. Then they went down to the +boat, and on the way explained things to the councilor. They stepped +into the boat, and were already a good ways out, before the girl had +settled herself comfortably and found time to talk. + +"I suppose it was something very learned you were reading," she said, +"when I came and called cuckoo and fetched you out sailing?" + +"Rowing, you mean. Something learned! It was the 'History of Sir +Peter with the Silver Key and the Beautiful Magelone.'" + +"Who is that by?" + +"By no one in particular. Books of that sort never are. 'Vigoleis +with the Golden Wheel' isn't by anybody either, neither is 'Bryde, +the Hunter.'" + +"I have never heard of those titles before." + +"Please move a little to the side, otherwise we will list.--Oh no, +that is quite likely, they aren't fine books at all; they are the sort +you buy from old women at fairs." + +"That seems strange. Do you always read books of that kind?" + +"Always? I don't read many books in the course of a year, and the kind +I really like the best are those that have Indians in them." + +"But poetry? Oehlenschlager, Schiller, and the others?" + +"Oh, of course I know them; we had a whole bookcase full of them at +home, and Miss Holm--my mother's companion--read them aloud after +lunch and in the evenings; but I can't say that I cared for them; I +don't like verse." + +"Don't like verse? You said had, isn't your mother living any more?" + +"No, neither is my father." + +He said this with a rather sullen, hostile tone, and the conversation +halted for a time and made it possible to hear clearly the many little +sounds created by the movement of the boat through the water. The girl +broke the silence: + +"Do you like paintings?" + +"Altar-pieces? Oh, I don't know." + +"Yes, or other pictures, landscapes for instance?" + +"Do people paint those too? Of course they do, I know that very well." + +"You are laughing at me?" + +"I? Oh yes, one of us is doing that" + +"But aren't you a student?" + +"Student? Why should I be? No, I am nothing." + +"But you must be something. You must do something?" + +"But why?" + +"Why, because--everybody does something!" + +"Are you doing something?" + +"Oh well, but you are not a lady." + +"No, heaven be praised." + +"Thank you." + +He stopped rowing, drew the oars out of the water, looked her into the +face and asked: + +"What do you mean by that?--No, don't be angry with me; I will tell +you something, I am a queer sort of person. You cannot understand it. +You think because I wear good clothes, I must be a fine man. My father +was a fine man; I have been told that he knew no end of things, and I +daresay he did, since he was a district-judge. I know nothing because +mother and I were all to each other, and I did not care to learn the +things they teach in the schools, and don't care about them now +either. Oh, you ought to have seen my mother; she was such a tiny wee +lady. When I was no older than thirteen I could carry her down into +the garden. She was so light; in recent years I would often carry her +on my arm through the whole garden and park. I can still see her in +her black gowns with the many wide laces. . . ." + +He seized the oars and rowed violently. The councilor became a little +uneasy, when the water reached so high at the stern, and suggested, +that they had better see about getting home again; so back they went. + +"Tell me," said the girl, when the violence of his rowing had decreased +a little. "Do you often go to town?" + +"I have never been there." + +"Never been there? And you only live twelve miles away?" + +"I don't always live here, I live at all sorts of places since my +mother's death, but the coming winter I shall go to town to study +arithmetic." + +"Mathematics?" + +"No, timber," he said laughingly, "but that is something you don't +understand. I'll tell you, when I am of age I shall buy a sloop and +sail to Norway, and then I shall have to know how to figure on account +of the customs and clearance." + +"Would you really like that?" + +"Oh, it, is magnificent on the sea, there is such a feeling of being +alive in sailing--here we are at the landing-stage!" + +He came alongside; the councilor and his daughter stepped ashore after +having made him promise to come and see them at Cape Trafalgar. Then +they returned to the bailiff's, while he again rowed out on the lake. +At the poplar they could still hear the sounds of the oars. + +"Listen, Camilla," said the councilor, who had been out to lock the +outer door, "tell me," he said, extinguishing his hand-lamp with the +bit of his key, "was the rose they had at the Carlsens a Pompadour or +Maintenon?" + +"Cendrillon," the daughter answered. + +"That's right, so it was,--well, I suppose we had better see that we +get to bed now; good night, little girl, good night, and sleep well." + +When Camilla had entered her room, she pulled up the blind, leaned her +brow against the cool pane, and hummed Elizabeth's song from "The +Fairy-hill." At sunset a light breeze had begun to blow and a few tiny, +white clouds, illumined by the moon, were driven towards Camilla. For +a long while she stood regarding them; her eye followed them from a +far distance, and she sang louder and louder as they drew nearer, kept +silent a few seconds while they disappeared above her, then sought +others, and followed them too. With a little sigh she pulled down the +blind. She went to the dressing table, rested her elbows against her +clasped hands and regarded her own picture in the mirror without +really seeing it. + +She was thinking of a tall young man, who carried a very delicate, +tiny, blackdressed lady in his arms; she was thinking of a tall man, +who steered his small ship in between cliffs and rocks in a +devastating gale. She heard a whole conversation over again. She +blushed: Eugene Carlson might have thought that you were paying court +to him! With a little jealous association of ideas she continued: No +one would ever run after Clara in a wood in the rainstorm, she would +never have invited a stranger--literally asked him--to sail with her. +"Lady to her fingertips," Carlson had said of Clara; that really was a +reprimand for you, you peasant-girl Camilla! Then she undressed with +affected slowness, went to bed, took a small elegantly bound book from +the bookshelf near by and opened the first page. She read through a +short hand-written poem with a tired, bitter expression +on her face, then let the book drop to the floor and burst into tears; +afterwards she tenderly picked it up again, put it back in its place +and blew out the candle; lay there for a little while gazing +disconsolately at the moonlit blind, and finally went to sleep. + +A few days later the "rainman" started on his way to Cape Trafalgar. He +met a peasant driving a load of rye straw, and received permission to +ride with him. Then he lay down on his back in the straw and gazed at +the cloudless sky. The first couple of miles he let his thoughts come +and go as they listed, besides there wasn't much variety in them. Most +of them would come and ask him how a human being possibly could be so +wonderfully beautiful, and they marveled that it really could be an +entertaining occupation for several days to recall the features of a +face, its changes of expression and coloring, the small movements of a +head and a pair of hands, and the varying inflections in a voice. But +then the peasant pointed with his whip towards the slate-roof about a +mile away and said that the councilor lived over there, and the good +Mogens rose from the straw and stared anxiously towards the roof. He +had a strange feeling of oppression and tried to make himself believe +that nobody was at home, but tenaciously came back to the conception +that there was a large party, and he could not free himself from that +idea, even though he counted how many cows "Country-joy" had on the +meadow and how many heaps of gravel he could see along the road. At +last the peasant stopped near a small path leading down to the +country-house, and Mogens slid down from the cart and began to brush +away the bits of straw while the cart slowly creaked away over the +gravel on the road. + +He approached the garden-gate step by step, saw a red shawl disappear +behind the balcony windows, a small deserted white sewing-basket on +the edge of the balcony, and the back of a still moving empty +rocking-chair. He entered the garden, with his eyes fixed intently on +the balcony, heard the councilor say good-day, turned his head toward +the sound, and saw him standing there nodding, his arms full of empty +flowerpots. They spoke of this and that, and the councilor began to +explain, as one might put it, that the old specific distinction +between the various kinds of trees had been abolished by grafting, and +that for his part he did not like this at all. Then Camilla slowly +approached wearing a brilliant glaring blue shawl. Her arms were +entirely wrapped up in the shawl, and she greeted him with a slight +inclination of the head and a faint welcome. The councilor left with +his flower-pots, Camilla stood looking over her shoulders towards the +balcony; Mogens looked at her. How had he been since the other day? +Thank you, nothing especial had been the matter with him. Done much +rowing? Why, yes, as usual, perhaps not quite as much. She turned her +head towards him, looked coldly at him, inclined her head to one side +and asked with half-closed eyes and a faint smile whether it was the +beautiful Magelone who had engrossed his time. He did not know what +she meant, but he imagined it was. Then they stood for a while and +said nothing. Camilla took a few steps towards a corner, where a +bench and a garden-chair stood. She sat down on the bench and asked +him, after she was seated, looking at the chair, to be seated; he must +be very tired after his long walk. He sat down in the chair. + +Did he believe anything would come of the projected royal alliance? +Perhaps, he was completely indifferent? Of course, he had no interest +in the royal house. Naturally he hated aristocracy? There were very +few young men who did not believe that democracy was, heaven only knew +what. Probably he was one of those who attributed not the slightest +political importance to the family alliances of the royal house? +Perhaps he was mistaken. It had been seen. . . . She stopped suddenly, +surprised that Mogens who had at first been somewhat taken aback at +all this information, now looked quite pleased. He wasn't to sit +there, and laugh at her! She turned quite red. + +"Are you very much interested in politics?" she asked timidly. + +"Not in the least." + +"But why do you let me sit here talking politics eternally?" + +"Oh, you say everything so charmingly, that it does not matter what +you are talking about." + +"That really is no compliment." + +"It certainly is," he assured her eagerly, for it seemed to him she +looked quite hurt. + +Camilla burst out laughing, jumped up, and ran to meet her father, +took his arm, and walked back with him to the puzzled Mogens. + +When dinner was through and they had drunk their coffee up on the +balcony, the councilor suggested a walk. So the three of them went +along the small way across the main road, and along a narrow path with +stubble of rye on both sides, across the stile, and into the woods. +There was the oak and everything else; there even were still +convolvuluses on the hedge. Camilla asked Mogens to fetch some for +her. He tore them all off, and came back with both hands full. + +"Thank you, I don't want so many," she said, selected a few and let the +rest fall to the ground. "Then I wish I had let them be," Mogens said +earnestly. + +Camilla bent down and began to gather them up. She had expected him to +help her and looked up at him in surprise, but he stood there quite +calm and looked down at her. Now as she had begun, she had to go on, +and gathered up they were; but she certainly did not talk to Mogens +for a long while. She did not even look to the side where he was. But +somehow or other they must have become reconciled, for when on their +way back they reached the oak again, Camilla went underneath it and +looked up into its crown. She tripped from one side to the other, +gesticulated with her hands and sang, and Mogens had to stand near the +hazelbushes to see what sort of a figure he had cut. Suddenly Camilla +ran towards him, but Mogens lost his cue, and forgot both to shriek +and to run away, and then Camilla laughingly declared that she was +very dissatisfied with herself and that she would not have had the +boldness to remain standing there, when such a horrible creature--and +she pointed towards herself--came rushing towards her. But Mogens +declared that he was very well satisfied with himself. + +When towards sunset he was going home the councilor and Camilla +accompanied him a little way. And as they were going home she said to +her father that perhaps they ought to invite that lonesome young man +rather frequently during the month, while it was still possible to +stay in the country. He knew no one here about, and the councilor said +"yes," and smiled at being thought so guileless, but Camilla walked +along and looked so gentle and serious, that one would not doubt but +that she was the very personification of benevolence itself. + +The autumn weather remained so mild that the councilor stayed on at +Cape Trafalgar for another whole month, and the effect of the +benevolence was that Mogens came twice the first week and about every +day the third. + +It was one of the last days of fair weather. + +It had rained early in the morning and had remained overclouded far +down into the forenoon; but now the sun had come forth. Its rays were +so strong and warm, that the garden-paths, the lawns and the branches +of the trees were enveloped in a fine filmy mist. The councilor walked +about cutting asters. Mogens and Camilla were in a corner of the +garden to take down some late winter apples. He stood on a table with +a basket on his arm, she stood on a chair holding out a big white +apron by the corners. + +"Well, and what happened then?" she called impatiently to Mogens, who +had interrupted the fairy-tale he was telling in order to reach an +apple which hung high up. + +"Then," he continued, "the peasant began to run three times round +himself and to sing: 'To Babylon, to Babylon, with an iron ring +through my head.' Then he and his calf, his great-grandmother, and his +black rooster flew away. They flew across oceans as broad as Arup +Vejle, over mountains as high as the church at Jannerup, over +Himmerland and through the Holstein lands even to the end of the +world. There the kobold sat and ate breakfast; he had just finished +when they came. + +"'You ought to be a little more god-fearing, little father,' said the +peasant, 'otherwise it might happen that you might miss the kingdom of +heaven.'" + +"Well, he would gladly be god-fearing." + +"'Then you must say grace after meals,' said the peasant. . . ." + +"No, I won't go on with the story," said Mogens impatiently. + +"Very well, then don't," said Camilla, and looked at him in surprise. + +"I might as well say it at once," continued Mogens, "I want to ask you +something, but you mustn't laugh at me." + +Camilla jumped down from the chair. + +"Tell me--no, I want to tell you something myself--here is the table +and there is the hedge, if you won't be my bride, I'll leap with the +basket over the hedge and stay away. One!" + +Camilla glanced furtively at him, and noticed that the smile had +vanished from his face. + +"Two!" + +He was quite pale with emotion. + +"Yes," she whispered, and let go the ends of her apron so that the +apples rolled toward all corners of the world and then she ran. But +she did not run away from Mogens. + +"Three," said she, when he reached her, but he kissed her nevertheless. + +The councilor was interrupted among his asters, but the +district-judge's son was too irreproachable a blending of nature and +civilization for the councilor to raise objections. + +* * * + +It was late winter; the large heavy cover of snow, the result of a +whole week's uninterrupted blowing, was in the process of rapidly +melting away. The air was full of sunlight and reflection from the +white snow, which in large, shining drops dripped down past the +windows. Within the room all forms and colors had awakened, all lines +and contours had come to life. Whatever was flat extended, whatever +was bent curved, whatever was inclined slid, and whatever was broken +refracted the more. All kinds of green tones mingled on the +flower-table, from the softest dark-green to the sharpest +yellow-green. Reddish brown tones flooded in flames across the surface +of the mahogany table, and gold gleamed and sparkled from the +knick-knacks, from the frames and moldings, but on the carpet all the +colors broke and mingled in a joyous, shimmering confusion. + +Camilla sat at the window and sewed, and she and the Graces on the +mantle were quite enveloped in a reddish light from the red curtains +Mogens walked slowly up and down the room, and passed every moment in +and out of slanting beams of light of pale rainbow-colored dust. + +He was in talkative mood. + +"Yes," he said, "they are a curious kind of people, these with whom you +associate. There isn't a thing between heaven and earth which they +cannot dispose of in the turn of a hand. This is common, and that is +noble; this is the most stupid thing that has been done since the +creation of the world, and that is the wisest; this is so ugly, so +ugly, and that is so beautiful it cannot be described. They agree so +absolutely about all this, that it seems as if they had some sort of a +table or something like that by which they figured things out, for +they always get the same result, no matter what it may be. How alike +they are to each other, these people! Every one of them knows the same +things and talks about the same things, and all of them have the same +words and the same opinions." + +"You don't mean to say," Camilla protested, "that Carlsen and Ronholt +have the same opinions." + +"Yes, they are the finest of all, they belong to different parties! +Their fundamental principles are as different as night and day. No, +they are not. They are in such agreement that it is a perfect joy. +Perhaps there may he some little point about which they don't agree; +perhaps, it is merely a misunderstanding. But heaven help me, if it +isn't pure comedy to listen to them. It is as if they had prearranged +to do everything possible not to agree. They begin by talking in a +loud voice, and immediately talk themselves into a passion. Then one +of them in his passion says something which he doesn't mean, and then +the other one says the direct opposite which he doesn't mean either, +and then the one attacks that which the other doesn't mean, and the +other that which the first one didn't mean, and the game is on." + +"But what have they done to you?" + +"They annoy me, these fellows. If you look into their faces it is just +as if you had it under seal that nothing especial is ever going to +happen in the world in the future." Camilla laid down her sewing, went +over and took hold of the corners of his coat collar and looked +roguishly and questioningly at him. + +"I cannot bear Carlsen," he said angrily, and tossed his head. + +"Well, and then." + +"And then you are very, very sweet," he murmured with a comic +tenderness. + +"And then?" + +"And then," he burst out, "he looks at you and listens to you and talks +to you in a way I don't like. He is to quit that, for you are mine and +not his. Aren't you? You are not his, not his in any way. You are +mine, you have bonded yourself to me as the doctor did to the devil; +you are mine, body and soul, skin and bones, till all eternity." + +She nodded a little frightened, looked trustfully at him; her eyes +filled with tears, then she pressed close to him and he put his arms +around her, bent over her, and kissed her on the forehead. + +The same evening Mogens went to the station with the councilor who had +received a sudden order in reference to an official tour which he was +to make. On this account Camilla was to go to her aunt's the next +morning and stay there until he returned, + +When Mogens had seen his future father-in-law off, he went home, +thinking of the fact that he now would not see Camilla for several +days. He turned into the street where she lived. It was long and +narrow and little frequented. A cart rumbled away at the furthest end; +in this direction, too, there was the sound of footsteps, which grew +fainter and fainter. At the moment he heard nothing but the barking of +a dog within the building behind him. He looked up at the house in +which Camilla lived; as usual the ground-floor was dark. The +white-washed panes received only a little restless life from the +flickering gleam of the lantern of the house next door. On the second +story the windows were open and from one of them a whole heap of +planks protruded beyond the window-frame. Camilla's window was dark, +dark also was everything above, except that in one of the attic +windows there shimmered a white-golden gleam from the moon. Above the +house the clouds were driving in a wild flight. In the houses on both +sides the windows were lighted. + +The dark house made Mogens sad. It stood there so forlorn and +disconsolate; the open windows rattled on their hinges; water ran +monotonously droning down the rainpipe; now and then a little water +fell with a hollow dull thud at some spot which he could not see; the +wind swept heavily through the street. The dark, dark house! Tears +came into Mogen's eyes, an oppressive weight lay on his chest, and he +was seized by a strange dark sensation that he had to reproach himself +for something concerning Camilla. Then he had to think of his mother, +and he felt a great desire of laying his head on her lap and weeping +his fill. + +For a long while he stood thus with his hand pressed against his +breast until a wagon went through the street at a sharp pace; he +followed it and went home. He had to stand for a long time and rattle +the front door before it would open, then he ran humming up the +stairs, and when he had entered the room he threw himself down on the +sofa with one of Smollett's novels in his hand, and read and laughed +till after midnight. At last it grew too cold in the room, he leaped +up and went stamping up and down to drive away the chill. He stopped +at the window. The sky in one corner was so bright, that the +snow-covered roofs faded into it. In another corner several long-drawn +clouds drifted by, and the atmosphere beneath them had a curious +reddish tinge, a sheen that wavered unsteadily, a red smoking fog. He +tore open the window, fire had broken out in the direction of the +councilor's. Down the stairs, down the street as fast as he could; +down a cross-street, through a side-street, and then straight ahead. +As yet he could not see anything, but as he turned round the corner he +saw the red glow of fire. About a score of people clattered singly +down the street. As they ran past each other, they asked where the +fire was. The answer was "The sugar-refinery." Mogens kept on running +as quickly as before, but much easier at heart. Still a few streets, +there were more and more people, and they were talking now of the +soap-factory. It lay directly opposite the councilor's. Mogens ran on +as if possessed. There was only a single slanting cross-street left. +It was quite filled with people: well-dressed men, ragged old women +who stood talking in a slow, whining tone, yelling apprentices, +over-dressed girls who whispered to each other, corner-loafers who +stood as if rooted to the spot and cracked jokes, surprised drunkards +and drunkards who quarreled, helpless policemen, and carriages that +would go neither forwards nor backwards. Mogens forced his way through +the multitude. Now he was at the corner; the sparks were slowly +falling down upon him. Up the street; there were showers of sparks, +the window-panes on both sides were aglow, the factory was burning, +the councilor's house was burning and the house next door also. There +was nothing but smoke, fire and confusion, cries, curses, tiles that +rattled down, blows of axes, wood that splintered, window-panes that +jingled, jets of water that hissed, spluttered, and splashed, and amid +all this the regular dull sob-like throb of the engines. Furniture, +bedding, black helmets, ladders, shining buttons, illuminated faces, +wheels, ropes, tarpaulin, strange instruments; Mogens rushed into +their midst, over, under it all, forward to the house. + +The facade was brightly illuminated by the flames from the burning +factory, smoke issued from between the tiles of the roof and rolled +out of the open windows of the first story. Within the fire rumbled +and crackled. There was a slow groaning sound, that turned into a +rolling and crashing, and ended in a dull boom. Smoke, sparks, and +flames issued in torment out of all the openings of the house. And +then the flames began to play and crackle with redoubled strength and +redoubled clearness. It was the middle part of the ceiling of the +first floor that fell. Mogens with both hands seized a large +scaling-ladder which leaned against the part of the factory which was +not yet in flames. For a moment he held it vertically, but then it +slipped away from him and fell over toward the councilor's house where +it broke in a window-frame on the second story. Mogens ran up the +ladder, and in through the opening. At first he had to close his eyes +on account of the pungent wood-smoke, and the heavy suffocating fumes +which rose from the charred wood that the water had reached took his +breath away. He was in the dining-room. The living-room was a huge +glowing abyss; the flames from the lower part of the house, now and +then, almost reached up to the ceiling; the few boards that had +remained hanging when the floor fell burned in brilliant +yellowish-white flames; shadows and the gleam of flames flooded over +the walls; the wall-paper here and there curled up, caught fire, and +flew in flaming tatters down into the abyss; eager yellow flames +licked their way up on the loosened moldings and picture-frames. +Mogens crept over the ruins and fragments of the fallen wall towards +the edge of the abyss, from which cold and hot blasts of air +alternately struck his face; on the other side so much of the wall had +fallen, that he could look into Camilla's room, while the part that +hid the councilor's office still stood. It grew hotter and hotter; the +skin of his face became taut, and he noticed, that his hair was +crinkling. Something heavy glided past his shoulder and remained lying +on his back and pressed him down to the floor; it was the girder which +slowly had slipped out of place. He could not move, breathing became +more and more difficult, his temples throbbed violently; to his left a +jet of water splashed against the wall of the dining-room, and the +wish rose in him, that the cold, cold drops, which scattered in all +directions might fall on him. Then he heard a moan on the other side +of the abyss, and he saw something white stir on the floor in +Camilla's room. It was she. She lay on her knees, and while her hips +were swaying, held her hands pressed against each side of her head. +She rose slowly, and came towards the edge of the abyss. She stood +straight upright, her arms hung limply down, and the head went to and +fro limply on the neck. Very, very slowly the upper part of her body +fell forward, her long, beautiful hair swept the floor; a short +violent flash of flame, and it was gone, the next moment she plunged +down into the flames. + +Mogens uttered a moaning sound, short, deep and powerful, like the +roar of a wild beast, and at the same time made a violent movement, as +if to get away from the abyss. It was impossible on account of the +girder. His hands groped over the fragments of wall, then they +stiffened as it were in a mighty clasp over the debris, and he began +to strike his forehead against the wreckage with a regular beat, and +moaned: "Lord God, Lord God, Lord God." + +Thus he lay. In the course of a little while, he noticed that there +was something standing beside him and touching him. It was a fireman +who had thrown the girder aside, and was about to carry him out of the +house. With a strong feeling of annoyance, Mogens noticed that he was +lifted up and led away. The man carried him to the opening, and then +Mogens had a clear perception that a wrong was being committed against +him, and that the man who was carrying him had designs on his life. He +tore himself out of his arms, seized a lathe that lay on the floor, +struck the man over the head with it so that he staggered backward; he +himself issued from the opening and ran erect down the ladder, holding +the lathe above his head. Through the tumult, the smoke, the crowd of +people, through empty streets, across desolate squares, out into the +fields. Deep snow everywhere, at a little distance a black spot, it +was a gravel-heap, that jutted out above the snow. He struck at it +with the lathe, struck again and again, continued to strike at it; he +wished to strike it dead, so that it might disappear; he wanted to run +far away, and ran round about the heap and struck at it as if +possessed. It would not, would not disappear; he hurled the lathe far +away and flung himself upon the black heap to give it the finishing +stroke. He got his hands full of small stones, it was gravel, it was a +black heap of gravel. Why was he out here in the field burrowing in a +black gravel-heap?--He smelled the smoke, the flames flashed round +him, he saw Camilla sink down into them, he cried out aloud and rushed +wildly across the field. He could not rid himself of the sight of the +flames, he held his eyes shut: Flames, flames! He threw himself on the +ground and pressed his face down into the snow: Flames! He leaped up, +ran backward, ran forward, turned aside: Flames everywhere! He rushed +further across the snow, past houses, past trees, past a terror-struck +face, that stared out through a window-pane, round stacks of grain and +through farm-yards, where dogs howled and tore at their chains. He ran +round the front wing of a building and stood suddenly before a +brightly, restlessly lighted window. The light did him good, the +flames yielded to it; he went to the window and looked in. It was a +brew-room, a girl stood at the hearth and stirred the kettle. The +light which she held in her hand had a slightly reddish sheen on +account of the dense fumes. Another girl was sitting down, plucking +poultry, and a third was singeing it over a blazing straw-fire. When +the flames grew weaker, new straw was put on, and they flared up +again; then they again became weaker and still weaker; they went out. +Mogens angrily broke a pane with his elbow, and slowly walked away. +The girls inside screamed. Then he ran again for a long time with a +low moaning. Scattered flashes of memory of happy days came to him, +and when they had passed the darkness was twice as black. He could +not bear to think of what had happened. It was impossible for it to +have happened. He threw himself down on his knees and raised his hands +toward heaven, the while he pleaded that that which had happened might +be as though it had not occurred. For a long time he dragged himself +along on his knees with his eyes steadfastly fixed on the sky, as if +afraid it might slip away from him to escape his pleas, provided he +did not keep it incessantly in his eye. Then pictures of his happy +time came floating toward him, more and more in mist-like ranks. There +were also pictures that rose in a sudden glamor round about him, and +others flitted by so indefinite, so distant, that they were gone +before he really knew what they were. He sat silently in the snow, +overcome by light and color, by light and happiness, and the dark fear +which he had had at first that something would come and extinguish all +this had gone. It was very still round about him, a great peace was +within him, the pictures had disappeared, but happiness was here. A +deep silence! There was not a sound, but sounds were in the air. And +there came laughter and song and low words came and light and +footsteps and dull sobbing of the beats of the pumps. Moaning he ran +away, ran long and far, came to the lake, followed the shore, until he +stumbled over the root of a tree, and then he was so tired that he +remained lying. + +With a soft clucking sound the water ran over the small stones; +spasmodically there was a soft soughing among the barren limbs; now +and then a crow cawed above the lake; and morning threw its sharp +bluish gleam over forest and sea, over the snow, and over the pallid +face. + +At sunrise he was found by the ranger from the neighboring forest, and +carried up to the forester Nicolai; there he lay for weeks and +days between life and death. + +* * * + +About the time when Mogens was being carried up to Nicolai's, a crowd +collected around a carriage at the end of the street where the +councilor lived. The driver could not understand why the policeman +wanted to prevent him from carrying out his legitimate order, and on +that account they had an argument. It was the carriage which was to +take Camilla to her aunt's. + +* * * + +"No, since poor Camilla lost her life in that dreadful manner, we have +not seen anything of him!" + +"Yes, it is curious, how much may lie hidden in a person. No one would +have suspected anything, so quiet and shy, almost awkward. Isn't it +so? You did not suspect anything?" + +"About the sickness! How can you ask such a question! Oh, you mean--I +did not quite understand you--you mean it was in the blood, something +hereditary?--Oh, yes, I remember there was something like that, they +took his father to Aarhus. Wasn't it so, Mr. Carlsen?" + +"No! Yes, but it was to bury him, his first wife is buried there. No, +what I was thinking of was the dreadful--yes, the dreadful life he has +been leading the last two or two and a half years." + +"Why no, really! I know nothing about that." + +"Well, you see, of course, it is of the things one doesn't like to +talk about. . . . You understand, of course, consideration for those +nearest. The councilor's family. . . ." + +"Yes, there is a certain amount of justice in what you say--but on the +other hand--tell me quite frankly, isn't there at present a false, a +sanctimonious striving to veil, to cover up the weaknesses of our +fellow-men? As for myself I don't understand much about that sort of +thing, but don't you think that truth or public morals, I don't mean +this morality, but--morals, conditions, whatever you will, suffer +under it?" + +"Of course, and I am very glad to be able to agree so with you, and in +this case . . . the fact simply is, that he has given himself to all +sorts of excesses. He has lived in the most disreputable manner with +the lowest dregs, people without honor, without conscience, without +position, religion, or anything else, with loafers, mountebanks, +drunkards, and--and to tell the truth with women of easy virtue." + +"And this after having been engaged to Camilla, good heavens, and +after having been down with brain-fever for three months!" + +"Yes--and what tendencies doesn't this let us suspect, and who knows +what his past may have been, what do you think?" + +"Yes, and heaven knows how things really were with him during the time +of their engagement? There always was something suspicious about him. +That is my opinion. + +"Pardon me, and you, too, Mr. Carlsen, pardon me, but you look at the +whole affair in rather an abstract way, very abstractedly. By chance I +have in my possession a very concrete report from a friend in Jutland, +and can present the whole affair in all its details." + +"Mr. Ronholt, you don't mean to . . .?" + +"To give details? Yes, that is what I intend. Mr. Carlsen, with the +lady's permission. Thank you! He certainly did not live as one should +live after a brain-fever. He knocked about from fair to fair with a +couple of boon-companions, and, it is said, was somewhat mixed up with +troupes of mountebanks, and especially with the women of the company. +Perhaps it would be wisest if I ran upstairs, and got my friend's +letter. Permit me. I'll be back in a moment." + +"Don't you think, Mr. Carlsen, that Ronholt is in a particularly good +humor to-day?" + +"Yes, but you must not forget that he exhausted all his spleen on an +article in the morning paper. Imagine, to dare to maintain--why, that +is pure rebellion, contempt of law, for him. . . ." + +"You found the letter?" + +"Yes, I did. May I begin? Let me see, oh yes: 'Our mutual friend whom +we met last year at Monsted, and whom, as you say, you knew in +Copenhagen, has during the last months haunted the region hereabouts. +He looks just as he used to, he is the same pale knight of the +melancholy mien. He is the most ridiculous mixture of forced gayety +and silent hopelessness, he is affected--ruthless and brutal toward +himself and others. He is taciturn and a man of few words, and doesn't +seem to be enjoying himself at all, though he does nothing but drink +and lead a riotous life. It is as I have already said, as if he had a +fixed idea that he received a personal insult from destiny. His +associates here were especially a horse-dealer, called "Mug-sexton," +because he does nothing but sing and drink all the time, and a +disreputable, lanky, over-grown cross between a sailor and peddler, +known and feared under the name of Peter "Rudderless," to say nothing +of the fair Abelone. She, however, recently has had to give way to a +brunette, belonging to a troupe of mountebanks, which for some time +has favored us with performances of feats of strength and +rope-dancing. You have seen this kind of women with sharp, yellow, +prematurely-aged faces, creatures that are shattered by brutality, +poverty, and miserable vices, and who always over-dress in shabby +velvet and dirty red. There you have his crew. I don't understand our +friend's passion. It is true that his fiancee met with a horrible +death, but that does not explain the matter. I must still tell you how +he left us. We had a fair a few miles from here. He, "Rudderless," the +horse-dealer, and the woman sat in a drinking-tent, dissipating +until far into the night. At three o'clock or thereabouts they were at +last ready to leave. They got on the wagon, and so far everything went +all right; but then our mutual friend turns off from the main road and +drives with them over fields and heath, as fast as the horses can go. +The wagon is flung from one side to the other. Finally things get too +wild for the horse-dealer and he yells that he wants to get down. +After he has gotten off our mutual friend whips up the horses again, +arid drives straight at a large heather-covered hill. The woman +becomes frightened and jumps off, and now up the hill they go and down +on the other side at such a terrific pace that it is a miracle the +wagon did not arrive at the bottom ahead of the horses. On the way up +Peter had slipped from the wagon, and as thanks for the ride he threw +his big clasp-knife at the head of the driver.'" + +"The poor fellow, but this business of the woman is nasty." + +"Disgusting, madam, decidedly disgusting. Do you really think, Mr. +Ronholt, that this description puts the man in a better light?" + +"No, but in a surer one; you know in the darkness things often seem +larger than they are." + +"Can you think of anything worse?" + +"If not, then this is the worst, but you know one should never think +the worst of people." + +"Then you really mean, that the whole affair is not so bad, that there +is something bold in it, something in a sense eminently plebeian, +which pleases your liking for democracy." + +"Don't you see, that in respect to his environment his conduct is +quite aristocratic?" + +"Aristocratic? No, that is lather paradoxical. If he is not a +democrat, then I really don't know what he is." + +"Well, there are still other designations." + +* * * + +White alders, bluish lilac, red hawthorn, and radiant laburnum were in +flower and gave forth their fragrance in front of the house. The +windows were open and the blinds were drawn. Mogens leaned in over +the sill and the blinds lay on his back. It was grateful to the eye +after all the summer-sun on forest and water and in the air to look +into the subdued, soft, quiet light of a room. A tall woman of opulent +figure stood within, the back toward the window, and was putting +flowers in a large vase. The waist of her pink morning-gown was +gathered high up below, the bosom by a shining black leather-belt; on +the floor behind her lay a snow-white dressing-jacket; her abundant, +very blond hair was hanging in a bright-red net. + +"You look rather pale after the celebration last night," was the first +thing Mogens said. + +"Good-morning," she replied and held out without turning around her +hand with the flowers in it towards him. Mogens took one of the +flowers. Laura turned the head half towards him, opened her hand +slightly and let the flowers fall to the floor in little lots. Then +she again busied herself with the vase. + +"Ill?" asked Mogens. + +"Tired." + +"I won't eat breakfast with you to-day." + +"No?" + +"We can't have dinner together either." + +"You are going fishing?" + +"No--Good-by!" + +"When are you coming back?" + +"I am not coming back." + +"What do you mean by that?" she asked arranging her gown; she went to +the window, and there sat down on the chair. + +"I am tired of you. That's all." + +"Now you are spiteful, what's the matter with you? What have I done to +you?" + +"Nothing, but since we are neither married nor madly in love with each +other, I don't see anything very strange in the fact, that I am going +my own way." + +"Are you jealous?" she asked very softly. + +"Of one like you! I haven't lost my senses!" + +"But what is the meaning of all this?" + +"It means that I am tired of your beauty, that I know your voice and +your gestures by heart, and that neither your whims nor your stupidity +nor your craftiness can any longer entertain me. Can you tell me then +why I should stay?" + +Laura wept. "Mogens, Mogens, how can you have the heart to do this? +Oh, what shall I, shall I, shall I, shall I do! Stay only today, only +to-day, Mogens. You dare not go away from me!" + +"Those are lies, Laura, you don't even believe it yourself. It is not +because you think such a terrible lot of me, that you are distressed +now. You are only a little bit alarmed because of the change, you are +frightened because of the slight disarrangement of your daily habits. +I am thoroughly familiar with that, you are not the first one I have +gotten tired of." + +"Oh, stay with me only to-day, I won't torment you to stay a single +hour longer. + +"You really are dogs, you women! You haven't a trace of fine feelings +in your body. If one gives you a kick, you come crawling back again." + +"Yes, yes, that's what we do, but stay only for to-day--won't +you--stay!" + +"Stay, stay! No!" + +"You have never loved me, Mogens!" + +"No!" + +"Yes, you did; you loved me the day when there was such a violent +wind, oh, that beautiful day down at the sea-shore, when we sat in the +shelter of the boat." + +"Stupid girl!" + +"If I only were a respectable girl with fine parents, and not such a +one as I am, then you would stay with me; then you would not have the +heart to be so hard--and I, who love you so!" + +"Oh, don't bother about that." + +"No, I am like the dust beneath your feet, you care no more for me. +Not one kind word, only hard words; contempt, that is good enough for +me." + +"The others are neither better nor worse than you. Good-by, Laura!" + +He held out his hand to her, but she kept hers on her back and wailed: +"No, no, not good-by! not good-by!" + +Mogens raised the blind, stepped back a couple of paces and let it +fall down in front of the window. Laura quickly leaned down over the +window-sill beneath it and begged: "Come to me! come and give me your +hand." + +"No." + +When he had gone a short distance she cried plaintively: + +"Good-by, Mogens!" + +He turned towards the house with a slight greeting. Then he walked on: +"And a girl like that still believes in love!--no, she does +not!" + +* * * + +The evening wind blew from the ocean over the land, the strand-grass +swung its pale spikes to and fro and raised its pointed leaves a +little, the rushes bowed down, the water of the lake was darkened by +thousands of tiny furrows, and the leaves of the water-lilies tugged +restlessly at their stalks. Then the dark tops of the heather began to +nod, and on the fields of sand the sorrel swayed unsteadily to and +fro. Towards the land! The stalks of oats bowed downward, and the +young clover trembled on the stubble-fields, and the wheat rose and +fell in heavy billows; the roofs groaned, the mill creaked, its wings +swung about, the smoke was driven back into the chimneys, and the +window-panes became covered with moisture. + +There was a swishing of wind in the gable-windows, in the poplars of +the manor-house; the wind whistled through tattered bushes on the +green hill of Bredbjerg. Mogens lay up there, and gazed out over the +dark earth. The moon was beginning to acquire radiance, and mists were +drifting down on the meadow. Everything was very sad, all of life, all +of life, empty behind him, dark before him. But such was life. Those +who were happy were also blind. Through misfortune he had learned to +see; everything was full of injustice and lies, the entire earth was a +huge, rotting lie; faith, friendship, mercy, a lie it was, a lie was +each and everything; but that which was called love, it was the +hollowest of all hollow things, it was lust, flaming lust, glimmering +lust, smoldering lust, but lust and nothing else. Why had he to know +this? Why had he not been permitted to hold fast to his faith in all +these gilded lies? Why was he compelled to see while the others +remained blind? He had a right to blindness, he had believed in +everything in which it was possible to believe. + +Down in the village the lights were being lit. + +Down there home stood beside home. My home! my home! And my +childhood's belief in everything beautiful in the world.--And what if +they were right, the others! If the world were full of beating hearts +and the heavens full of a loving God! But why do I not know that, why +do I know something different? And I do know something different, +cutting, bitter, true . . . + +He rose; fields and meadows lay before him bathed in moonlight. He +went down into the village, along the way past the garden of the +manor-house; he went and looked over the stone-wall. Within on a +grass-plot in the garden stood a silver poplar, the moonlight fell +sharply on the quivering leaves; sometimes they showed their dark +side, sometimes their white. He placed his elbows on the wall and +stared at the tree; it looked as if the leaves were running in a fine +rain down the limbs. He believed, that he was hearing the sound which +the foliage produced. Suddenly the lovely voice of a woman became +audible quite near by: + + "Flower in dew! Flower in dew! + Whisper to me thy dreams, thine own. + Does in them lie the same strange air + The same wonderful elfin air, + As in mine own? + Are they filled with whispers and sobbing and sighing + Amid radiance slumbering and fragrances dying, + Amid trembling ringing, amid rising singing: + In longing, + In longing, + I live." + +Then silence fell again. Mogens diew a long breath and listened +intently: no more singing; up in the house a door was heard. Now he +clearly heard the sound from the leaves of the silver poplar. He bowed +his head in his arms and wept. + +The next day was one of those in which late summer is rich. A day with +a brisk, cool wind, with many large swiftly flying clouds, with +everlasting alternations of darkness and light, according as the +clouds drift past the sun. Mogens had gone up to the cemetery, the +garden of the manor abutted on it. Up there it looked rather barren, +the grass had recently been cut; behind an old quadrangular iron-fence +stood a wide-spreading, low elder with waving foliage. Some of the graves +had wooden frames around them, most were only low, quadrangular hills; +a few of them had metal-pieces with inscriptions on them, others +wooden crosses from which the colors had peeled, others had wax +wreaths, the greater number had nothing at all. Mogens wandered about +hunting for a sheltered place, but the wind seemed to blow on all +sides of the church. He threw himself down near the embankment, drew a +book out of his pocket; but he did not get on with his reading; every +time when a cloud went past the sun, it seemed to him as though it +were growing chilly, and he thought of getting up, but then the light +came again and he remained lying. A young girl came slowly along the +way, a greyhound and a pointer ran playfully ahead of her. She stopped +and it seemed as if she wanted to sit down, but when she saw Mogens +she continued her walk diagonally across the cemetery out through the +gate. Mogens rose and looked after her; she walked down on the main +road, the dogs still played. Then he began reading the inscription on +one of the graves; it quickly made him smile. Suddenly a shadow fell +across the grave and remained lying there, Mogens looked sideways. A +tanned, young man stood there, one hand in his game-bag, in the other +he held his gun. + +"It isn't really half bad," he said, indicating the inscription. + +"No," said Mogens and straightened up from his bent position. + +"Tell me," continued the hunter, and looked to the side, as if seeking +something, "you have been here for a couple of days, and I have been +going about wondering about you, but up to the present didn't come +near you. You go and drift about so alone, why haven't you looked in +on us? And what in the world do you do to kill the time? For you +haven't any business in the neighborhood, have you?" + +"No, I am staying here for pleasure." + +"There isn't much of that here," the stranger exclaimed and laughed, +"don't you shoot? Wouldn't you like to come with me? Meanwhile I have +to go down to the inn and get some small shot, and while you are +getting ready, I can go over, and call down the blacksmith. Well! Will +you join?" + +"Yes, with pleasure." + +"Oh, by the way,--Thora! haven't you seen a girl?" he jumped up on the +embankment. + +"Yes, there she is, she is my cousin, I can't introduce you to her, +but come along, let us follow her; we made a wager, now you can he the +judge. She was to be in the cemetery with the dogs and I was to pass +with gun and game-bag, but was not to call or to whistle, and if the +dogs nevertheless went with me she would lose; now we will see." + +After a little while they overtook the lady; the hunter looked +straight ahead, but could not help smiling; Mogens bowed when they +passed. The dogs looked in surprise after the hunter and growled a +bit; then they looked up at the lady and barked, she wanted to pat +them, but indifferently they walked away from her and barked after the +hunter. Step by step they drew further and further away from her, +squinted at her, and then suddenly darted off after the hunter. And +when they reached him, they were quite out of control; they jumped up +on him and rushed off in every direction and back again. + +"You lose," he called out to her; she nodded smilingly, turned round +and went on. + +They hunted till late in the afternoon. Mogens and William got along +famously and Mogens had to promise that he would come to the +manor-house in the evening. This he did, and later he came almost +every day, but in spite of all the cordial invitations he continued +living at the inn. + +Now came a restless period for Mogens. At first Thora's proximity +brought back to life all his sad and gloomy memories. Often he had +suddenly to begin a conversation with one of the others or leave, so +that his emotion might not completely master him. She was not at all +like Camilla, and yet he heard and saw only Camilla. Thora was small, +delicate, and slender, roused easily to laughter, easily to tears, and +easily to enthusiasm. If for a longer time she spoke seriously with +some one, it was not like a drawing near, but rather as if she +disappeared within her own self. If some one explained something to +her or developed an idea, her face, her whole figure expressed the +most intimate trust and now and again, perhaps, also expectancy. +William and his little sister did not treat her quite like a comrade, +but yet not like a stranger either. The uncle and the aunt, the +farm-hands, the maid-servants, and the peasants of the neighborhood +all paid court to her, but very carefully, and almost timidly. In +respect to her they were almost like a wanderer in the forest, who +sees close beside him one of those tiny, graceful song-birds with very +clear eyes and light, captivating movements. He is enraptured by this +tiny, living creature, he would so much like to have it come closer +and closer, but he does not care to move, scarcely to take breath, +lest it may be frightened and fly away. + +As Mogens saw Thora more and more frequently, memories came more and +more rarely, and he began to see her as she was. It was a time of +peace and happiness when he was with her, full of silent longing and +quiet sadness when he did not see her. Later he told her of Camilla +and of his past life, and it was almost with surprise that he looked +back upon himself. Sometimes it seemed inconceivable to him that it +was he who had thought, felt, and done all the strange things of which +he told. + +On an evening he and Thora stood on a height in the garden, and +watched the sunset. William and his little sister were playing +hide-and-seek around the hill. There were thousands of light, delicate +colors, hundreds of strong radiant ones. Mogens turned away from them +and looked at the dark figure by his side. How insignificant it looked +in comparison with all this glowing splendor; he sighed, and looked up +again at the gorgeously colored clouds. It was not like a real +thought, but it came vague and fleeting, existed for a second and +disappeared; it was as if it had been the eye that thought it. + +"The elves in the green hill are happy now that the sun has gone +down," said Thora. + +"Oh--are they?" + +"Don't you know that elves love darkness?" + +Mogens smiled. + +"You don't believe in elves, but you should. It is beautiful to +believe in all that, in gnomes and elves. I believe in mermaids too, +and elder-women, but goblins! What can one do with goblins and +three-legged horses? Old Mary gets angry when I tell her this; for to +believe what I believe, she says is not God-fearing. Such things have +nothing to do with people, but warnings and spirits are in the gospel, +too. What do you say?" + +"I, oh, I don't know--what do you really mean?" + +"You surely don't love nature?" + +"But, quite the contrary." + +"I don't mean nature, as you see it from benches placed where there is +a fine view on hills up which they have built steps; where it is like +a set scene, but nature every day, always." + +"Just so! I can take joy in every leaf, every twig, every beam of +light, every shadow. There isn't a hill so barren, nor a turf-pit so +square, nor a road so monotonous, that I cannot for a moment fall in +love with it." + +"But what joy can you take in a tree or a bush, if you don't imagine +that a living being dwells within it, that opens and closes the +flowers and smooths the leaves? When you see a lake, a deep, clear +lake, don't you love it for this reason, that you imagine creatures +living deep, deep down below, that have their own joys and sorrows, +that have their own strange life with strange yearnings? And what, for +instance, is there beautiful about the green hill of Berdbjerg, if you +don't imagine, that inside very tiny creatures swarm and buzz, and +sigh when the sun rises, but begin to dance and play with their +beautiful treasure-troves, as soon as evening comes." + +"How wonderfully beautiful that is! And you see that?" + +"But you?" + +"Yes, I can't explain it, but there is something in the color, in the +movements, and in the shapes, and then in the life which lives in +them; in the sap which rises in trees and flowers, in the sun and rain +that make them grow, in the sand which blows together in hills, and in +the showers of rain that furrow and fissure the hillsides. Oh, I +cannot understand this at all, when I am to explain it." + +"And that is enough for you?" + +"Oh, more than enough sometimes--much too much! And when shape and +color and movement are so lovely and so fleeting and a strange world +lies behind all this and lives and rejoices and desires and can +express all this in voice and song, then you feel so lonely, that you +cannot come closer to this world, and life grows lusterless and +burdensome." + +"No, no, you must not think of your fiancee in that way." + +"Oh, I am not thinking of her." + +William and his sister came up to them, and together they went into +the house. + +* * * + +On a morning several days later Mogens and Thora were walking in the +garden. He was to look at the grape-vine nursery, where he had not yet +been. It was a rather long, but not very high hothouse. The sun +sparkled and played over the glass-roof. They entered, the air was +warm and moist, and had a peculiar heavy aromatic odor as of earth +that has just been turned. The beautiful incised leaves and the heavy +dewy grapes were resplendent and luminous under the sunlight. They +spread out beneath the glass-cover in a great green field of +blessedness. Thora stood there and happily looked upward; Mogens was +restless and stared now and then unhappily at her, and then up into +the foliage. + +"Listen," Thora said gayly, "I think, I am now beginning to understand +what you said the other day on the hill about form and color." + +"And you understood nothing besides?" Mogens asked softly and +seriously. + +"No," she whispered, looked quickly at him, dropped the glance, and +grew red, "not then." + +"Not then," Mogens repeated softly and kneeled down before her, "but +now, Thora?" She bent down toward him, gave him one of her hands, and +covered her eyes with the other and wept. Mogens pressed the hand +against his breast, as he rose; she lifted her head, and he kissed her +on the forehead. She looked up at him with radiant, moist eyes, smiled +and whispered: "Heaven be praised!" + +Mogens stayed another week. The arrangement was that the wedding was +to take place in midsummer. Then he left, and winter came with dark +days, long nights, and a snowstorm of letters. + +* * * + +All the windows of the manor-house were lighted, leaves and flowers +were above every door, friends and acquaintances in a dense crowd +stood on the large stone stairway, all looking out into the dusk.-- +Mogens had driven off with his bride. + +The carriage rumbled and rumbled. The closed windows rattled. Thora +sat and looked out of one of them, at the ditch of the highway, at the +smith's hill where primroses blossomed in spring, at Bertel Nielsen's +huge elderberry bushes, at the mill and the miller's geese, and the +hill of Dalum where not many years ago she and William slid down on +sleighs, at the Dalum meadows, at the long, unnatural shadows of the +horses that rushed over the gravel-heaps, over the turf-pits and +rye-field. She sat there and wept very softly; from time to time when +wiping the dew from the pane, she looked stealthily over towards +Mogens. He sat bowed forward, his traveling-cloak was open, his hat +lay and rocked on the front seat; his hands he held in front of his +face. All the things he had to think of! It had almost robbed him of +his courage. She had had to say good-by to all her relatives and +friends and to an infinity of places, where memories lay ranged in +strata, one above the other, right up to the sky, and all this so that +she might go away with him. And was he the right sort of a man to +place all one's trust in, he with his past of brutalities and +debaucheries! It was not even certain that all this was merely his +past. He had changed, it is true, and he found it difficult to +understand what he himself had been. But one never can wholly escape +from one's self, and what had been surely still was there. And now +this innocent child had been given him to guard and protect. He had +managed to get himself into the mire till over his head, and doubtless +he would easily succeed in drawing her down into it too. No, no, it +shall not be thus--no, she is to go on living her clear, bright girl's +life in spite of him. And the carriage rattled and rattled. Darkness +had set in, and here and there he saw through the thickly covered +panes, lights in the houses and yards past which they drove. Thora +slumbered. Toward morning they came to their new home, an estate that +Mogens had bought. The horses steamed in the chill morning air; the +sparrows twittered on the huge linden in the court, and the smoke rose +slowly from the chimneys. Thora looked smiling and contented at all +this after Mogens had helped her out of the carriage; but there was no +other way about, she was sleepy and too tired to conceal it. Mogens +took her to her room and then went into the garden, sat down on a +bench, and imagined that he was watching the sunrise, but he nodded +too violently to keep up the deception. About noon he and Thora met +again, happy and refreshed. They had to look at things and express +their surprise; they consulted and made decisions; they made the +absurdest suggestions; and how Thora struggled to look wise and +interested when the cows were introduced to her; and how difficult it +was not to be all too unpractically enthusiastic over a small shaggy +young dog; and how Mogens talked of drainage and the price of grain, +while he stood there and in his heart wondered how Thora would look +with red poppies in her hair! And in the evening, when they sat in +their conservatory and the moon so clearly drew the outline of the +windows on the floor, what a comedy they played, he on his part +seriously representing to her that she should go to sleep, really go +to sleep, since she must be tired, the while he continued to hold her +hand in his; and she on her part, when she declared he was +disagreeable and wanted to be rid of her, that he regretted having +taken a wife. Then a reconciliation, of course, followed, and they +laughed, and the hour grew late. Finally Thora went to her room, but +Mogens remained sitting in the conservatory, miserable that she had +gone. He drew black imaginings for himself, that she was dead and +gone, and that he was sitting here all alone in the world and weeping +over her, and then he really wept. At length he became angry at +himself and stalked up and down the floor, and wanted to be sensible. +There was a love, pure and noble, without any coarse, earthly passion; +yes, there was, and if there was not, there was going to be one. +Passion spoiled everything, and it was very ugly and unhuman. How he +hated everything in human nature that was not tender and pure, fine +and gentle! He had been subjugated, weighed down, tormented, by this +ugly and powerful force; it had lain in his eyes and ears, it had +poisoned all his thoughts. + +He went to his room. He intended to read and took a book; he read, but +had not the slightest notion what--could anything have happened to +her! No, how could it? But nevertheless he was afraid, possibly there +might have--no, he could no longer stand it. He stole softly to her +door; no, everything was still and peaceful. When he listened intently +it seemed as if he could hear her breathing--how his heart throbbed, +it seemed, he could hear it too. He went back to his room and his +book. He closed his eyes; how vividly he saw her; he heard her voice, +she bent down toward him and whispered--how he loved her, loved her, +loved her! It was like a song within him; it seemed as if his thoughts +took on rhythmic form, and how clearly he could see everything of +which he thought! Still and silent she lay and slept, her arm beneath +the neck, her hair loosened, her eyes were closed, she breathed very +softly--the air trembled within, it was red like the reflection of +roses. Like a clumsy faun, imitating the dance of the nymphs, so the +bed-cover with its awkward folds outlined her delicate form. No, no, +he did not want to think of her, not in that way, for nothing in all +the world, no; and now it all came back again, it could not be kept +away, but he would keep it away, away! And it came and went, came and +went, until sleep seized him, and the night passed. + +* * * + +When the sun had set on the evening of the next day, they walked about +together in the garden. Arm in arm they walked very slowly and very +silently up one path and down the other, out of the fragrance of +mignonettes through that of roses into that of jasmine. A few moths +fluttered past them; out in the grain-field a wild duck called, +otherwise most of the sounds came from Thora's silk dress. + +"How silent we can be," exclaimed Thora. + +"And how we can walk!" Mogens continued, "we must have walked about +four miles by now." + +Then they walked again for a while and were silent. + +"Of what are you thinking now?" she asked. + +"I am thinking of myself." + +"That's just what I am doing." + +"Are you also thinking of yourself?" + +"No, of yourself--of you, Mogens." + +He drew her closer. They were going up to the conservatory. The door +was open; it was very light in there, and the table with the +snowy-white cloth, the silver dish with the dark red strawberries, the +shining silver pot and the chandelier gave quite a festive impression. + +"It is as in the fairy-tale, where Hansel and Gretel come to the +cake-house out in the wood," Thora said. + +"Do you want to go in?" + +"Oh, you quite forget, that in there dwells a witch, who wants to put +us unhappy little children into an oven and eat us. No, it is much +better that we resist the sugar-panes and the pancake-roof, take each +other by the hand, and go back into the dark, dark wood." + +They walked away from the conservatory. She leaned closely toward +Mogens and continued: "It may also be the palace of the Grand Turk and +you are the Arab from the desert who wants to carry me off, and the +guard is pursuing us; the curved sabers flash, and we run and run, but +they have taken your horse, and then they take us along and put us +into a big bag, and we are in it together and are drowned in the +sea.-- Let me see, or might it be . . .?" + +"Why might it not be, what it is?" + +"Well, it might be that, but it is not enough. ... If you knew how I +love you, but I am so unhappy--I don't know what it is--there is such +a great distance between us--no--" + +She flung her arms round his neck and kissed him passionately and +pressed her burning cheek against his: + +"I don't know how it is, but sometimes I almost wish that you beat +me--I know it is childish, and that I am very happy, very happy, and +yet I feel so unhappy!" + +She laid her head on his breast and wept, and then she began while her +tears were still streaming, to sing, at first very gently, but then +louder and louder: + + "In longing + In longing! live!" + +"My own little wife!" and he lifted her up in his arms and carried her +in. + +In the morning he stood beside her bed. The light came faintly and +subdued through the drawn blinds. It softened all the lines in the +room and made all the colors seem sated and peaceful. It seemed to +Mogens as if the air rose and fell with her bosom in gentle +rarifications. Her head rested a little sidewise on the pillow, her +hair fell over her white brow, one of her cheeks was a brighter red +than the other, now and then there was a faint quivering in the +calmly-arched eyelids, and the lines of her mouth undulated +imperceptibly between unconscious seriousness and slumbering smiles. +Mogens stood for a long time and looked at her, happy and quiet. The +last shadow of his past had disappeared. Then he stole away softly and +sat down in the living-room and waited for her in silence. He had sat +there for a while, when he felt her head on his shoulder and her cheek +against his. + +* * * + +They went out together into the freshness of the morning. The sunlight +was jubilant above the earth, the dew sparkled, flowers that had +awakened early gleamed, a lark sang high up beneath the sky, swallows +flew swiftly through the air. He and she walked across the green field +toward the hill with the ripening rye; they followed the footpath +which led over there. She went ahead, very slowly and looked back over +her shoulder toward him, and they talked and laughed. The further they +descended the hill, the more the grain intervened, soon they could no +longer be seen. + + + + +THE PLAGUE IN BERGAMO + + +Old Bergamo lay on the summit of a low mountain, hedged in by walls and +gates, and New Bergamo lay at the foot of the mountain, exposed to all +winds. + +One day the plague broke out in the new town and spread at a terrific +speed; a multitude of people died and the others fled across the +plains to all four corners of the world. And the citizens in Old +Bergamo set fire to the deserted town in order to purify the air, but +it did no good. People began dying up there too, at first one a day, +then five, then ten, then twenty, and when the plague had reached its +height, a great many more. + +And they could not flee as those had done, who lived in the new town. + +There were some, who tried it, but they led the life of a hunted +animal, hid in ditches and sewers, under hedges, and in the green +fields; for the peasants, into whose homes in many places the first +fugitives had brought the plague, stoned every stranger they came +across, drove him from their lands, or struck him down like a mad dog +without mercy or pity, in justifiable self-defense, as they believed. + +The people of Old Bergamo had to stay where they were, and day by day +it grew hotter; and day by day the gruesome disease became more +voracious and more grasping. Terror grew to madness. What there had +been of order and good government was as if the earth had swallowed +it, and what was worst in human nature came in its stead. + +At the very beginning when the plague broke out people worked together +in harmony and concord. They took care that the corpses were duly and +properly buried, and every day saw to it that big bonfires were +lighted in squares and open places so that the healthful smoke might +drift through the streets. Juniper and vinegar were distributed among +the poor, and above all else, the people sought the churches early and +late, alone and in processions. Every day they went with their prayers +before God and every day when the sun was setting behind the +mountains, all the churchbells called wailingly towards heaven from +hundreds of swinging throats. Fasts were ordered and every day holy +relics were set out on the altars. + +At last one day when they did not know what else to do, from the +balcony of the town hall, amid the sound of trumpets and horns, they +proclaimed the Holy Virgin, podesta or lordmayor of the town now and +forever. + +But all this did not help; there was nothing that helped. + +And when the people felt this and the belief grew stronger that heaven +either would not or could not help, they not only let their hands lie +idly in the lap, saying, "Let there come what may." Nay, it seemed, as +if sin had grown from a secret, stealthy disease into a wicked, open, +raging plague, which hand in hand with the physical contagion sought +to slay the soul as the other strove to destroy the body, so +incredible were their deeds, so enormous their depravity! The air was +filled with blasphemy and impiety, with the groans of the gluttons and +the howling of drunkards. The wildest night hid not greater debauchery +than was here committed in broad daylight. + +"To-day we shall eat, for to-morrow we die!"--It was as if they had +set these words to music, and played on manifold instruments a +never-ending hellish concert. Yea, if all sins had not already been +invented, they would have been invented here, for there was no road +they would not have followed in their wickedness. The most unnatural +vices flourished among them, and even such rare sins as necromancy, +magic, and exorcism were familiar to them, for there were many who +hoped to obtain from the powers of evil the protection which heaven +had not vouchsafed them. + +Whatever had to do with mutual assistance or pity had vanished from +their minds; each one had thoughts only for himself. He who was sick +was looked upon as a common foe, and if it happened that any one was +unfortunate enough to fall down on the street, exhausted by the first +fever-paroxysm of the plague, there was no door that opened to him, +but with lance-pricks and the casting of stones they forced him to +drag himself out of the way of those who were still healthy. + +And day by day the plague increased, the summer's sun blazed down upon +the town, not a drop of rain fell, not the faintest breeze stirred. +From corpses that lay rotting in the houses and from corpses that were +only half-buried in the earth, there was engendered a suffocating +stench which mingled with the stagnant air of the streets and +attracted swarms and clouds of ravens and crows until the walls and +roofs were black with them. And round about the wall encircling the +town sat strange, large, outlandish birds from far away with beaks +eager for spoil and expectantly crooked claws; and they sat there and +looked down with their tranquil greedy eyes as if only waiting for the +unfortunate town to turn into one huge carrion-pit. + +It was just eleven weeks since the plague had broken out, when the +watchman in the tower and other people who were standing in high +places saw a strange procession wind from the plain into the streets +of the new town between the smoke-blackened stone walls and the black +ash-heaps of the wooden houses. A multitude of people! At least, six +hundred or more, men and women, old and young, and they carried big +black crosses between them and above their heads floated wide banners, +red as fire and blood. They sing as they are moving onward and +heartrending notes of despair rise up into the silent sultry air. + +Brown, gray, and black are their clothes, but all wear a red badge on +their breast. A cross it proves to be, as they draw nearer. For all +the time they are drawing nearer. They press upward along the steep +road, flanked by walls, which leads up to the old town. It is a throng +of white faces; they carry scourges in their hands. On their red +banners a rain of fire is pictured. And the black crosses sway from +one side to the other in the crowd. + +From the dense mass there rises a smell of sweat, of ashes, of the +dust of the roadway, and of stale incense. + +They no longer sing, neither do they speak, nothing is audible but the +tramping, herd-like sound of their naked feet. + +Face after face plunges into the darkness of the tower-gate, and +emerges into the light on the other side with a dazed, tired +expression and half-closed lids. + +Then the singing begins again: a miserere; they grasp their scourges +more firmly and walk with a brisker step as if to a war-song. + +They look as if they came from a famished city, their cheeks are +hollow, their bones stand out, their lips are bloodless, and they have +dark rings beneath their eyes. + +The people of Bergamo have flocked together and watch them with +amazement--and uneasiness. Red dissipated faces stand contrasted with +these pale white ones; dull glances exhausted by debauchery are +lowered before these piercing, flaming eyes; mocking blasphemers stand +open-mouthed before these hymns. + +And there is blood on their scourges. + +A feeling of strange uneasiness filled the people at the sight of +these strangers. + +But it did not take long, however, before they shook off this +impression. Some of them recognized a half-crazy shoemaker from +Brescia among those who bore crosses, and immediately the whole mob +through him became a laughingstock. Anyhow, it was something new, a +distraction amid the everyday, and when the strangers marched toward +the cathedral, everybody followed behind as they would have followed a +band of jugglers or a tame bear. + +But as they pushed their way forward they became embittered; they felt +so matter-of-fact in comparison with the solemnity of these people. +They understood very well, that those shoemakers and tailors had come +here to convert them, to pray for them, and to utter the words which +they did not wish to hear. There were two lean, gray-haired +philosophers who had elaborated impiety into a system; they incited +the people, and out of the malice of their hearts stirred their +passions, so that with each step as they neared the church the +attitude of the crowd became more threatening and their cries of anger +wilder. It would not have taken much to have made them lay violent +hands on those unknown flagellants. Not a hundred steps from the +church entrance, the door of a tavern was thrown open, and a whole +flock of carousers tumbled out, one on top of the other. They placed +themselves at the head of the procession and led the way, singing and +bellowing with grotesquely solemn gestures--all except one who turned +handsprings right up the grass-grown stones of the church-steps. +This, of course, caused laughter, and so all entered peacefully into +the sanctuary. + +It seemed strange to be here again, to pass through this great cool +space, in this atmosphere pungent with the smell of old drippings from +wax candles--across the sunken flag-stones which their feet knew so +well and over these stones whose worn-down designs and bright +inscriptions had so often caused their thoughts to grow weary. And +while their eyes half-curiously, half-unwillingly sought rest in the +gently subdued light underneath the vaults or glided over the dim +manifoldness of the gold-dust and smoke-stained colors, or lost +themselves in the strange shadows of the altar, there rose in their +hearts a longing which could not be suppressed. + +In the meantime those from the tavern continued their scandalous +behavior upon the high altar. A huge, massive butcher among them, a +young man, had taken off his white apron and tied it around his neck, +so that it hung down his back like a surplice, and he celebrated mass +with the wildest and maddest words, full of obscenity and blasphemy. +An oldish little fellow with a fat belly, active and nimble in spite +of his weight, with a face like a skinned pumpkin was the sacristan +and responded with the most frivolous refrains. He kneeled down and +genuflected and turned his back to the altar and rang the bell as +though it were a jester's and swung the censer round like a wheel. The +others lay drunk on the steps at full length, bellowing with laughter +and hiccoughing with drunkenness. + +The whole church laughed and howled and mocked at the strangers. They +called out to them to pay close attention so that they might know what +the people thought of their God, here in Old Bergamo. For it was not +so much their wish to insult God that made them rejoice in the tumult; +but they felt satisfaction in knowing that each of their blasphemies +was a sting in the hearts of these holy people. + +They stopped in the center of the nave and groaned with pain, their +hearts boiling with hatred and vengeance. They lifted their eyes and +hands to God, and prayed that His vengeance might fall because of the +mock done to Him here in His own house. They would gladly go to +destruction together with these fool-hardy, if only He would show His +might. Joyously they would let themselves be crushed beneath His heel, +if only He would triumph, that cries of terror, despair, and +repentance, that were too late, might rise up toward Him from these +impious lips. + +And they struck up a miserere. Every note of it sounded like a cry for +the rain of fire that overwhelmed Sodom, for the strength which Samson +possessed when he pulled down the columns in the house of the +Philistines. They prayed with song and with words; they denuded their +shoulders and prayed with their scourges. They lay kneeling row after +row, stripped to their waist, and swung the sharp-pointed and knotted +cords down on their bleeding backs. Wildly and madly they beat +themselves so that the blood clung in drops on their hissing whips. +Every blow was a sacrifice to God. Would that they might beat +themselves in still another way, would that they might tear themselves +into a thousand bloody shreds here before His eyes! This body with +which they had sinned against His commandments had to be punished, +tortured, annihilated, that He might see how hateful it was to them, +that He might see how they became like unto dogs in order to please +Him, lower than dogs before His will, the lowliest of vermin that ate +the dust beneath the soles of His feet! Blow upon blow--until their +arms dropped or until cramps turned them to knots. There they lay row +on row with eyes gleaming with madness, with foam round their mouths, +the blood trickling down their flesh. + +And those who watched this suddenly felt their hearts throb, noticed +how hotness rose into their cheeks and how their breathing grew +difficult. It seemed as if something cold was growing out beneath +their scalps, and their knees grew weak. It seized hold of them; in +their brains was a little spot of madness which understood this +frenzy. + +To feel themselves the slaves of a harsh and powerful deity, to thrust +themselves down before His feet; to be His, not in gentle piety, not +in the inactivity of silent prayer, but madly, in a frenzy of +self-humiliation, in blood, and wailing, beneath wet gleaming +scourges--this they were capable of understanding. Even the butcher +became silent, and the toothless philosophers lowered their gray heads +before the eyes that roved about. + +And it became quite still within the church; only a slight wave-like +motion swept through the mob. + +Then one from among the strangers, a young monk, rose up and spoke. He +was pale as a sheet of linen, his black eyes glowed like coals, which +are just going to die out, and the gloomy, pain-hardened lines around +his mouth were as if carven in wood with a knife, and not like the +folds in the face of a human being. + +He raised his thin, sickly hands toward heaven in prayer, and the +sleeves of his robe slipped down over his lean, white arms. + +Then he spoke. + +Of hell he spoke, that it is infinite as heaven is infinite, of the +lonely world of torments which each one of the condemned must endure +and fill with his wails. Seas of sulphur were there, fields of +scorpions, flames that wrap themselves round a person like a cloak, +and silent flames that have hardened and plunged into the body like a +spear twisted round in a wound. + +It was quite still; breathlessly they listened to his words, for he +spoke as if he had seen it with his own eyes, and they asked +themselves: is he one of the condemned, sent up to us from the caverns +of hell to bear witness before us? + +Then he preached for a long time concerning the law and the power of +the law, that its every title must be fulfilled, and that every +transgression of which they were guilty would be counted against them +by grain and ounce. "But Christ died for our sins, say ye, and we are +no longer subject to the law. But I say unto you, hell will not be +cheated of a single one of you, and not a single iron tooth of the +torture wheel of hell shall pass beside your flesh. You build upon the +cross of Golgotha, come, come! Come and look at it! I shall lead you +straight to its foot. It was on a Friday, as you know, that they +thrust Him out of one of their gates and laid the heavier end of a +cross upon His shoulders. They made Him bear it to a barren and +unfruitful hill without the city, and in crowds they followed Him, +whirling up the dust with their many feet so that it seemed a red +cloud was over the place. And they tore the garments from Him and +bared His body, as the lords of the law have a malefactor exposed +before the eyes of all, so that all may see the flesh that is to be +committed to torture. And they flung Him on the cross and stretched +Him out and they drove a nail of iron through each of His resistant +hands and a nail through His crossed feet. With clubs they struck the +nails till they were in to the heads. And they raised upright the +cross in a hole in the ground, but it would not stand firm and +straight, and they moved it from one side to the other, and drove +wedges and posts all around, and those who did this pulled down the +brims of their hats so that the blood from His hands might not drop +into their eyes. And He on the cross looked down on the soldiers, who +were casting lots for His unstitched garment and down on the whole +turbulent mob, for whose sake He suffered, that they might be saved; +and in all the multitude there was not one pitiful eye. + +"And those below looked up toward Him, who hung there suffering and +weak; they looked at the tablet above His head, whereon was written +'King of the Jews,' and they reviled Him and called out to Him: 'Thou +that destroyest the temple, and buildest it in three days, save +thyself. If thou be the Son of God, come down from the cross.' Then +He, the only begotten Son of God was taken with anger, and saw that +they were not worthy of salvation, these mobs that fill the earth. He +tore free His feet over the heads of the nails, and He clenched His +hands round the nails and tore them out, so that the arms of the cross +bent like a bow. Then He leaped down upon the earth and snatched up +His garment so that the dice rolled down the slope of Golgotha, and +flung it round himself with the wrath of a king and ascended into +heaven. And the cross stood empty, and the great work of redemption +was never fulfilled. There is no mediator between God and us; there is +no Jesus who died for us on the cross; there is no Jesus who died for +us on the cross, there is no Jesus who died for us on the cross!" + +He was silent. + +As he uttered the last words he leaned forward over the multitude and +with his lips and hands hurled the last words over their heads. A +groan of agony went through the church, and in the corners they had +begun to sob. + +Then the butcher pushed forward with raised, threatening hands, pale +as a corpse, and shouted: "Monk, monk, you must nail Him on the cross +again, you must!" and behind him there was a hoarse, hissing sound: +"Yea, yea, crucify, crucify Him!" And from all mouths, threatening, +beseeching, peremptory, rose a storm of cries up to the vaulted roof: +"Crucify, crucify Him!" + +And clear and serene a single quivering voice: "Crucify Him!" + +But the monk looked down over this wave of outstretched hands, upon +these distorted faces with the dark openings of screaming lips, where +rows of teeth gleamed white like the teeth of enraged beasts of prey, +and in a moment of ecstasy he spread out his arms toward heaven and +laughed. Then he stepped down, and his people raised their banners +with the rain of fire and their empty black crosses, and crowded their +way out of the church and again passed singing across the square and +again through the opening of the tower-gate. + +And those of Old Bergamo stared after them, as they went down the +mountain. The steep road, lined by walls, was misty in the light of +the sun setting beyond the plain, but on the red wall encircling the +city the shadows of the great crosses which swayed from side to side +in the crowd stood out black and sharply outlined. + +Further away sounded the singing; one or another of the banners still +gleamed red out of the new town's smoke-blackened void; then they +disappeared in the sun-lit plain. + + + + + +THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN ROSES + + +There should have been roses + +Of the large, pale yellow ones. + +And they should hang in abundant clusters over the garden-wall, +scattering their tender leaves carelessly down into the wagon-tracks +on the road: a distinguished glimmer of all the exuberant wealth of +flowers within. + +And they should have the delicate, fleeting fragrance of roses, which +cannot be seized and is like that of unknown fruits of which the +senses tell legends in their dreams. + +Or should they have been red, the roses? + +Perhaps. + +They might be of the small, round, hardy roses, and they would have to +hang down in slender twining branches with smooth leaves, red and +fresh, and like a salutation or a kiss thrown to the wanderer, who is +walking, tired and dusty, in the middle of the road, glad that he now +is only half a mile from Rome. + +Of what may he be thinking? What may be his life? + +And now the houses hide him, they hide everything on that side. They +hide one another and the road and the city, but on the other side +there is still a distant view. There the road swings in an indolent, +slow curve down toward the river, down toward the mournful bridge. And +behind this lies the immense Campagna. The gray and the green of such +large plains. ... It is as if the weariness of many tedious miles rose +out of them and settled with a heavy weight upon one, and made one +feel lonely and forsaken, and filled one with desires and yearning. So +it is much better that one should take one's ease here in a corner +between high garden-walls, where the air lies tepid and soft and +still--to sit on the sunny side, where a bench curves into a niche of +the wall, to sit there end gaze upon the shimmering green acanthus in +the roadside ditches, upon the silver-spotted thistles, and the +pale-yellow autumn flowers. + +The roses should have been on the long gray wall opposite, a wall full +of lizard holes and chinks with withered grass; and they should have +peeped out at the very spot where the long, monotonous flatness is +broken by a large, swelling basket of beautiful old wrought iron, a +latticed extension, which forms a spacious balcony, reaching higher +than the breast. It must have been refreshing to go up there when one +was weary of the enclosed garden. + +And this they often were. + +They hated the magnificent old villa, which is said to be within, with +its marble stair-cases and its tapestries of coarse weave; and the +ancient trees with their proud large crowns, pines and laurels, ashes, +cypresses, and oaks. During all the period of their growth they were +hated with the hatred which restless hearts feel for that which is +commonplace, trivial, uneventful, for that which stands still and +therefore seems hostile. + +But from the balcony one could at least range outside with one's eyes, +and that is why they stood there, one generation after the other, and +all stared into the distance, each one with pro and each one with his +con. Arms adorned with golden bracelets have lain on the edge of the +iron railing and many a silk-covered knee has pressed against the +black arabesques, the while colored ribbons waved from all its points +as signals of love and rendezvous. Heavy, pregnant housewives have +also stood here and sent impossible messages out into the distance. +Large, opulent, deserted women, pale as hatred . . . could one but +kill with a thought or open hell with a wish! . . . Women and men! It +is always women and men, even these emaciated white virgin souls which +press against the black latticework like a flock of lost doves and cry +out, "Take us!" to imagined, noble birds of prey. + +One might imagine a _proverbe_ here. + +The scenery would be very suitable for a _proverbe_. + +The wall there, just as it is; only the road would have to be wider +and expand into a circular space. In its center there would have to be +an old, modest fountain of yellowish tuff and with a bowl of broken +porphyry. As figure for the fountain a dolphin with a broken-off tail, +and one of the nostrils stopped up. From the other the fine jet of +water rises. On one side of the fountain a semicircular bench of tuff +and terracotta. + +The loose, grayish white dust; the reddish, molded stone, the hewn, +yellowish, porous tuff; the dark, polished porphyry, gleaming with +moisture, and the living, tiny, silvery jet of water: material and +colors harmonize rather well. + +The characters: two pages. + +Not of a definite, historical period, for the pages of reality in no +way correspond with the pages of the ideal. The pages here, however, +are pages such as dream in pictures and books. Accordingly it is +merely the costume which has a historical effect. + +The actress who is to represent the youngest of the pages wears thin +silk which clings closely and is pale-blue, and has heraldic lilies of +the palest gold woven into it. This and as much lace as can possibly +be employed are the most distinctive feature of the costume. It does +not aim at any definite century, but seeks to emphasize the youthful +voluptuousness of the figure, the magnificent blond hair, and the +clear complexion. + +She is married, but it lasted only a year and a half, when she was +divorced from her husband, and she is said to have acted in anything +but a proper fashion towards him. And that may well be, but it is +impossible to imagine anything more innocent in appearance than she. +That is to say, it is not the gracious elemental innocence which has +such attractive qualities; but it is rather the cultivated, mature +innocence, in which no one can be mistaken, and which goes straight to +the heart. It captivates one with all the power which something that +has reached completion only can have. + +The second actress in the _proverbe_ is slender and melancholy. She is +unmarried and has no past, absolutely none. There is no one who knows +the least thing about her. Yet these finely delineated, almost lean +limbs, and these amber-pale, regular features are vocal. The face is +shaded by raven-black curls, and borne on a strong masculine neck. Its +mocking smile, in which there is also hungry desire, allures. The eyes +are unfathomable and their depths are as soft and luminous as the dark +petals in the flower of the pansy. + +The costume is of pale-yellow, in the manner of a corselet with wide, +up-and-down stripes, a stiff ruff and buttons of topaz. There is a +narrow frilled stripe on the edge of the collar, and also on the +close-fitting sleeves. The trunks are short, wide-slashed, and of a +dead-green color with pale purple in the slashes. The hose is +gray.--Those of the blue page, of course, are pure white.--Both wear +barrets. + +Such is their appearance. + +And now the yellow one is standing up on the balcony, leaning over the +edge, the while the blue is sitting on the bench down by the fountain, +comfortably leaning back, with his ring-covered hands clasped around +one knee. He stares dreamily out upon the Campagna. + +Now he speaks: + +"No, nothing exists in the world but women!--I don't understand it ... +there must be a magic in the lines out of which they are created, +merely when I see them pass: Isaura, Rosamond, and Donna Lisa, and the +others. When I see how their garment clings around their figure and +how it drapes as they walk, it is as if my heart drank the blood out +of all my arteries, and left my head empty and without thoughts and my +limbs trembling and without strength. It is as though my whole being +were gathered into a single, tremulous, uneasy breath of desire. What +is it? Why is it? It is as if happiness went invisibly past my door, +and I had to snatch it and hold it close, and make it my own. It is so +wonderful--and yet I cannot seize it, for I cannot see it." + +Then the other page speaks from his balcony: + +"And if now you sat at her feet, Lorenzo, and lost in her thoughts she +had forgotten why she had called you, and you sat silent and waiting, +and her lovely face were bent over you further from you in the clouds +of its dreams than the star in the heavens, and yet so near you that +every expression was surrendered to your admiration, every +beauty-engendered line, every tint of the skin in its white stillness +as well as in its soft rosy glow--would it not then be as if she who +is sitting there belonged to another world than the one in which you +kneel in adoration! Would it not be as if hers were another world, as +if another world surrounded her, in which her festively garbed +thoughts are going out to meet some goal which is unknown to you? Her +love is far away from all that is yours, from your world, from +everything. She dreams of far distances and her desires are of far +distances. And it seems as if not the slightest space could be found +for you in her thoughts, however ardently you might desire to +sacrifice yourself for her, your life, your all, to the end that that +might be between her and you which is hardly a faint glimmer of +companionship, much less a belonging together." + +"Yes, you know that it is thus. But. . . ." Now a greenish-yellow +lizard runs along the edge of the balcony. It stops and looks about +The tail moves. . . . + +If one could only find a stone. . . + +Look out, my four-legged friend. + +No, you cannot hit them, they hear the stone long before it reaches +them. Anyhow he got frightened. + +But the pages disappeared at the same moment. + +The blue one had been sitting there so prettily. And in her eyes lay +a yearning which was genuine and unconscious and in her movements a +nervousness that was full of presentiment. Around her mouth was a +faint expression of pain, when she spoke, and even more when she +listened to the soft, somewhat low voice of the yellow page, which +spoke to her from the balcony in words that were provocative and at +the same time caressing, that had a note of mockery and a note of +sympathy. + +And doesn't it seem now as if both were still here! + +They are there, and have carried on the action of the _proverbe_, +while they were gone. They have spoken of that vague young love which +never finds peace but unceasingly flits through all the lands of +foreboding and through all the heavens of hope; this love that is +dying to satisfy itself in the powerful, fervent glow of a single +great emotion! Of this they spoke; the younger one in bitter +complaint, the elder one with regretful tenderness. Now the latter +said--the yellow one to the blue--that he should not so impatiently +demand the love of a woman to capture him and hold him bound. + +"For believe me," he said, "the love that you will find in the clasp of +two white arms, with two eyes as your immediate heaven and the certain +bliss of two lips--this love lies nigh unto the earth and unto the +dust. It has exchanged the eternal freedom of dreams for a happiness +which is measured by hours and which hourly grows older. For even if +it always grows young again, yet each time it loses one of the rays +which in a halo surround the eternal youth of dreams. No, you are +happy." + +"No, you are happy," answered the blue one, "I would give a world, were +I as you are." + +And the blue one rises, and begins to walk down the road to the +Campagna, and the yellow one looks after him with a sad smile and says +to himself: "No, he is happy!" + +But far down the road the blue one turns round once more toward the +balcony, and raising his barret calls: "No, you are happy!" + +* * * + +There should have been roses. + +And now a breath of wind might come and shake a rain of rose-leaves +from the laden branches, and whirl them after the departing page. + + + + + +MRS. FONSS + + +In the graceful pleasure-gardens behind the Pope's ancient palace in +Avignon stands a bench from which one can overlook the Rhone, the +flowery banks of the Durance, hills and fields, and a part of the +town. + +One October afternoon two Danish ladies were seated on this bench, +Mrs. Fonss, a widow, and her daughter Elinor. + +Although they had been here several days and were already familiar +with the view before them, they nevertheless sat there and marveled +that this was the way the Provence looked. + +And this really was the Provence! A clayey river with flakes of muddy +sand, and endless shores of stone-gray gravel; pale-brown fields +without a blade of grass, pale-brown slopes, pale-brown hills and +dust-colored roads, and here and there near the white houses, groups +of black trees, absolutely black bushes and trees. Over all this hung +a whitish sky, quivering with light, which made everything still +paler, still dryer and more wearily light; never a glimmer of +luxuriant, satiated hues, nothing but hungry, sun-parched colors; not +a sound in the air, not a scythe passing through the grass, not a +wagon rattling over the roads; and the town stretching out on both +sides was also as if built of silence with all the streets still as at +noon time, with all the houses deaf and dumb, every shutter closed, +every blind drawn, each and every one; houses that could neither see +nor hear. + +Mrs. Fonss viewed this lifeless monotony with a resigned smile, but it +made Elinor visibly nervous; not actively nervous as in the case of +annoyance, but mournful and weary, as one often becomes after many +days of rain, when all one's gloomy thoughts seem to pour down upon +one with the rain; or as at the idiotically consoling tick-tack of a +clock, when one sits and grows incurably tired of one's self; or at +watching the flowers of the wall-paper, when the same chain of +worn-out dreams clanks about against one's will in the brain and the +links are joined and come apart and in a stifling endlessness are +united again. It actually had a physical effect upon her, this +landscape, almost causing her to faint. To-day everything seemed to +have conspired with the memories of a hope which was dead and of +sweet and lively dreams which had become disagreeable and nauseous; +dreams which caused her to redden when she thought of them and which +yet she could not forget. And what had all that to do with the region +here? The blow had fallen upon her far from here amid the surroundings +of bar home, by the edge of a sound with changing waters, under pale +green beech-trees. Yet it hovered on the lips of every pale brown +hill, and every green-shuttered house stood there and held silence +concerning it. + +It was the old sorrow for young hearts which had touched her. She had +loved a man and believed in his love for her, and suddenly he had +chosen some one else. Why? For what reason? What had she done to him? +Had she changed? Was she no longer the same? And all the eternal +questions over again. She had not said a word about it to her mother, +but her mother had understood every bit of it, and had been very +concerned about her. She could have screamed at this thoughtfulness +which knew and yet should not have known; her mother understood this +also, and for that reason they had gone traveling. + +The whole purpose of the journey was only that she might forget. + +Mrs. Fonss did not need to make her daughter feel uneasy by +scrutinizing her face in order to know where her thoughts were. All +she had to do was to watch the nervous little hand which lay beside +her and with such futile despair stroked the bars of the bench; they +changed their position every moment like a fever-patient tossing from +side to side in his hot bed. When she did this and looked at the hand, +she also knew how life-weary the young eyes were that stared out into +the distance, how pain quivered through every feature of the delicate +face, how pale it was beneath its suffering, and how the blue veins +showed at the temples beneath the soft skin. + +She was very sorry for her little girl, and would have loved to have +had her lean against her breast, and to whisper down to her all the +words of comfort she could think of, but she had the conviction that +there were sorrows which could only die away in secret and which must +not be expressed in loud words, not even between a mother and +daughter. Otherwise some day under new circumstances, when everything +is building for joy and happiness, these words may become an obstacle, +something that weighs heavily and takes away freedom. The person who +has spoken hears their whisper in the soul of the other, imagines them +turned over and judged in the thoughts of the other. + +Then, too, she was afraid of doing injury to her daughter if she made +confidences too easy. She did not wish to have Elinor blush before +her; she did want, however much of a relief it might be, to help her +over the humiliation, which lies in opening the inmost recesses of +one's soul to the gaze of another. On the contrary the more difficult +it became for both, the more she was pleased, that the aristocracy of +soul which she herself possessed was repeated in her young daughter in +a certain healthy inflexibility. + +Once upon a time--it was a time many, many years ago, when she herself +had been an eighteen-year old girl, she had loved with all her soul, +with every sense in her body, every living hope, every thought. It was +not to be, could not be. He had had nothing to offer except his +loyalty which would have involved the test of an endlessly long +engagement, and there were circumstances in her home which could not +wait. So she had taken the one whom they had given her, the one who +was master over these circumstances. They were married, then came +children: Tage, the son, who was with her in Avignon, and the +daughter, who sat beside her, Everything had turned out so much better +than she could have hoped for, both easier and more friendly. Eight +years it lasted, then the husband died, and she mourned him with a +sincere heart. She had learned to love his fine, thin-blooded nature +which with a tense, egotistic, almost morbid love loved whatever +belonged to it by ties of relationship or family, and cared nought for +anything in all the great world outside, except for what they thought, +what their opinion was--nothing else. After her husband's death she +had lived chiefly for her children, but she had not devoted herself +exclusively to them; she had taken part in social life, as was natural +for so young and well-to-do a widow; and now her son was twenty-one +years old and she lacked not many days of forty. But she was still +beautiful. There was not a gray thread in her heavy dark-blonde hair, +not a wrinkle round her large, courageous eyes, and her figure was +slender with well-balanced fullness. The strong, fine lines of her +features were accentuated by the darker more deeply colored complexion +which the years had given her; the smile of her widely sweeping lips +was very sweet; an almost enigmatical youth in the dewy luminosity of +her brown eyes softened and mellowed everything again. And yet she +also had the round fullness of cheek, the strong-willed chin of a +mature woman. + +"That surely is Tage coming," said Mrs. Fonss to her daughter when she +heard laughter and some Danish exclamations on the other side of the +thick hedge of hornbeam. + +Elinor pulled herself together. + +And it was Tage, Tage and Kastager, a wholesale merchant from +Copenhagen, with his sister and daughter; Mrs. Kastager lay ill at +home in the hotel. + +Mrs. Fonss and Elinor made room for the two ladies; the men tried for +a moment to converse standing, but were lured by the low wall of stone +which surrounded the spot. They sat there and said only what was +absolutely necessary, for the newcomers were tired from a little +railway excursion they had taken into the Provence with its blooming +roses. + +"Hello!" cried Tage, striking his light trousers with the flat of his +hand. "look!" + +They looked. + +Out in the brown landscape appeared a cloud of dust, over it a mantle +of dust, and between the two they caught sight of a horse. "That's the +Englishman, I told you about, who came the other day," said Tage, +turning toward his mother. + +"Did you ever see any one ride like that?" he asked, turning toward +Kastager, "he reminds me of a gaucho." + +"Mazeppa?" said Kastager, questioningly. + +The horseman disappeared. + +Then they all rose, and set out for the hotel. + +They had met the Kastagers in Belfort, and since they were pursuing +the same itinerary through southern France and along the Riviera, they +for the time being traveled together. Here in Avignon both families +had made a halt; Kastager because his wife had developed a varicose +vein, the Fonss' because Elinor obviously needed a rest. + +Tage was delighted at this living together. Day by day he fell more +and more incurably in love with the pretty Ida Kastager. Mrs. Fonss +did not especially like this. Though Tage was very self-reliant and +mature for his age, there was no reason for a hasty engagement--and +there was Mr. Kastager! Ida was a splendid little girl, Mrs. Kastager +was a very well-bred woman of excellent family, and Kastager himself +was capable, rich, and honest, but there was a hint of the absurd +about him. A smile came upon people's lips and a twinkle into their +eyes when any one mentioned Mr. Kastager. + +The reason for this was that he was full of fire and given to +extraordinary enthusiasms; he was frankly ingenuous, boisterous, and +communicative, and nowadays it requires a great deal of tact to be +lavish with enthusiasm. But Mrs. Fonss could not bear the thought +that Tage's father-in-law should be mentioned with a twinkle in the +eye and a smile round the mouth, and for that reason she exhibited a +certain coldness toward the family to the great sorrow of the enamored +Tage. + +* * * + +On the morning of the following day Tage and his mother had gone to +look at the little museum of the town. They found the gate open, but +the doors to the collection locked; ringing the bell proved fruitless. +The gateway, however, gave admission to the not specially large court +which was surrounded by a freshly whitewashed arcade whose short squat +columns had black iron bars between them. + +They walked about and looked at the objects placed along the wall: +Roman sepulchral monuments, pieces of sarcophagi, a headless draped +figure, the dorsal vertebra of a whale, and a series of architectural +details. + +On all the objects of interest there were fresh traces of the masons' +brushes. + +By now they had come back to their starting point. + +Tage ran up the stairs to see if there might not be people somewhere +in the house, and Mrs. Fonss in the meantime walked up and down the +arcade. + +As she was on the turn toward the gate a tall man with a bearded, +tanned face, appeared at the end of the passage directly in front of +her. He had a guide-book in his hand; he listened for something, and +then looked forward, straight at her. + +The Englishman of yesterday immediately came to her mind. + +"Pardon me?" he began interrogatively, and bowed. + +"I am a stranger," Mrs. Fonss replied, "nobody seems to be at home, but +my son has just run upstairs to see whether. . . ." + +These words were exchanged in French. + +At this moment Tage arrived. "I have been everywhere," he said, "even +in the living quarters, but didn't find as much as a cat." + +"I hear," said the Englishman, this time in Danish, "that I have the +pleasure of being with fellow-countrymen." + +He bowed again and retreated a couple of steps, as if to indicate that +he had merely said this to let them know that he understood what they +were saying. Suddenly he stepped closer than before with an intent, +eager expression on his face, and said to Mrs. Fonss, "is it possible +that you and I are old acquaintances?" + +"Are you Emil Thorbrogger?" exclaimed Mrs. Fonss, and held out her +hand. + +He seized it. "Yes, I am he," he said gayly, "and you are she?" + +His eyes almost filled with tears as he looked at her. + +Mrs Fonss introduced Tage as her son. + +Tage had never in his life heard mention of Thorbrogger, but that was +not his thoughts; he thought only of the fact that this gaucho turned +out to be a Dane; when a pause set in, and some one had to say +something he could not help exclaiming, "and I who said yesterday that +you reminded me of a gaucho!" + +"Well," replied Thorbrogger, "that wasn't far from the truth; for +twenty-one years I have lived in the plains of La Plata, and in those +years certainly spent more time on horse-back than on foot." + +And now he had come back to Europe! + +Yes, he had sold his land and his sheep and had come back to have a +look around in the old world where he belonged, but to his shame he +had to confess that he often found it very much of a bore to travel +about merely for pleasure. + +Perhaps, he was homesick for the prairies? + +No, he had never had any special feeling for places and countries; he +thought it was only his daily work which he missed. + +In that way they went on talking for a while. At last the custodian +appeared, hot and out of breath, with heads of lettuce under his arms +and a bunch of scarlet tomatoes in his hand, and they were admitted +into the small, stuffy collection of paintings, where they gained only +the vaguest impression of the yellow thunder-clouds and black waters +of old Vernet, but on the contrary told each other with considerable +detail of their lives and the happenings during all the years since +they had parted. + +For it was he whom she had loved, at the time when she married +another. In the days which now followed they were much together, and +the others thinking that such old friends must have much to say to +each other left them often alone. In those days both soon noticed that +however much they might have changed during the course of the years, +their hearts had forgotten nothing. + +Perhaps it was he who first became aware of this, for all the +uncertainty of youth, its sentimentality and its elegiac mood came +upon him simultaneously, and he suffered under it. It seemed out of +place to the mature man, that he should so suddenly be robbed of his +peace of life and the self-possession which he had acquired during the +course of time, and he wanted his love to bear a different stamp, +wished it to be graver, more subdued. + +She did not feel herself younger, but it seemed to her as if a +fountain of tears that had been obstructed and dammed had burst open +again and begun to flow. There was great happiness and relief in +crying, and these tears gave her a feeling of richness; it was as if +she had become more precious, and everything had become more precious +to her--in short it was a feeling of youth after all. + +* * * + +On an evening of one of these days Mrs. Fonss sat alone at home, +Elinor had gone to bed early, and Tage had gone to the theater with +the Kastagers. She had been sitting in the dull hotel-room and had +dreamed in the half light of a couple of candles. At length her dreams +had come to a stop after their incessant coming and going; she had +grown tired, but with that mild and smiling weariness which wraps +itself round us, when happy thoughts are falling asleep in our mind. + +She could not go on sitting here, staring in front of her, the whole +evening long without so much as a book. It was still over an hour +before the theater let out. So she began to walk up and down the room, +stood in front of the mirror, and arranged her hair. + +She would go down into the reading-room, and look over the illustrated +papers. At this time of the evening it was always empty there. + +She threw a large black lace shawl over her head and went down. + +The room was empty. + +The small room, overfull with furniture, was brilliantly illuminated +by half a dozen large gas-flames; it was hot and the air was almost +painfully dry. + +She drew the shawl down around the shoulders. + +The white papers there on the table, the portfolios with their large +gilt letters, the empty plush chairs, the regular squares of the +carpet and the even folds of the rep curtains--all this looked dull +under the strong light. + +She was still dreaming, and dreaming she stood, and listened to the +long-drawn singing of the gas-flames. + +The heat was such as almost to make one dizzy. + +To support herself she slowly reached out for a large, heavy bronze +vase which stood on a bracket fixed in the wall, and grasped the +flower-decorated edge. + +It was comfortable to stand thus, and the bronze was gratefully cool +to the touch of her hand. But as she stood thus, there came another +feeling also. She began to feel a contentment in her limbs, in her +body, because of the plastically beautiful position which she had +assumed. She was conscious of how becoming it was to her, of the +beauty which was hers at the moment, and even of the physical +sensation of harmony. All this gathered in a feeling of triumph, and +streamed through her like a strange festive exultation. + +She felt herself so strong at this hour, and life lay before her like +a great, radiant day; no longer like a day declining toward the calm, +melancholy hours of dusk. It seemed to her like an open, wide-awake +space of time, with hot pulses throbbing every second, with joyous +light, with energy and swiftness and an infinity without and within. +And she was thrilled with the fullness of life, and longed for it with +the feverish eagerness with which a traveler sets out on a journey. + +For a long time she stood thus, wrapped in her thoughts, forgetting +everything around her. Then suddenly as if she heard the silence in +the room and the long-drawn singing of the gas-flames, she let her +hand drop from the vase and sat down by the table and began to turn +over the leaves of a portfolio. + +She heard steps, passing by the door, heard them turn back, and saw +Thorbrogger enter. + +They exchanged a few words but as she seemed occupied with the +pictures, he also began to look at the magazines that lay in front of +him. They, however, did not interest him very much for when a little +later she looked up, she met his eyes which rested searchingly upon +her. + +He looked as if he were just about to speak, and there was a nervous, +decided expression round his mouth, which told her so definitely what +his words would be that she reddened, + +Instinctively, as if she wished to hold back these words, she held out +a picture across the table and pointed at some horsemen from the +pampas, who were throwing lassoes over wild steers. + +He was just about to make some jesting remark about the draftsman's +naive conception of the art of throwing a lasso. It was so enticingly +easy to speak of this rather than of that which he had on his mind. +Resolutely, however, he pushed the picture aside, leaned a little ways +across the table and said, + +"I have thought a great deal about you since we met again; I have +always thought a great deal about you, both long ago in Denmark and +over where I was. And I have always loved you, and if it sometimes +seems to me that it is only now that I really love you since we have +met again, it is not true, however great my love may be, for I have +always loved you, I have always loved you. And if it should happen now +that you would become mine--you cannot imagine what that would mean to +me, if you, who were taken from me for so many years, were to come +back." + +He was silent for a moment, then he rose, and came closer to her. + +"Oh, do say a word! I am standing here talking blindly. I speak to you +as to an interpreter, a stranger, who has to repeat what I am saying +to the heart I am speaking to. . I don't know ... to stand here and +weigh my words ... I don't know, how far or how near. I dare not put +into words the adoration which fills me--or dare I?" + +He let himself sink down on a chair by her side. + +"Oh, if I might, if I didn't have to be afraid--is it true! Oh, God +bless you, Paula." + +"There is nothing now that need keep us apart any longer," said she, +with her hand in his, "whatever may happen I have the right to be +happy once, to live fully in accordance with my being, my desire, and +my dreams. I have never renounced. Even though happiness was not my +share, I have never believed that life was nothing but grayness and +duty. I knew that there are people who are happy." + +Silently he kissed her hand. + +"I know," she said sadly, "that those who will judge me least harshly +will not envy me the happiness which I shall have in having your love, +but they will also say that I should be satisfied." + +"But that would not be enough for me, and you have not the right to +send me away." + +"No," she said, "no." + +A little later she went upstairs to Elinor. + +Elinor slept. + +Mrs. Fonss sat down by her bed and looked at her pale child whose +features she could only dimly distinguish under the faint yellow glow +of the night lamp. + +For Elinor's sake they would have to wait. In a few days they would +separate from Thorbrogger, go to Nice, and stay there by themselves. +During the winter she would live only that Elinor might regain her +health. But to-morrow she would tell the children what had happened +and what was to be expected. However they might receive the news it +was impossible for her to live with them day in, day out, and yet be +almost separated from them by a secret like this. And they would need +time to get used to the idea, because it would mean a separation +between them, whether greater or smaller would depend on the children +themselves. The arrangement of their lives in so far as it concerned +her and him was to be left entirely to them. She would demand nothing. +It was for them to _give_. + +She heard Tage's step in the sitting-room and went to him. + +He was so radiant and at the same time so nervous that Mrs. Fonss knew +something had happened, and she had an intuition of what it was. + +He sought for an opening to unburden his heart and sat and talked +absent-mindedly of the theater. Not until his mother went over to him +and put her hand on his forehead, forcing him to look at her, was he +able to tell her that he had wooed Ida Kastager and gained her "yes." + +They talked about it for a long time, but throughout Mrs. Fonss felt a +coldness in whatever she said, which she could not overcome. She was +afraid of being too sympathetic with Tage on account of her own +emotion. Besides, in the uncertain state of her mind she was +distrustful of the idea that there might be even the faintest shadow +of an association between her kindness of to-night and what she was to +tell to-morrow. . + +Tage, however, did not notice any coolness. + +Mrs. Fonss did not sleep much that night; there were too many thoughts +to keep her awake. She thought how strange it was that he and she +should have met and that when they met they should love each other as +in the old days. + +It was long ago, especially for her; she was no longer, could no +longer, be young. And this would show; and he would be thoughtful with +her, and grow used to the fact that it was a long time since she was +eighteen years old. But she felt young, she was so in many respects, +and yet all the while she was conscious of her years. She saw it very +clearly, in a thousand movements, in expressions and gestures, in the +way in which she would respond to a hint, in the fashion in which she +would smile at an answer. Ten times a day she would betray her age, +because she lacked the courage to be outwardly as young as she was +within. + +And thoughts came and thoughts went, but through it all the same +question always rose, as to what her children would say. + +On the forenoon of the following day she put the answer to the test. + +They were in the sitting-room. + +She said that she had something important to tell them, something that +would mean a great change in their lives, something that would be +unexpected news to them. She asked them to listen as calmly as they +could, and not to let themselves be carried away by the first +impression into thoughtlessness. They must know that what she was +about to tell them was definitely decided, and that nothing they might +say could make her alter her decision. + +"I am going to marry again," she said, and told them of how she had +loved Thorbrogger, before she had known their father; how she had +become separated from him, and how they had now met again. + +Elinor cried, but Tage had risen from his seat, utterly bewildered. He +then went close to her, kneeled down before her, and seized her hand. +Sobbing, half-stifled with emotion, he pressed it against his cheek +with infinite tenderness, with an expression of helplessness in every +line of his face. + +"Oh, but mother, dearest mother, what have we done to you, have we not +always loved you, have we not always, both when we were with you and +when we were away from from you, wanted you as the best thing we +possessed in the world? We have never known father except through you; +it was you who taught us to love him, and if Elinor and I are so close +to each other, is it not because day after day you always pointed out +to each of us what was best in the other? And has it not been thus +with every other person to whom we became attached, do we not owe +everything to you? We owe everything to you, and we worship you, +mother, if you only knew. . . . Oh, you cannot imagine, how much we +want your love, want you beyond all bounds and limits, but there again +you have taught us to restrain our love, and we never dare to come as +close to your heart as we should like. And now you say that you are +going to leave us entirely, and put us to one side. But that is +impossible. Only one who wanted to do us the greatest harm in the +world could do anything as frightful as that, and you don't want to do +us the greatest harm, you want only what is best for us--how can it +then be possible? Say quickly that it is not true; say it is not true, +Tage, it is not true, Elinor." + +"Tage, Tage, don't be so distressed, and don't make it so hard, both +for yourself and us others." + +Tage rose. + +"Hard," he said, "hard, hard, oh were it nothing but that, but it is +horrible--unnatural; it is enough to drive one insane, merely to think +of it. Have you any idea of the things you make me think of? My mother +loved by a strange man, my mother desired, held in the arms of another +and holding him in hers. Nice thoughts for a son, worse than the worst +insult--but it is impossible, must be impossible, must be! Are the +prayers of a son to be as powerless as that! Elinor, don't sit there +and cry, come and help me beg mother to have pity on us." + +Mrs. Fonss made a restraining gesture with her hand and said: "Let +Elinor alone, she is probably tired enough, and besides I have told +you that nothing can be changed." + +"I wish I were dead," said Elinor, "but, mother, everything that Tage +has said is true, and it never can be right that at our age you should +give us a step-father." + +"Step-father," cried Tage, "I hope that he does not for one moment +dare. . . . You are mad. Where he enters, we go out. There isn't any +power on earth that can force me into the slightest intimacy with that +person. Mother must choose--he or we! If they go to Denmark after +their marriage, then we are exiles; if they stay here, we leave." + +"And those are your intentions, Tage?" asked Mrs. Fonss. + +"I don't think you need doubt that; imagine the life. Ida and I are +sitting out there on the terrace on a moonlit evening, and behind the +laurel-bushes some one is whispering. Ida asks who is whispering, and +I reply that it is my mother and her new husband.--No, no, I +shouldn't have said that; but you see the effect of it already, the +pain it causes me, and you may be sure that it won't help Elinor's +health either." + +Mrs. Fonss let the children go while she remained sitting here. + +No, Tage was right, it had not been good for them. How far from her +they had already gone in that short hour! How they looked at her, not +like her children, but like their father's! How quick they were to +desert her as soon as they saw that not every motion of her heart was +theirs! But she was not only Tage's and Elinor's mother alone; she was +also a human being on her own account, with a life of her own and +hopes of her own, quite apart from them. But she was, perhaps, not +quite as young as she had believed herself to be. This had come to her +in the conversation with her children. Had she not sat there, timid, +in spite of her words; had she not almost felt like one who was +trespassing upon the rights of youth? Were not all the exorbitant +demands of youth and all its naive tyranny in everything they had +said?--It is for us to love, life belongs to us, and your life it is +but to exist for us. + +She began to understand that there might be a satisfaction in being +quite old; not that she wished it, but yet old age smiled faintly at +her like a far-distant peace, coming after all the agitation of recent +times, and now when the prospect of so much discord was so near. For +she did not believe that her children would ever change their mind, +and yet she had to discuss it with them over and over again before she +gave up hope. The best thing would be for Thorbrogger to leave +immediately. With his presence no longer here the children might be +less irritable, and she could try to show them how eager she was to be +as considerate as possible to them. In time the first bitterness would +disappear, and everything . . . no, she did not believe, that +everything would turn out well. + +They agreed that Thorbrogger should leave for Denmark to arrange their +affairs. For the time being they would remain here. It seemed, +however, that nothing was gained by this. The children avoided her. +Tage spent all his time with Ida or her father, and Elinor stayed all +the time with the invalid, Mrs. Kastager. And when they happened to be +actually together, the old intimacy, the old feeling of comfort, was +gone. Where were the thousand subjects for conversation, and, when +finally they found one, where was the interest in it? They sat there +keeping up a conversation like people who for a while have enjoyed +each other's company, and now must part. All the thoughts of those who +are about to leave are fixed on the journey's end, and those who +remain think only of settling hack into the daily life and daily +routine, as soon as the strangers have left. + +There was no longer any common interest in their life; all the feeling +of belonging together had disappeared. They were able to talk about +what they were going to do next week, next month, or even the month +following, but it did not interest them as though it had to do with +days out of their own lives. It was merely a time of waiting, which +somehow or other had to be endured, for all three mentally asked +themselves: And what then? They felt no solid foundation in their +lives; there was no ground to build upon before this, which had +separated them, was settled. + +Every day that passed the children forgot more and more what their +mother had meant to them, in the fashion in which children who believe +themselves wronged will forget a thousand benefactions for the sake of +one injustice. + +Tage was the most sensitive of them, but also the one who was hurt +most deeply, because he had loved most. He had wept through long +nights because of his mother whom he could not retain in the way in +which he wanted. There were times when the memory of her love almost +deafened all other feelings in his heart. One day he even went to her +and beseeched and implored her that she might belong to them, to them +alone, and not to any other one, and the answer had been a "no." And +this "no" had made him hard and cold. At first he had been afraid of +this coldness, because it was accompanied by a frightful emptiness. + +The case with Elinor was different. In a strange way she had felt that +it was an injustice toward her father, and she began to worship him +like a fetish. Even though she but dimly remembered him, she recreated +him for herself in most vivid fashion by becoming absorbed in +everything she had ever heard about him. She asked Kastager about him +and Tage, and every morning and night she kissed a medallion-portrait +of his which belonged to her. She longed with a somewhat hysterical +desire for some letters from him which she had left at home, and for +things which had once belonged to him. + +In proportion as the father in this way rose in her estimation, the +mother sank. The fact that she had fallen in love with a man harmed +her less in her daughter's eyes; but she was no lenger the mother, the +unfailing, the wisest, the supreme, most beautiful. She was a woman +like other women; not quite, but just because not quite, it was +possible to criticize and judge her and to find weaknesses and faults +in her. Elinor was glad that she had not confided her unhappy love to +her mother; but she did not know how much it was due to her mother +that she had not done so. + +One day passed like another, and their life became more and more +unendurable. All three felt that it was useless; instead of bringing +them together, it only drove them further apart. + +Mrs. Kastager had now recovered. Though she had not played an active +part in anything that had happened, she knew more about the situation +than any one else, because everything had been told her. One day she +had a long talk with Mrs. Fonss who was glad that there was some one +who would quietly listen to her plans for the future. In this +conversation Mrs. Kastager suggested that the children go with her to +Nice, while they sent for Thorbrogger to come to Avignon, so that they +might be married. Kastager could stay on as witness. + +Mrs. Fonss wavered a little while longer, for she had been unable to +discover what her children's reaction would be. When they were told, +they accepted it with proud silence, and when they were pressed for +answer, they merely said that they would, of course, adjust themselves +to whatever she decided to do. + +So things turned out as Mrs. Kastager had proposed. She said good-by +to the children, and they left; Thorbrogger came, and they were +married. + +Spain became their home; Thorbrogger chose it for the sake of +sheep-farming. + +Neither of them wished to return to Denmark. + +And they lived happily in Spain. + +She wrote several times to her children, but in their first violent +anger that she had left them, they returned the letters. Later they +regretted it; they were unable, however, to admit this to their mother +and to write to her; for that reason all communication between them +ceased. But now and then in round about ways they heard about each +other's lives. + +For five years Thorbrogger and his wife lived happily, but then she +suddenly fell ill. It was a disease whose course ran swiftly and whose +end was necessarily fatal. Her strength dwindled hourly, and one day +when the grave was no longer far away she wrote to her children. + +"Dear children," she wrote, "I know that you will read this letter, for +it will not reach you until after my death. Do not be afraid, there +are no reproaches in these lines; would that I might make them bear +enough love. + +"When people love, Tage and Elinor, little Elinor, the one who loves +most must always humble himself, and therefore I come to you once +more, as in my thoughts I shall come to you every hour as long as I am +able. One who is about to die, dear children, is very poor; I am very +poor, for all this beautiful world, which for so many years has been +my abundant and kindly home, is to be taken from me. My chair will +stand here empty, the door will close behind me, and never again will +I set my foot here. Therefore I look at everything with the prayer in +my eye that it shall hold me in kind memory. Therefore I come to you +and beg that you will love me with all the love which once you had for +me; for remember that not to be forgotten is the only part in the +living world which from now on is to be mine; just to be remembered, +nothing more. + +"I have never doubted your love; I knew very well that it was your +great love, that caused your great anger; had you loved me less, you +would have let me go more easily. And therefore I want to say to you, +that should some day it happen that a man bowed down with sorrow come +to your door to speak with you concerning me, to talk about me to +relieve his sorrow, then remember that no one has loved me as he has, +and that all the happiness which can radiate from a human heart has +come from him to me. And soon in the last great hour he will hold my +hand in his when the darkness comes, and his words will be the last I +shall hear. . . . + +"Farewell, I say it here, but it is not the farewell which will be the +last to you; it I will say as late as I dare, and all my love will be +in it, and all the longings for so many, many years, and the memories +of the time when you were small, and a thousand wishes and a thousand +thanks. Farewell Tage, farewell Elinor, farewell until the last +farewell. + +"YOUR MOTHER." + + + + + +THE END + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, MOGENS AND OTHER STORIES *** + +This file should be named mogen10.txt or mogen10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, mogen11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, mogen10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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