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diff --git a/6765-h/6765-h.htm b/6765-h/6765-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0f448d3 --- /dev/null +++ b/6765-h/6765-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3913 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Mogens and Other Stories, by Jens Peter Jacobsen + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +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: 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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