The Heritage Of The Kurts Volume Ii Part 5

It must be altered; it is shameful to be as we are."

As a beginning they would all escort Anna home. Yes, they would! And so they did, and the two crooked old aunts were startled out of their sleep when, between eleven and twelve at night, they heard the swarm buzzing before the house, and the call of "Good-night, good-night, good-night," from twenty ringing girls' voices. And little Anna herself! She had to go in and tell them what it was all about, but she merely said they had come home with her. She could not say more just then. She felt so uncertain. She had written this lecture with her heart's blood; she had turned her bitterest feelings into an a.s.sault; she had felt certain that she would be a.s.sailed for it, hated for it, and lo and behold, she had been thanked for it over and over again; nothing had been heard but exultation and praise.

She lay in bed, but could not sleep. Was it from pleasure? Was it from fear? Or had she been for the first time moved by them? It was not disagreeable.

At the same time more than one little head lay pondering what course should be pursued. The impulse to take this seriously, to be terribly truthful, must have nourishment, otherwise it would certainly die. And they found something real to do!

Milla was in mourning; Milla could not go to b.a.l.l.s this Christmas. They would none of them go to b.a.l.l.s this Christmas either. Yes, laugh if you like, but it was unanimously determined upon. One does not desert a friend in sorrow: not one of the Staff would go to a dance the whole winter through. Milla felt flattered by so much sympathy, but---- "No buts!" Immovable, unanimous determination.

And that should not be all, they would think of something more.

The young fellows of the town mourned over the loss of so many merry young partners that Christmas, but all unavailingly. Indeed, it pleased the girls that their absence was regretted.

As has been said, it was not to end here.

CHAPTER IV

ON THE STEPS

This union of the leaders among the girls, this real desire for knowledge and independent thought, even if it had to endure criticism and even a little derision, was still an incontrovertible proof that the school was now on the high road to success. Even if there were derision expressed in the town, there could be no doubt that every one was struck by the decided, and above all intelligent, comprehension which the superiority of the apparatus, experiments, and method aroused in the scholars on subjects which every one understood, and which belonged to the most special needs of life.

At home the girls overflowed with narrations and desire for information, and constantly asked permission to buy materials for experiments in chemistry and physics, microscopes, and historical pictures which ill.u.s.trated beliefs and habits of life through all ages.

There was no longer any comparison between girls and boys when energy and information were in question.

This made the lesson hours happy; the great gatherings for "breakfast"

at twelve o'clock were feasts, and the pupils ran down the slope in the afternoon without books, unburdened by lessons--free, free, free!

But the happiest of them all remained behind, Fru Rendalen and Karl Vangen.

How Fru Rendalen hurried about with her spectacles awry, a habit she had acquired in later years; it was like meeting a load of hay at hay-harvest, it smells so sweet from such a distance, and one so gladly stands aside to let the mighty, useful, close-packed object pa.s.s. Karl Vangen was one constant smile; he had no time to leave off. He beamed with delight if any one so much as looked towards the school, and would tell, over and over again, all the little incidents which occurred there: they were every one either remarkable or amusing.

It was only Tomas who was not quite in accord with them, but there never was much "comfort" about him, if by that one understands confidential intercourse, and even good temper. He either wanted tall Vangen to "give him a back" out in the garden walks, or even sometimes in the sitting-room, while he jumped over him as one boy jumps over another; or he walked up and down, up and down, generally whistling, with his hands in his pockets, till it made one giddy to look at him; or else he would play the piano by the hour together. Sometimes he worked for, and in, the school without intermission; or read a new book regardless of any interruption; or he took endless walks or read aloud, and amused himself with the girls as though they were all comrades; or else he could not bear them, or the school, or anything which belonged to it.

At such times his mother had to take the literature lesson for him, Miss Hall the chemistry and physics, Nora the singing; he would not, he could not.

Then he would come back again, brighter and happier than ever, and do the work of two. His mother put this down as the result of all the years he had lived without regular employment. If they had company he did not appear at all, or else came and carried everything before him, or came and sat silent. If he spoke to any one, it was "Yes, just so,"

"Quite right." And then he would leave the room and not return. Looked at in a certain way, this showed genius: there was something of a genius about Tomas Rendalen.

Before he went to America he had "discovered" a history teacher: he was very great at "discoveries." She was called Karen Lote, and taught needlework, writing, and drawing. Rendalen had noticed her acquirements in the different kinds of drawing, and found out that the girl possessed a by no means insignificant knowledge of history. "Extend that into the history of civilisation," he said. He was never tired of giving this advice. "Here at home the history of civilisation is worse than meagre, and it is the only one which is worth anything in a school."

He had then begun to make the large collection of historical pictures which the school now possessed, and through these he captivated her interest; he kept it, while he was abroad, by sending a number of these pictures to her, as well as books and advice; and he was hardly home again before he undertook the history lessons of the whole school to explain to her what his ideas were; he sought to show development and connection by a clear historical summary accompanied by maps and pictures; he made it slight for the younger, and more elaborate for the elder ones; only using details as characteristics. He made it one-sided, but there was power and colour in its historical representations. Karen Lote was captivated; the novelty of his appearance, his opinions, his wonderful talent for teaching, his inimitable way of making one believe there was nothing in the world for him beyond what was before him at the moment; his exquisite taste in dress, his well-ordered person, even the slight odour of delicate scent which always followed him, all gave the girl a deep interest in him.

Nothing in the six-and-twenty years of her life had ever in the slightest degree approached it. To think of being helped in her work by him every day! The misunderstandings and persecutions which he went through, and his sufferings under them, brought her feelings to a pitch of enthusiasm. But she did not trouble any one with it. Then came the time when he became the princ.i.p.al of the school. He would come and listen to her teaching whenever he had a spare moment, share eagerly in it, or go away without saying a word; remain away for a long time, then come again every day, and take the whole lesson out of her hands; or else walk up and down, up and down, and then remain away again.

Just before Christmas Karen Lote went to Fru Rendalen, and told her that she could not stay a day longer in the school. If she merely heard Rendalen's step in the pa.s.sage she trembled; when he was near she could not relate the simplest occurrence or give an explanation. "But why?"

He treated her with the greatest contempt; she burst into tears.

"Contempt?" Yes! either he continually interrupted her, took the whole lesson away from her, or else he did not consider her worth correcting, turned his back on her, did not bow, did not come at all. There was no end to her complaints.

Fru Rendalen a.s.sembled the teachers and laid Froken Lote's complaint before them, convinced that it must be the most extraordinary misunderstanding. But the teacher who had succeeded Froken Lote as drawing mistress a.s.sured her that if she had not had a mother to support, she would have left long ago; she would not have borne his continual corrections in the children's hearing; he was an unbearable tyrant.

Everything must be done in one particular way, without the least variation. He had made her so nervous that she trembled if she even heard him in the pa.s.sage. And she cried too.

The startled Fru Rendalen turned quickly to the others. "What could this mean? The teachers of languages, her pupils from their childhood, her friends, who through her help had improved themselves abroad, they must speak." They felt sure that Rendalen had not the least idea that he "set people right," and as little that he offended people by interfering, so that the children noticed his immense air of superiority, but all the same it was often very annoying. He was so uncertain both with teachers and children, he never took things twice in the same way, it was always according to his temper. The conclusion which they all came to was that he was most unfit to direct a school.

Miss Hall herself, who otherwise had no complaint to make, agreed with this.

Fru Rendalen implored them, for G.o.d's sake, to reconsider it; surely they did not wish to ruin the school; she was much agitated, and said that provisionally she would resume the direction. But they must not let this be known. She broke down with all the violence which was natural to her. The others were frightened, there was a touching scene; they praised her son, one against the other; nay, any one who had not heard what had gone before, would have believed that they were all glowing with enthusiasm for him. After all, to form a wonderful plan for a school, according to all the best examples of modern times, and himself to be an exceptional teacher, was something quite different, and a great deal more than to be an able princ.i.p.al. They and his mother soon agreed over this, and consoled themselves with it as well as they could.

But this school had been the object of Rendalen's life; if he were to lose this there would be nothing left for him. From the time that Augusta died, and he learned that it would be better that he should not found a family, the idea of taking his mother's school, and making it all that she had dreamed of, but had not accomplished, had been betrothal, marriage, and the foundation of a family to him. He was proud of it. This gave the intense energy to his early youth, to his work, to his sense of right. It was the object of Karl Vangen's unfailing admiration, the secret text for Fru Rendalen's conversations and letters.

Notwithstanding this, temptations came, and his unruly nature did not always emerge victorious from them, but each time he was seized with a feeling of shame for his ideal, which amounted to dread--that awful dread which his mother had felt while she bore him under her bosom. She had often described this in vivid colours, but it was nothing compared to what he had gone through; it had been terrible. This drove him back to his mother's confidence, and made him hold that confidence fast.

There was sober earnest between these two, they had a common aim in life. It might have been that he would have cast her, his aim of life, and this dread to the winds, if his pa.s.sions had concentrated themselves on, or been seized by, any one person, for there was a wild energy in him which would have made him cling closely to another; but the hereditary restlessness in his nature mingled one impression with another, his dread had time to come between them with ever stronger force, and it became at last the most powerful of all. The aim of life was saved. From the time that he had conquered, a dissatisfied feeling developed itself; it had always been there; it reminded one of his father's power of imagination, his love of perfection.

His studies were forced. Never one thing at a time, but one clas.h.i.+ng with the other. If the examination subjects had not in such a special degree been necessary for him, he would never have pa.s.sed one at all; he was ready long before the time with some things, and was as much behind with others. He was always in advance with the subject he was full of at the moment, it was a link in a visible or ideal entirety. To Karl Vangen, who knew his method of study, it was amazing what he accomplished. It was the same thing with his intercourse with his fellow-creatures; he often seemed to be inattentive, and yet he received original impressions, but they were all on the same lines. He saw images and demonstrations in any thing he was engaged in; not people, but phenomena; not facts, but ideas. As long as Karen Lote was learning his historical method she interested him deeply, but afterwards not in the least; it was much the same with the other teachers, excepting Miss Hall; her teaching was new, and he was eager to see the result of it--first intellectually, then morally.

But _his own work?_ When the long restless rush about the world after appliances and methods was over, after the plans for the school, conceived years ago, and since then endlessly arranged and drafted, were at last set going; especially after the rude resistance from without was overcome, what was it that gradually came over him? Could he not? Would he not? Was it no longer enough for him?

Everyone round him rejoiced in the school, his mother's delight in especial was touching. "This is the school that I have dreamed of, my son, my dear Tomas!" He heard it nearly every day, he thanked her and kissed her for it, he needed it; but all the same.... As for teaching, his princ.i.p.al talent, he could interest himself in making a thing absolutely clear, and in having the main points properly remembered, the most difficult ones understood; it could delight him to give a new view of something to the elder pupils, or to direct their attention to a question of the day. Whenever a problem presented itself, he would take it up with patient ingenuity; beyond that there was nothing--no, nothing! He realised his failings thoroughly, self-occupied though he was; they hara.s.sed him more and more. There were times when he could not endure the school. Then he felt himself without spirit, without aspiration, without--he could almost have said without affection--if his mother had not been there, and Karl as well; he was deeply attached to Karl.

This was no longing for a wife and family, at all events in no special degree; indeed, he felt no particular attraction to anything.

Was this the cause of his unhappiness--that he could not attach himself firmly to any conditions? He had been able to do so as a child.

A man who has deliberated in this way from one day to another, and at last, one evening, receives his mother's tears and lamentations because the teachers can no longer endure him as princ.i.p.al, does not start up as at something unexpected. Tomas remained at the piano, where he had been seated when she came in; he touched it with one finger now and then during her long and interrupted narration; he saw her despair and concealed his own. He felt as though now he had nothing more to do here.

He observed quietly that perhaps she had better resume the direction of the school for a time; he went on strumming as he said this, as though it had no further significance. She answered that she had already promised them to-do so. He grew as white as a sheet. She hastened to add, that of course only he could superintend his own plan; she begged him to speak to the teachers at once; he never would speak to any one, they entirely misunderstood him; he offended them by showing no confidence in them, and he was not always considerate. Did he not like them?

This was too much for Tomas; he flung himself down on the piano and cried, got up hastily, put on his hat and coat and went out, heedless of his mother's prayers to him to stay and talk it over with her, as they used to do in old days. He could not do it; for there was something in his mother's behaviour towards him which wounded him. When he had come home she had received him with the greatest admiration, everything he said and did was right; but after the lecture she began to doubt. This had gradually increased, until now she put a note of interrogation to everything he said. At the first complaint from the teachers she had taken the school from him; and she could reconcile this with her pride in his way of ordering it, and a crooning quiet delight over its success.

Not that her doubt was greater than a practical understanding like hers had perhaps a right to; he did not blame her for it, but he could not bear it.

This affair with the teachers was dreadful. He really considered them most excellent, none more so than Karen Lote, otherwise he would never have troubled himself about her.

There must be something at the very root of his behaviour towards people, which was terribly astray when he could be thus utterly misunderstood. Perhaps his own feeling of emptiness and distaste arose from the same cause.

These ladies had raved about him. They and the senior cla.s.s, and....

Was that, too, nothing but a delusion, or was it past and gone?

"Raved about him." What is that? He drove it from him with contempt, yet once it pleased and deluded him. He had believed it would always continue.

No, he who would have the affection of others must show affection to them. And he could not do it--in the way that others could.

After all that was not strange. His race had perhaps exhausted its power of winning human affection.

Was not that the natural result when generation after generation broke down mankind's precepts of fidelity, and flung aside man's good opinion? The race itself had been ruined, as each one weakened himself and his offspring--ay, and others and their offspring as well.