Arne: Early Tales and Sketches Part 21

A little while later, Eli was walking alone in the garden: the mother had gone into the kitchen to prepare something good for supper, for now Arne would soon be home. By and by, Margit came out into the garden to look for her young friend, and found her sitting writing in the sand. As the mother joined her, Eli quickly smoothed the sand over what she had written,--looked up and smiled; she had been weeping.

"There is nothing to cry about, my child," said Margit, and gave her a pat.

They saw a black object moving between the bushes on the road. Eli stole into the house, the mother followed her. Here a bounteous repast was awaiting them: cream pudding, smoked meat, and cakes; but Eli had no eyes for these things; she crossed the floor to the corner where the clock stood, sat down on a chair close to the wall, and trembled if she only heard a cat stir. The mother stood by the table. Firm steps were heard on the flag-stones, a short, light step in the pa.s.sage, the door was gently opened, and Arne came in.

The first object his eyes lighted on was Eli in the clock corner; he let go of the door and stood still. This made Eli yet more embarra.s.sed; she got up, regretted at once having done so, and turned towards the wall.

"Are _you_ here?" said Arne, softly, blus.h.i.+ng crimson.

Eli shaded her eyes with one hand, as one does when the sun s.h.i.+nes too full in the face.

"How--?" He could get no farther, but he advanced a step or two.

She put her hand down again, turned toward him, then, bowing her head, she burst into tears.

"G.o.d bless you, Eli!" said he, and drew his arm around her; she nestled close up to him. He whispered something in her ear; she made no reply, but clasped her hands about his neck.

They stood thus for a long time, and not a sound was heard save the roar of the force, sending forth its eternal song. By and by some one was heard weeping near the table. Arne looked up: it was the mother.

"Now I am sure you will not leave me, Arne," said she, approaching him.

She wept freely, but it did her good, she said.

When Arne and Eli walked home together in the bright summer evening, they did not talk much about their new-born happiness. They let Nature herself take the lead in the conversation,--so quiet, bright, and grand, she seemed, as she accompanied them. But it was on his way back to Kampen from this their first summer-night's walk, with his face turned toward the rising sun, that he laid the foundations of a poem, which he was then in no frame of mind to construct, but which, later, when it was finished, became for a while his daily song. It ran thus:--

"I hoped to become something great one day; I thought it would be when I got away.

Each thought that my bosom entered On far-off journeys was centred.

A maiden then into my eyes did look; My rovings soon lost their pleasure.

The loftiest aim my heart can brook Is her to proclaim my treasure.

"I hoped to become something great one day; I thought it would be when I got away.

To meet with the great in learning Intensely my heart was yearning.

She taught me, she did, for she spoke a word: 'The best gift of G.o.d's bestowing Is not to be called a distinguished lord, But ever a _man_ to be growing.'

"I hoped to become something great one day; I thought it would be when I got away.

My home seemed so cold, neglected, I felt like a stranger suspected.

When her I discovered, then love I did see In every glance that found me; Wherever I turned friends waited for me, And life became new around me."

There came afterwards many a summer evening walk, followed by many a song. One of these must be recorded:--

"The cause of this all is beyond my knowing; No storm there has been and no floods have been flowing.

A sparkling and glittering brook, it would seem, Has poured itself into the broader stream Which constantly growing seeks the ocean.

"There is something we can from our lives not sever; In need it is near and forsakes us never,-- A power that draws, a loving breast, Which sadness, shyness, and all unrest Can gather in peace in a bridal present.

"Could I but by spirits through life be attended, As pure as the thought which has now me befriended!

The ordering spirit of G.o.d it was.

He ruleth the world with sacred laws.

Toward goodness eternal I am progressing."

But perhaps none of them better expressed his fervent grat.i.tude than the following:--

"The power that gave me my little song Has caused that as rain has been my sadness, And that as suns.h.i.+ne has been my gladness, The spring-time wants of my soul along.

Whate'er betided It did no harm; My song all guided To love so warm.

"The power that gave me my little song Has given me friends.h.i.+p for all that's yearning.

For freedom's blessings my blood is burning; The foe I am of every wrong.

I sought my station, Spite every storm, And found salvation In love so warm.

"The power that gave me my little song Must make me able to sing the others, And now and then to make glad my brothers Whom I may meet in the worldly throng,-- For there was never A sweeter charm Than singing ever In love so warm."

CHAPTER XVI.

It was late in the autumn; the harvesters were at work housing the grain. The day was clear, it had rained during the night; and in the morning, therefore, the air was as mild as in summer-time. It was a Sat.u.r.day, and yet many boats were making their way across Black Water toward the church; the men, in their s.h.i.+rt sleeves, were rowing; the women sat in the stern, with light-colored kerchiefs on their heads. A still greater number of boats were steering over to Boen, in order to move away from there later in grand procession, for on this day Baard Boen gave a wedding for his daughter Eli and Arne Nils' son Kampen.

All the doors were open; people were going in and out; children, with pieces of cake in their hands, stood about the yard, afraid of their new clothes, and looking shyly at one another; an old woman sat upon the store-house steps alone,--it was Margit Kampen. She wore a large silver ring, with several small rings fastened to the upper silver plate; now and then she looked at it; Nils had given it to her the day of their wedding and she had never worn it since.

The man who presided at the feast, and the two young groomsmen, the priest's son and Eli's brother, went about in the two or three rooms, offering refreshments to the wedding guests as they arrived to be present on this great occasion. Up-stairs in Eli's room were the bride, the priest's wife, and Mathilde,--the last-named had come from town for the sole purpose of decking the bride; this the girls had promised each other from their childhood. Arne--wearing a broadcloth suit, with close-fitting roundabout and with a collar that Eli had made--stood in one of the down-stairs rooms by the window on which Eli had written "Arne."

Outside in the pa.s.sage two persons met as they came each from some duty of the day. One of them was on his way from the landing-place, where he had been helping to put the church boats in order; he wore a black broadcloth roundabout, with blue wadmal trousers, whose dye rubbed off, so that his hands were blue; his white collar looked well with his fair face and long light hair; his high forehead was calm; about the mouth played a smile. It was Baard. She whom he met in the pa.s.sage was just coming from the kitchen. She was dressed for church, was tall and slender, and walked with a firm though hurried step through the door.

When she met Baard she paused, and her mouth drew up to one side. It was Birgit, his wife. Each had something to say, but it only found expression through both standing still. Baard was the most embarra.s.sed of the two; he smiled more and more, but it was his embarra.s.sment that came to his aid, forcing him to start up-stairs without further delay.

"Perhaps you will come too," he said, as he pa.s.sed, and Birgit followed him. Up-stairs in the garret they were entirely alone; yet Baard locked the door after them, and he was a long time about it. When finally he turned, Birgit stood by the window gazing out; it was in order to avoid looking into the room. Baard brought forth a small flask from his breast pocket and a little silver cup. He wanted to pour out some wine for his wife, but she would not have any, although he a.s.sured her that it was wine that had been sent from the parsonage. Then he drank himself, but paused several times to offer the cup to her. He corked the flask, put both it and the cup away in his breast-pocket again, and sat down on a chest. It very evidently pained him that his wife would not drink with him.

He breathed heavily several times. Birgit stood leaning with one hand against the window frame. Baard had something to say, but now it seemed even harder to speak than before.

"Birgit!" said he, "I dare say you are thinking of the same to-day that I am."

Then he heard her move from one side of the window to the other, and again she leaned her head on her arm.

"Oh, yes; you know who I mean. He it was who parted us two. I thought it would not go beyond the wedding, but it has lasted much longer."

He heard her sigh, he saw her again change her place; but he did not see her face. He himself was struggling so hard that he had to wipe his face with his jacket sleeve. After a long conflict he began again: "To-day a son of his, well-educated and handsome, becomes one of us, and to him we have given our only daughter. Now, how would it be, Birgit, if we two were to have our wedding to-day?"

His voice trembled, and he cleared his throat. Birgit, who had raised her head, now leaned it on her arm again, but said nothing. Baard waited for some time; he heard her breathe, but he got no answer,--and he had nothing further to say himself either. He looked up and grew very pale; for she did not even turn her head. Then he rose.

At the same moment there was a gentle knock at the door, and a soft voice asked, "Are you coming, mother?" It was Eli. There was something in the tone that made Baard involuntarily pause and glance at Birgit.

Birgit also raised her head; she looked towards the door, and her eyes fell on Baard's pale face. "Are you coming, mother?" was once more asked from without.

"Yes, I am coming now!" said Birgit, in a broken voice, as she firmly crossed the floor to where Baard stood, gave him her hand, and burst into the most pa.s.sionate weeping. The two hands met, they were both toil-worn now, but they clasped as firmly as though they had been seeking each other for twenty years. They still clung together as they went toward the door, and when a while later the bridal procession was pa.s.sing down to the landing-place, and Arne gave his hand to Eli to take the lead, Baard, seeing it, took his wife by the hand, contrary to all custom, and followed them, smiling contentedly.

Behind them, Margit Kampen walked alone, as was her wont.

Baard was in high spirits that day; he sat talking with the rowers. One of these who kept looking up at the mountains remarked, that it was strange that even such a steep rock could be clad.