In God's Way Part 10

But one morning, Kallem having come home earlier than usual (as a rule he was out the whole forenoon), he heard the bell ring, the servant open the door, and then Rendalen's footstep in the pa.s.sage. He came in hurriedly, was gloomy and taciturn; his business was--should they change lodgings?

Kallem knew him so well now, and was so good-natured, that he did not show the least surprise, and never even asked his reasons for wishing to change; he only said that his two small rooms would surely not be large enough for Rendalen's collections and his piano--and for Vangen?

Or, were he and Vangen no longer going to live together? Yes, they were! But there was a large room adjoining Kallem's two rooms, and for long Rendalen had had his eye on that. He knew the landlady would be glad to let it. It would suit him perfectly. Only fancy what it would be to play in that large room!

"Have you spoken now to the landlady about it?"

"No, but I am just going to her," and off he rushed. They both came back together, the landlady and he; a few minutes after, all was settled! In the afternoon they moved! When the good-natured Vangen came hurrying home from his dinner, there sat Kallem in dressing-gown and slippers in the first room to the right, and announced to him that Rendalen had gone to live in Sehested Street, where he, Kallem, used to live; they had changed lodgings. They both laughed.

"And yet he was very comfortable here," said Vangen; but that was the only remark he made.

Of course Edward Kallem speculated much on the reason of this hurried move, and thought he would have a good talk with the servant each time she came to see to the stove or to bring in his lunch or supper, both which meals he took at home; she looked as if she knew something.

Marie had a peculiar smile that seemed to say: "Oh, I know the lot of you--you too, you rogue." He got that, the very first time she opened the door for him. She had eyes that were more than half covered by the lids which hung over them in folds. The nose was a turn-up and seemed to drag the mouth upward into a stiff smile, the upper lip projected, showing a row of teeth for which there was hardly room, they glistened through each smile. Everything she said seemed to have a hidden meaning of fun and nonsense, it shot forth from under her eyelids and played about the corners of the mouth. The voice was a soft one. Otherwise a steady girl, well made, clever as old Nick himself, but prudent and cautious both in speech and ways, for all her laughing criticisms. But her laugh seemed always on the lookout for one. When he said: "I am Edward Kallem, I am to live in Rendalen's room," she answered, smilingly: "Oh!" just as if she had known all his secrets from the time he was a boy. If he mentioned Rendalen, she looked as if she had a whole room full of jokes about him; and yet--he never got anything out of her.

The house where he lived now was a corner house, almost opposite the university. The door of the house was in the same street into which Kallem's rooms looked too. They were on the second floor and had the same entrance as his landlord had; that is to say, one of the rooms--the other one, his bed-room, had its own private entrance.

Rendalen had had a third room, the corner room further in. Kallem put his card on the door leading into the little hall, below a large door-plate bearing the name of Soren Kule; that was the landlord's name! Next day being Sunday, he went to call on him.

There sat the paralysed, blind man in a large roller-chair. The unfortunate man was still young, barely over thirty, very heavily built, and heavy both in face and in speech. His very "Come in!" when Kallem knocked, was heavy. Kallem introduced himself, the other sat immovable and answered slowly: "Indeed, I am blind. And I can't move about much either." This was said with a Norland accent; each syllable jerked out and jogging heavily along like a London brewer's dray-horse.

It was a clever, but full, large-featured face; he came probably of a healthy race. Kallem was sufficiently a doctor to be able to see at once why he was paralysed and blind. A quant.i.ty of engravings and photographs from Spain, hanging on the walls, gave him the idea that it was probably _there_ he had received as a gift what that most gallant people distribute with such hospitality.

"Won't you sit down?" he said, at last. His healthy side brisked up as he turned and looked toward a door to the left: "Ragni!" he called.

n.o.body answered and n.o.body came. His voice, as well as his seeming indifference and stolid quiet, seemed to make the silence duller.

Kallem sat there and looked about him. Were those children's toys? It seemed to him surely he heard children's voices? Were there children _here?_

"Ragni!" repeated he once more, slowly. Then, more gently: "Perhaps they are in the kitchen busy with the dinner."

Again the same dull, heavy silence; the sound of bells from the street broke through it for a moment, but only to make it all the more evident afterward. The furniture was too heavy and dark for a small Norwegian room in winter; and it was faded and worn. The engravings and photographs were in large frames, which, however, did not fit very well, so that both dust and damp had got in and spoilt the paper. The children's toys and a piano were the most noticeable things; the piano seemed to be perfectly new and by one of the best Parisian makers, it was certainly a concert-grand. "Your wife plays so beautifully?"

"Yes."

Kallem knew that she had devoted herself to the study of music since she was a child, and just to find something to talk about he took up the subject. "She has studied at the conservatoire in Berlin?"

"Yes."

There was a noise of chairs being pushed about in the room to the right, the one adjoining the corner room. Kallem then took that up as a subject for conversation. "I hear I am to have a neighbor in the corner room?"

"Yes."

"A relation of yours, I believe?"

"Yes, an aunt."

Again Soren Kule looked to the left, and called out in an indifferent sort of way: "Ragni!" n.o.body answered and n.o.body came. "I fancied I heard a door open outside," he said, as though apologizing for having called. Kallem got up then and said good-by.

A few days afterward he gave Rendalen an amusing description of his visit. Rendalen laughed; he had not often been there himself; but had heard much about Soren Kule. He declared the fellow might go to the devil for him, he would rather not talk about him at all; he sat down to the piano and began to play.

A few days later, who should Kallem meet in the entrance but his brother-in-law in spe, Mr. Ole Tuft, now candidate in theology, come to town to pa.s.s his so-called practical examination.

Grand meeting and recognition! The one had no idea of the change of lodgings that had taken place, nor the other that Ole Tuft had come to town. Kallem begged him to go in with him, and heard then that Tuft was there for the first time; the landlord's aunt had moved in yesterday, and it was her Ole had been visiting. Edward Kallem understood at once what community she belonged to, and he changed the subject. He asked further whether he knew Soren Kule? No, only through hearing of him from his aunt; all the family were from the Norland. Then who was Soren Kule? He was a well-to-do fish-dealer who became blind and partially paralysed; was obliged to sell his business and had bought this house in Christiania to make a living by it and by other things as well. They had several relations in town, and had only been there since October.

Did Ole Tuft know what had caused his paralysis and blindness? No.

Kallem told him there could hardly be a doubt on the matter. Ole Tuft was quite shocked.

"How could he dare marry then? And twice."

"Has he been married twice?"

"Yes, he married a second time about six months or a year ago--his late wife's sister."

"Then the children are by the first wife?"

"Yes. But the present wife is hardly more than a child herself; just fancy, she is eighteen and has been married nearly a year!"

"Was he like this when he married again?"

"No, I think not. He was in ill-health but not so bad as now. There are not many who can understand how it came about?"

"Have you seen her?"

"No, but my aunt says she is a delicate little creature, and very musical. She has played in public."

"Indeed, up in the north?"

"They are said to be so very critical up there." Then he began again on the subject of the marriage. "The parents probably arranged it for the children's sake."

Kallem very nearly answered, "Then, of course, they are clergy folk;"

but he recollected in time. He only said: "One can't accuse her of being too particular."

They conversed a little on indifferent subjects; no mention was made of Josephine. Shortly after Ole went in to find his aunt, whom he had come to call upon. As it happened Kallem was at home that forenoon and he heard the landlord's wife play. She began with scales and scales and still more scales; but then came a piece so wonderfully well executed that he set his door ajar so as to hear better. Her playing was more like singing. How in all the world could a woman young like she, and full of artistic and lyric feeling, marry such a ma.s.s of corruption?

Here was a problem which he would have had Rendalen solve, but Rendalen knew nothing. However, he was in good spirits that day, spoke in raptures about her playing; there was not so much power in it but it was full of song, and a poetical charm of coloring which was unequalled. He could play a Russian piece of her's, "after a fashion"

he added; he played it perfectly. Kallem wanted to know something about her appearance.

"She looks--stupid!" cried he. "G.o.d forgive me for saying it--stupid!

Her forehead might possibly save her, but she hides it entirely with her hair. I said so to her; 'Up with your hair,' said I. Her eyes, too, might save her. But never in my life have I seen anyone so shy about her eyes."

"Has she good eyes?"

"Good heavens, her eyes are of the many-voiced kind! Some eyes sing as it were in unison or at the most for two voices; but some there are that send forth chords of bright harmony. If she looks up when she is playing you will feel it! But generally her eyes are on a level with the feet of the table, or piercing holes in the corners, or setting the stove alight. Sometimes, though, they dash up high along the walls like a rat that cannot escape!" He was amused at his own description and began to play a Halling.[2] "Wonderful that such a musical nature can--come, we must not be sentimental, old fellow!" He intended going to the theatre and took Kallem with him.

A week pa.s.sed and still Kallem had not seen her, although he had tried what he could to bring it about. But he was out at a dance one night--the son of the house was a fellow-student of his--the latter came up to him whilst a "tour d'inclination" was going on, bringing two ladies with him, and asked Kallem whether he would choose the "kernel of a nut" or a "dog-rose?" This was not particularly clever, but he chose the "dog-rose." This "dog-rose" had a musical forehead and prettily arched eyebrows; otherwise she was silent and insignificant.

Rather tall, with sloping shoulders, pretty arms, not actually fat but well-shaped; the same might be said of her whole person. She danced well, but seemed as if she wished to get away from him as quickly as possible; he brought her back to her place without her having so much as looked at him. He was much surprised therefore when she came and fetched him out in the next "tour." Probably she only knew very few people and those few were very likely engaged. She looked about her shyly and then came forward with timid steps and curtsied; still she did not look up, she seemed positively afraid, and so it struck him he would be kind and sit down beside her. But whatever he said to her she never answered anything but "yes," "no," "indeed," "perhaps," which soon proved too much of a good thing for so-much-sought-after a cavalier as he; so he left her. Again he was offered his choice between the "nut-kernel" which he had despised and a "bon-bon," and this time he chose the "nut-kernel." He liked her much better; she was a lively, round, little thing, and spoke with a mixture of Norland and Bergen accent. He soon learned that her father was a native of Bergen, but was now a clergyman in the Norland district. She was staying here in town with her sister, and very often went to b.a.l.l.s; for they had so many relations--her voice rose and fell in true Norland fashion; but unfortunately she would soon have to be going home again; they were nervous about her up there in the north; nor did the old parents like to be left alone. Of course Kallem did the polite and pretended to be highly amused; they became such good friends that-- She told him with a great flow of words how she had come to town so as to help her sister to get settled; her sister was not at all practical, which _she_ was; she could do nothing but play the piano, that sister of hers; she had been accustomed to it since her childhood, and had studied two years in Berlin. Then Kallem became all attention, and it turned out that her sister was the partner he had danced with first and had thought so tiresome; his landlady, Fru Ragni Kule! The "nut-kernel," it must be observed, was not her real sister; they were children of different marriages. And the "nut-kernel" was not the eldest, as he had imagined; on the contrary, her sister was nearly nineteen, and she was a little more than seventeen.

Immediately he went and danced with Fru Kule, and remarked with much surprise that she was his landlady. Was she aware of that? Was that why she had chosen him to dance with before? She felt as if she were taken in the act of committing a crime, but could think of no excuse to make.

"But why did you not tell me who you were?" continued he, insisting.

She felt still more overwhelmed by this fresh sin of having kept silence, and could not possibly get out a word. Then he said, rather rudely and impatiently:

"Perhaps you have some difficulty in speaking?"

She turned very pale; there was something unspeakably unhappy in her startled look. His rudeness was the natural consequence of his contempt for anyone who could lower themselves by such a marriage as hers was.

But his sympathy was so thoroughly aroused by her pallor and helplessness that he hastened to say: "To be sure, I know that you possess the gift of a language which is easier for you than for most people--" and so he talked on in an easy, natural way about her music, made her sit down, told her that he had heard her play, and that Rendalen was such a competent judge; he turned the conversation upon all the world-renowned artists he had ever heard, and succeeded in making her join in; of course she had heard so many of them. By degrees she gained so much confidence that she even ventured to ask after Rendalen; she had not seen him at all since he had moved. He was all right, and then he described all Rendalen's peculiarities till she was obliged to laugh. She did not look "stupid" when she laughed, far from it. For a moment, too, there was a gleam in the eyes as of "many rays."