Magnhild Dust Part 17

There was not a word in the priest's narratives, from beginning to end, designed to call attention to the good he or any of his household had done. The listener was left to find this out for himself. But the dog had discovered it before Magnhild.

The dog returned thanks; had she ever done so? The thought had rushed over her with such force that it caused her to feel an irresistible impulse to express her grat.i.tude. The universal astonishment caused by her effort to do so made her for the first time realize how unaccustomed her friends were to thanks, or indication of thanks from her, and she became frightened. This was the reason why she had left the room.

She took the road leading up toward the church, perhaps because it had just been mentioned. Her new views wholly absorbed her. Until now she had seen only the ludicrous side of the life at the parsonage. The members of the household had provoked, amused, or wearied her. But hitherto she had not been aware that what had just been praised in herself had been gained by her in this household whose influences had spread themselves protectingly over her soul, just as the embroidery was spread over the furniture in these rooms. Had all the weaknesses of the house served Skarlie as a means to ensnare her, in this same house she had acquired the strength wherewith to resist his power until the present time.

If she had lived here without forming close relations with any one, the fault lay not alone in the monotonous routine of the house: it was due chiefly to herself, for even in the days of her life at the parsonage she had wrapped herself up in dreams. It must have required all the forbearance by which the family were characterized to bring her, notwithstanding all this, to the point she had reached. In any other family she would have been shown the door--dull, awkward, thankless as she had been.

Yes, thankless! Whom had she ever thanked? Aye, there was one--him who had done her the most harm but also the most good; for him she loved.

But this could scarcely be counted.

But whom else? Not Skarlie, although he had been incessantly kind to her, even he. Not Fru Bang, and how kind she had been! Not Ronnaug; no, not Ronnaug either.

She was appalled. For the first time in her life she held true communion with herself, and she had done little else all her life than commune with herself.

Now she comprehended, although once before she had been startled by a pa.s.sing thought of the kind; now for the first time she comprehended what it must have been to Ronnaug after having longed for so many years to tell her about the rich change in her own life, to show her her child, to bring her freedom and increased happiness; and then to find a person who did not even care to take the trouble to walk to the hotel, not a hundred steps distant, because, forsooth, it would necessitate her dressing herself.

She sat once more on the heights facing the ruins of the home of her parents; and she covered her face in shame.

From the thoughts to which this spot gave birth she did not escape until evening, weary in body and in soul.

When late in the evening she said good-night to Ronnaug, she threw her arm round her, and leaned her head against hers. But words refused to come; they are not easily found the first time they are sought.

CHAPTER XII.

The next morning Ronnaug dreamed of singing; she still heard it when she awoke, and ere long she had so far collected herself as to consider whether it could really be Magnhild who was singing. This thought caused her to become wide awake and to leave her bed.

She scarcely waited to don her morning-gown before she opened a window.

From the sitting-room, which was at the other end of the house, there came the sound of singing and a low piano accompaniment. The voice was pure and high; it must be Magnhild's.

Ronnaug made haste to complete her toilet and go down-stairs. She carried her boots out into the pa.s.sage and put them on there lest she should awaken Miss Roland and the child. There was some one coming up the stairs. Ronnaug quickly put down her boots and stepped forward; for the head which was now displayed to her view was Grong's. What, Grong here?

He greeted Ronnaug with a keen, hasty glance, and, without a word, went into an apartment near hers.

Ronnaug sat listening to the singing while she put on her boots. It flowed so equally and calmly; unquestionably there was joy in it, but the joy was subdued--it might be called pure.

She remained still until Magnhild ended, and even then paused a little while. She finally went down-stairs. The door of the sitting-room was half open, which accounted for her having heard so distinctly. Magnhild had turned round with the piano-stool and sat talking with the two friends of her childhood, who had seats one on each side of her. She had been singing for them, it would seem.

They all rose as Ronnaug entered. Magnhild called her friend's attention to the clock. Verily, the hour hand pointed to ten. Magnhild had been up a long time--and singing.

The girls withdrew to carry coffee, eggs, etc., into the dining-room. As soon as Magnhild saw that she and Ronnaug were alone, she hastened to ask if Ronnaug knew that Grong was at the parsonage. Ronnaug told about having just met him.

"Yes," whispered Magnhild, "he is traveling in search of his son. Only think, the young man has eloped with the girl to whom he is betrothed!

He is twenty years old, she about sixteen."

"So, then, the verses--?"

"Were of course by Grong's son. Grong is furious. He wanted to make a poet of his son, though!"

They both laughed.

The young man was really extraordinarily gifted, Magnhild further narrated, and for his sake his father had read extensively, besides taking long journeys with his son in Germany, France, Italy, and England. Plans had been made to give the young man an opportunity of gaining an impression of the scenery of his fatherland and of country life, but--pop!--the bird had flown.

Grong was now heard on the stairs, so nothing more was said. He gave the ladies a sharp glance as he entered, then began to pace the floor, as completely hidden by his beard as though it were a forest, and veiled by his spectacles as an image is veiled in a fountain.

They sat down to the late breakfast, and the priest's wife received them, one by one, with diffident friendliness. The priest had gone down to the school-house to attend a meeting.

After the meal was over, Grong, who had not opened his mouth for any other purpose than to eat and to drink, walked through the sitting-room and pa.s.sage directly out to the door-steps. Ronnaug bravely followed; she wished to talk with him. He discovered this and made an effort to escape, but was overtaken and obliged to walk up the road with Ronnaug.

When he heard what she wanted, he exclaimed:--

"I have been so confoundedly bored with this tall woman and her tiresome vocation, that you will find it impossible to get one word out of me.

Besides, I am expecting my 'skyds.'"

He was about to turn away; but Ronnaug held fast to him, laughing, and brought him back to the theme. Before she had succeeded, however, in laying before him the necessary facts, he interrupted with,--

"The fact is she has no vocation whatever; that is the whole secret of the matter. Her singing? Tande so often wrote to me about her singing.

Well, I have been listening to her singing this morning, and do you know what I think about it? Technical correctness, good method, pure tone, in abundance; but no fancy, no inspiration, no expression; how the deuce could there be! Had she had fancy, she would have had energy, and with her voice, her natural technical ability, she would have become a singer, whether there was a Tande or not, whether she had married a Skarlie or a Farlie."

Notwithstanding the harsh, blunt form in which this idea was framed, there might be sufficient truth in it to make it worth while to place Magnhild's history before Grong in its true light. Grong could not resist the fascination of a soul's experiences. He became all ear, forgetting both his ire and his "skyds."

He heard now about the Magnhild who would scarcely take pains to dress herself, and who let Skarlie do and say what he pleased, but who the moment Skarlie mentions Tande's name and hers together, in other words, invades her inner sanctuary, flees forthwith from him to America. Was there no energy in that?

He heard about the Magnhild who, checked in her highest aspirations, became wholly indifferent. The relations with Tande were fully explained. Grong, indeed, had been partially acquainted with them by Tande himself. Ronnaug also thought it right to inform Grong of the purport of Tande's letter; she could recall it perfectly, for it had made a deep impression on her.

What an impression did it not make on Grong!

How much it must have cost this man in his time to renounce what he had originally believed to be his vocation. And now to have to give up his hopes for his son? How could she and Magnhild have laughed at this--as they had done that same morning.

"Consolation in the idea that our calling is greater and more manifold than we ourselves are aware? Yes, for those who can blindly and without exercise of their own wills place themselves under subjection to the unknown guidance! I cannot do so!" He raised his clinched hand, but let it fall again. "Is it a crime to steer toward a definite goal, and concentrate one's will, one's responsibility upon its attainment? Look at yonder insect! It goes straight forward; it has a fixed aim. Now I crush it to death. See--thus!

"You should have seen my wife," he continued, presently. "She sped onward through life, with fluttering veil; her eyes, her thoughts sparkled. What was her goal? Just as she was beginning, with my aid, to comprehend her faculties, she expired. A meteor!

"I had a friend. What talents, and what aspirations! How handsome he was! When he was but little over twenty years of age, he fell during the siege of a Danish fortress, scarcely mentioned, scarcely remembered. A meteor!

"But what solicitude for existences which neither can nor will be of any use in the world. That fisherman in Nordland was the only person who was saved from destruction out of a whole parish. And he lived more than sixty years as stupid as the codfish he drew out of the sea.

"For the sake of others? For the advancement of one's fellow-creatures?

For the good of posterity? Aye, aye, find consolation in all this, if you can! Before I shall be able to do so I must see the benefit of it for myself. The mole's life in the dark, with chance alone for its guide, is not a life that I could lead, even though I might have a certificate guarantying that light should dawn on me one day, that is to say, on the other side of the grave. I admire those who can be content with such a lot."

"In other words, you despise them!" interposed Ronnaug.

Grong looked at her, but made no reply.

Ronnaug was anxious to know how it was best to advise Magnhild. Grong promptly answered,--

"Advise her to go to work."