Chapter VI (2)

And they took their supper.

HERR BENGT'S WIFE

"What is love? Desire, of course," the young Count answered his old preceptor, as they both sat below in the cabin and beguiled the time by talking while waiting off Elfsnabben for a favourable wind for their journey to the University of Prague.

"No, young sir," answered Magister Franciscus Olai. "Love is something quite different and something more, which neither high theology nor deep philosophy have been able to express. Our over-wise time believes too little, but that is because our fathers believed too much. I was present at the beginning of this period, young sir; I helped to pull down old venerable buildings, ancient, decayed temples of pride and selfishness; I tore pages out of the holy books and pictures from the walls of the churches; I was present, young sir, and helped to shut up the convents, and to announce the abolition of the old faith, but, sir, there are things which all-powerful Nature herself has founded, and which we had better not attempt to pull down. I wish to speak now of Amor or Love, whose fire burns unquenchably when it is rightly bestowed, but when wrongly, can soon be quenched, or even turn to hate when things go quite wrong."

"When then is it rightly bestowed? It cannot be so very often," answered the Count, settling himself more comfortably on the couch.

"Often or not, love is like a flash from heaven when it comes, and then it surpasses all our will and all our understanding, but it is different with different people, whether it lasts or not. For in this respect men are born with different dispositions and characters, like birds or other creatures. Some are like the wood grouse and black cock who must have a whole seraglio like the grand Turk; why it is so we know not, but it is so, and that is their nature. Others are like the small birds which take a mate for each year and then change. Others again are amiable like doves and build their nests together for life, and when one of them dies, the other no longer desires to live."

"Have you seen any human beings corresponding to doves?" asked the Count doubtfully.

"I have seen many, dear sir. I have seen wood cocks who have paired with doves, and the doves have been very unhappy; I have seen male doves who have wedded a cuckoo, and the cuckoo is the worst of all birds, for it likes the pleasure of love, but not the trouble of children, and therefore turns its children out of the nest; but I have also seen wedded doves, sir."

"Who never pecked each other?"

"Yes, I have seen them peck when the nest was narrow, and there was trouble about food, but still they were good friends, and that is love. There is also a sea-bird called 'svärt,' sir, which always flies in pairs. If you shoot one, the other descends and lets itself be shot too, and therefore the 'svärt' is called the stupidest of all birds."

"That is in the pairing time, venerable preceptor."

"No, young sir, they keep together the whole year round and their pairing time is in spring. In the winter when they have no young ones with them, but are alone, they eat together, hunt together, and sleep together. That is not desire, but love, and if this charming feeling can exist among soulless creatures, why can it not among men?"

"Yes, I have heard of its being found among men, but that it departs after marriage."

"That is mere sensual pleasure, which partly goes, but then love comes."

"That is only friendship when there is any."

"Quite right, noble sir, but friendship between those of opposite sex is just love. But there are so many things and so many sides to everything. If you like, I will relate a story which I have seen myself, and from which you may learn something or other. It happened in my youth, forty years ago, but I remember every detail as though it happened yesterday. Shall I relate it?"

"Certainly, preceptor. Time goes slowly when one waits for a favourable wind. But bring a light and wine before you begin, for I think your story will not keep one awake."

"Very likely not you, sir, but it has kept me awake many nights," answered Franciscus, and went to fetch what was required. When he had returned and they sat down again on their berths, he began as follows:

"This is the story of Herr Bengt's wife. She was born of noble parentage at the beginning of this century. She was strictly brought up, and, when her parents died, her guardian placed her in a convent. There she distinguished herself by her intense religious zeal; she scourged herself on Fridays and fasted on all the greater saint's days. When she reached the age of puberty, her condition became more serious, and she actually attempted to starve herself to death, believing it consistent with the duty of a Christian to kill the flesh and to live with God in Christ. Then two circumstances contributed to bring about a crisis in her life. Her guardian fled the country after having squandered her property, and the convent authorities changed their behaviour towards her, for it was a worldly institution which did not at all open its gates for the poor and wretched. When she saw that, she began to be assailed by doubts. Doubt was the disease of that time and she had a strong attack of it. Her fellow-nuns believed nothing and her superiors not much.

"One day she was sent from the convent to visit a sick person. On the way, a beautiful lonely forest path, she met a Knight, young, strong, and handsome. She stood and stared at him as though he had been a vision; he was the first man she had seen for five years, and the first man she had seen since she was a woman. He stopped his horse for a moment, greeted her, and rode on. After that day she was tired of the convent, and life enticed her. Life with its beauty and attraction drew her away from Christ; she had attacks of temptation and outbreaks, and had to spend most of her time in the punishment cell. One day she received a letter smuggled in by the gardener. It was from the Knight. He lived on the other side of the lake and she could see his castle from the window of the cell. The correspondence continued. Faint rumours began to be circulated that a great change in ecclesiastical affairs was about to take place and that even the convents were about to be abolished and the nuns released from their vows.

"Then hope awoke in her, but at the same time that she learnt that one could be released from vows, she lost faith in the sanctity of the vow itself, and at one stroke all restraint gave way. She believed now rather in the everlasting rights of her instincts in the face of all social and ecclesiastical laws!

"At last she was betrayed by a false friend, and the discovery of the correspondence led to her being condemned to corporal punishment. But Fate had ordered otherwise, and on the day that the punishment was to be carried out a messenger came from the King and estates of the realm with the command that the convent was to be closed. The messenger was no other than the Knight. He opened for her the doors of the convent in order to offer her freedom and his hand. That closed the first part of her career."

"The first?" remarked the Count, as he lifted the jar of Rhine wine. "Isn't the story over? They were married."

"No, sir. That is how stories usually end, but the real beginning is just there. And I remember the day after the marriage. I had married them and was her domestic chaplain. The breakfast-table was laid and she came out of her room, beaming as though the whole earth danced on her account, and the sun was only set in the sky to give them light. He was full of courage and felt capable of bearing the whole world on his shoulders. All his thoughts were intent on making life as kind and beautiful for her as he could; and she was so happy that she could neither eat nor drink; she wished only to forget, the existence of the sinful earth. Well! she had her fancies, springing from the old time when heaven was all, and earth was nothing; he was a child of the new age who knew that one must live on earth in order to be able to enter heaven afterwards."

"And so things came to a crisis?" interrupted the Count.

"They came to a crisis, as you say. I remember how he ate at the breakfast-table like a hungry man, and she only sat and watched him; but when she talked of birds' songs he talked of roast veal. Then he noticed how she had thrown her clothes the evening before on a chair in the dining-room, and reminded her that one must be orderly in a house."

"Then of course there was hell in the house."

"No, it was not so dangerous as that. But it brought a cloud over her sun, and she felt that a breach was opened between them. Still she shut her eyes in order not to see it, as one does when near a precipice. Then the sky clouded over again. He had secret, melancholy thoughts for his harvest-sheaves were on the field, and he knew that his income depended on them. He wished to take her out to see them, but she begged him to stay at home and not to talk of earth on that day."

"Earth! What an idiot!"

"Yes, yes! She was brought up like that; it was the fault of the convent which had taught her to despise God's creation. So her husband remained with her, and proposed that they should go hunting; she accepted the proposal with joy."

"A proposal to kill! That was nice!"

"Yes, according to the views of the period, sir; every period has its own views. But the sky clouded over once more, for this day was not a lucky one for the young Knight. The King's bailiff called and desired a special interview with him. The interview was granted and the Knight was informed that he would lose his rank as a noble if he did not supply the quota of arms due from him as the King's vassal, which he had neglected to do for five years. The Knight had no means of meeting this demand but the bailiff offered to procure him an advance in money in exchange for a mortgage on his estate. So the matter was arranged. But then the question arose how far he should take his wife into his confidence with regard to this matter. He summoned me in order to hear my advice. I thought it was a pity that the young wife should be torn so suddenly out of her dreams of happiness and joy, and I was short-sighted enough to advise that she should not be told the real state of affairs till the first year was over."

"In that you were right! Why should women mix in business? It would only lead to trouble and confusion and their poor husbands would never have peace."

"No, sir, I was wrong, for in a true marriage husband and wife should have full confidence in each other and be one. And what was the result in this case? During the year they grew apart from one another. She lived in her rose-garden and he in the fields; he had secrets concealed from her and worked desperately without having her as his adviser; he lived his own life apart and she, hers. When they met, he had to pretend to be cheerful, and so their whole life became false. Finally he became tired and withdrew into himself and so did she."

"And so it was all over with their love."

"No, sir; it might have been so, but true love goes through worse fires than these. They loved each other still and that was destined to be proved by the tests which they were to pass through.

"Her child came, and with it commenced a new stage of their life journey. She needed her husband less now for her time was occupied by looking after the child, and her husband felt freer, for so many claims were not made on his tenderness as before. She threw herself heart and soul into the new occupations which absorbed her; she watched through the nights and toiled through the days and would never give up the child to a nurse The contact with reality and the little affairs of life seemed at first to have an intoxicating effect upon her empty soul and she began to find a certain satisfaction in talking with her husband about his fields and their cultivation. But this could not last long. Education lies behind us like the seeds of weeds which may remain in the ground for a year or two, but which only need proper cultivation in order to spring up again. One day she looked in the glass and found that she had become pale, thin, and ugly. She saw that the bloom of her youth was past, and her charms decayed. Then the woman awoke in her or rather one side of the mysterious being which is called a woman: and then came the longing to be beautiful, to please, to feel herself ruling through her beauty. She was now no longer so eagerly occupied with the child as before, and she began to spend more care on her own person. Her husband saw this change with joy, for strange to say although he had at first been glad to observe her desperate zeal about the child and the house, yet when he saw his heart's queen dressed negligently, and marked how pale and wretched she looked, it cut him to the heart. He wished to have back again the charming fairy who had waited with longing at the window for his return home, and at whose feet he wished to worship. So strange is man's heart, and so much leaven does it still retain from the old times of chivalry when woman was regarded as a Madonna.

"But now came something else. During the first period of her confinement he had become a little tired and careless in his habits; he came and went with his hat on, ate his meals at a corner of the table, and took no pains about his dress. And when his wife began to return to the ways of everyday life he forgot to follow her, and to alter his habits. His wife, who was still somewhat sickly, thought she saw in the relaxing of these courtesies a want of love, and an unfortunate chance afforded her an apparent proof that he was tired of her.

"It was an unlucky day! The year was approaching its end when the chief payments would be made. The harvest promised to be bountiful but its overplus could not cover everything. The Knight had to find other means of raising money, and he found them. He ordered some fine timber-trees round the courtyard to be cut down, but in so doing, they came too near the house, so that his wife's favourite lime-tree was also cut down. The Knight did not know that she had a special liking for it, and the act was quite unintentional. His wife had been ill for a week or two, and when she came into the dining-room she saw that the lime-tree had disappeared; she at once believed that it had been cut down to annoy her. She also noticed that her rose-bushes had withered, for no one had had time to think of such trifles amid all the bustle of bringing in the harvest. This seemed to her another act of unkindness and she sent all the available horses and oxen to fetch water.

"Now there intervened a new circumstance to hasten the coming misfortune. The bailiff had come to the castle to wait for the bringing in of the harvest, and had an interview with the Knight's wife just after she had made the two above-mentioned discoveries. They found that they had known each other as children, and a confidential chat followed, which afforded her some amusement. She liked her visitor's rustic but courteous manners, and the comparison she made between his politeness and her husband's boorishness, was not to the advantage of the latter. She forgot that her husband could be as polite as the bailiff when paying a formal visit, and that the bailiff could be as brusque as he in everyday business.

"Thus everything was in train for what should happen when her husband came home. The bailiff had gone and left her alone with her thoughts. When her husband came in, he was cheerful, being pleased to see his wife up again, and because the continued dry weather was good for the harvest, which was all now ready cut and could be brought in in a single day. But his wife, depressed by her thoughts, felt annoyed by his cheerfulness, and now the shots went off, one after the other. She asked about her lime-tree, and he said he had cut it down because he required timber; she then asked why he must cut down 'just' the lime-tree which shaded her window; he answered that he had not cut down just that one, but all of them together.

"Then she began about the rose-bushes. He replied that he had never promised to water them. She, having no answer to this, discovered that he was wearing greased boots, and immediately remarked upon it. He acknowledged his inadvertence and was about to repair it on the spot by drawing them off, but she became furious at such an act of discourtesy. Hard words passed between them and she declared that he loved her no more. Then the Knight answered somewhat in this way: 'I don't love you, you say, because I work for you and don't sit and gossip by your embroidery frame; I don't love you because I am hungry through neglecting food; I don't love you because I don't change my boots when I come for a minute into the room. I don't love you, you say! Oh, if you only knew how much I loved you!'

"To this his wife replied: 'before we married you loved me and at the same time gossiped by my embroidery frame, took off your boots when you came in, and showed me politeness. What has happened then, to make you change your behaviour?'

"Her husband answered: 'We are married now.' His wife thought he meant that marriage had given him a proprietary right over her, and that he wished to show this by his free-and-easy demeanour, but this last was simply due to his unshakeable trust in her vow to love him through joy and sorrow, and in her forbearance, if, in order to avoid loss of time, he dropped a number of little empty ceremonies. He was on the point of telling her that it was in order to stave off ruin that he worked in the fields, thought only of crops, tramped in the mud, and brought dirt into the house, but he kept silence, for he thought that in her weak state, she could not bear the shock, and he knew that in twenty-four hours all danger would be passed and the house would be saved. He asked her to forgive him, and they forgave one another, and spoke gently together again. But then came a shock! The steward rushed in and announced that a storm was approaching. The Knight's wife was glad that the roses would get rain, but he was not. It seemed to him like the finger of God, and he told his wife everything but bade her at the same time be of good courage. He then gave orders that all the oxen should be yoked and the harvest brought in at once. He was told that they had been sent to fetch water. Who had sent them? 'I did,' answered his wife. 'I wanted water for my flowers, which you allowed to be dried up, while I was ill.'

"'Aren't you ashamed to say you did?' asked the Knight.

"She answered: 'You plume yourself on having deceived me for a whole year. I have no need to be ashamed of telling the truth, since I have committed no fault, but only met with a misfortune.' Then he became furious, went to her with upraised hand, and struck her."

"And served her devilish right!" said the Count.

"Fie! Fie! young sir! To strike a weak woman!"

"Why should one not strike a woman, when one strikes children?"

"Because woman is weaker, sir."

"Another reason! One cannot get at the stronger, and one must not strike the weaker: Whom shall one strike then?"

"One should not strike at all, my friend. Fie! Fie! What sentiments you utter, and you wish to be a soldier!"

"Yes! What happens in war? The stronger strikes and the weaker is struck. Isn't that logic?"

"It may be logic, but it is not morality. But do you want to hear the continuation?"

"Wasn't it over then, with their love at any rate?"

"No, sir! not by a long way! Love does not depart so easily. Well! she believed now just as you do, that it was all over with love, and she asked the bailiff, who came in just then, to make an appeal for separation in her name to the King."

"And she wanted to leave her child?"

"No, she thought she could take it with her. Her pride was wounded to the quick, and she felt crushed under the ruins of her beautiful castle in the air."

"And her husband?"

"He was pulverised! His dream of wedded love was over, and he was ruined besides, for the rainstorm had carried away and destroyed the whole of his harvest. And when he saw that it was she whom he loved who was the cause of his misfortune he felt resentment in his heart against her, but he loved her still? when his anger had been allayed."

"Still?"

"Yes, sir, for love does not ask why. It only knows that it is so. The Knight was ruined, and left his house to look after itself while he rode about in the woods and fields. His wife, on the contrary, awoke to a life of energy and diligence and took in hand the whole management of the house; necessity made the little, tender being who never had worked, strong; she sewed clothes for herself and the children; she made payments and looked after the servants, and this last was not the easiest, for the latter had grown accustomed to regard the little spoilt lady as only a guest, but she took hold of affairs with an energetic hand and kept them in order. When money was insufficient she pawned her jewels, and by that means paid wages and cleared off debts. One day when the Knight awoke to reflection and came home anxiously to look after the condition of affairs which he regarded as hopeless, he found everything in proper order. When he made inquiries, he was told that his wife had saved everything. Then remorse and shame awoke in him and he went to ask her on his knees to forgive him for not having understood and valued her. She forgave him and declared that she had not formerly deserved to be more highly valued, since she did not then possess the qualities which she afterwards acquired. They were reconciled as friends, but she declared that her love was dead, and that she did not intend to be his wife for the future.

"Their conversation was interrupted by the bailiff, who during this time had lived in the house and helped the wife by his advice and service. Her husband felt himself put aside and his place occupied by another; jealousy raged in him, and he forbade his wife to receive a stranger in her rooms. His wife thereupon declared that she would visit the bailiff in his rooms but her husband reminded her that he had rights over her person, since she was still his wife according to the law. But she had that day received by post the decree of separation and told him that she was free and could go where she liked. Then when he saw that it was all over, he collapsed and begged her on his knees to remain. When she saw the proud Knight crawling on the ground like a slave she lost the last remnants of respect for him, and when she remembered how once in her weakness and misery, she had looked up to him as the one who could carry her in his arms over thorns and stones, she wished to fly from this spectacle. Being no more able to find in him, what he had once been to her, she simply went away."

"Well now," interrupted the Count, who began to be bored, "it really was over."

"No, no, young sir, it only looked so, but was not. But here I must make a confession. I saw everything with my own eyes, sir, for I was her friend and honoured her in my heart. How foolish I was, I will also confess. We of the old school, who were brought up at the end of the age of chivalry, had learnt to see in woman a creature above the ordinary level of humanity; we revered the outward part, and that which was beautiful and useless; in our ideas that which pleased the eye took the first place. You can well imagine that I, though a seeker of the truth, was so misled by these old ideas, that I thought she was sinking just when she showed the greatest energy and courage. Yes, on the very day that the decree of separation came, I had a conversation with her which I can remember as clearly as though I had written it down. I said: 'If you knew how idolatrously high you once stood in my sight. And I saw the angel let her white wings fall, I saw the fairy lose her golden shoe. I saw you the morning after the marriage when you rode on your white horse through the wood, it carried you so lightly over the damp grass and lifted you so high over the mud of the marsh without a spot coming on your silver-bright clothing. For a moment I thought as I stood behind a tree; "Suppose she fell!" and my thought turned into a vision. I saw you sink in the mire; the black water spirited over you; your yellow hair lay like sunshine over the white blossoms of the bog of myrtle; you sank and sank till I only saw your little hand; then I heard a falcon scream up in the air and mount up on its wrings till it was lost in the clouds.' But then she answered me so well. 'You said once long ago that reality with all its dirt and sordidness was given us by God, and that we should not curse it, but take it as it is. Very well! But now you hint that I have sunk because I am on the way to reconcile myself with this life; I have changed the garment of the rich for that of the poor, since I am poor; I lost my youth when I obeyed the law of nature and became a mother; the beauty of my hands is spoilt by sewing, my eyes are dim with care, the burden of life presses me to the earth but my soul mounts--mounts like the falcon towards the sky and freedom, while my earthly body sinks in the mud amid evil-smelling weeds.'

"Then I asked if she really believed she could keep the soul above while the body sank, and she answered 'No!' This was because she, like myself, had the delusion that something sank. The body, however, did not sink through work; on the contrary, it was hardened and strengthened; it improved and mounted but did not sink. However, we were both so foolish that we both imagined it did, having been indoctrinated with this view from our youth upwards. We considered white hands, though they might be weak and sickly as more beautiful than those which were hardened and embrowned by toil. So perverse were people's ideas in my youth, sir, and so they are still, here and there. But in my perversity I went farther and advised her to commit a crime 6 Loose the falcon and let it mount, I said.'

"'I have already thought of that,' she answered, understanding my thought, 'but the chain is strong.'

"'I have the key to it,' I replied.

"She asked me to give it her, and received from me a bottle of poison.

"Now I return to the story where I left it off. It was where she had left her husband's room to seek the bailiff in the upper story. When she came there she had to wait, for the bailiff had visitors. She also received a lesson, for none of her married friends would greet her, because she had dissolved her marriage. One of these friends had been unfaithful to her husband and had a lover but she thought herself too good to take Frau Margit's hand. What is one to say to that? At that time it was considered one of the greatest crimes to dissolve a marriage, but now, thank Heaven! our ideas have changed. She came, as I have said, to the bailiff to ask his advice as she had done all the time when difficulties arose.

"Did she love him? Probably not; but the heart is never so likely to deceive itself as in such cases. She imagined that she did, because she thought she had lost her husband and by birth and upbringing she was not adapted to stand alone.

"But the bailiff was another sort of man. He was like one of those birds with a seraglio which I spoke of, and if he had not been so cowardly, he would have already enticed the Knight's wife. But he did not do it, for he saw that this fruit would drop when it was ripe enough. Therefore he waited. But he had another characteristic; he was as vain as a cock in a hen-house, and thought that he was a terrible fellow whom no woman could resist. So when he overheard Frau Margit say that she intended visiting him in his room, he believed that the time had come, and made elaborate preparations to receive her. She came quite unsuspiciously, for she trusted his friendship and devotion to her interests. She wished to speak of the serious prospect which lay before her; he spoke of his love and she did not wish to listen. She was legally free but still felt herself bound. The might of memory held her and perhaps the old love had a word to say in the matter. The bailiff became bolder and begged for her love on his knees. Then she despised him. His vanity was wounded, he forgot himself, threw the mask aside, and wished to use force. I came accidentally there and was able to give him the _coup de grâce_ by telling Frau Margit that he was engaged to be married. There was nothing left for him but to withdraw.

"But she had already, when her last hope collapsed and her last dream vanished, used the key to open the gate of eternity; I who knew that the poison required an hour to produce its effect, used the opportunity to speak to her, as one speaks to the dying. Ah! certainly the love of mortals for this wretched life is great, and at such moments the human soul is turned upside down; what lies at the bottom comes uppermost, old memories revive; old beliefs, however absurd and however rightly they may have been rejected, arise again, and I woke up in her the old ideas of duty, foolish perhaps, but necessary now. I brought her so far that she wished to live and commence again a life of renunciation and reflection in the convent. But since the convent no longer existed I persuaded her to be willing to exchange it for the imprisonment of home, where there is plenty of opportunity for penance in mutual self-denial, for devotion in the fulfilment of duties and in obedience. She fought against her pride and regretted her surrender, she raged against life, which had deceived her, and against men who had lied and said that life was a pleasure-garden. In this matter I agreed with her, for the unhappiness in most marriages arises from the fact that people persuade the married pair that they will find absolute happiness in marriage, whereas happiness is not to be found in life at all.

"She was frantic, but an accident came to my aid. Her child, whose room was underneath us, began to cry. She was shaken to her depths, and said that she was willing to live for her child's sake, in order to teach it that life is not what people describe it to be. She did not wish to leave it to the same fate which she had escaped. She did not speak of her husband; whether she thought of him or not, I cannot say. I who had given her the poison, knew where the antidote was; but as I still wished to keep her in fear, I gave her less hope than I myself possessed.

"I went away, and when I returned, I found her in her husband's arms. He had found her on the stairs, where she had fallen down in a swoon. All was forgiven and all was forgotten. You think that strange? But have you not forgiven your mother although she chastised you, and does not your mother love you, although you have deceived her, and caused her grief and anxiety. This last agitation had convulsed her soul so that the old love lay uppermost like a clear pearl, which has been fished up from the miry bottom of the sea where it lay hidden in a dirty mollusc. But she still struggled with her pride and said she would not love him, although she did love him. I never forget his answer, which contains the whole riddle, 'You did not wish to love me, Margit,' he said, 'for your pride forbade it, but you love me still. You love me, although I raised my hand against you, and although I was shamefully cowardly when the trouble came. I wished to hate you when you left me; I wished to kill you, because you were willing to sacrifice your child, and still I love you. Do you not now believe in the power of love over our evil wills?'

"So he said; and I say now like the fabulist: this fable teaches that love is a great power which passes all understanding and against which our wills can do nothing. Love bears all things, gives up all things, and of faith, hope, and love, sir, love is the greatest."

"Well, how did they go on afterwards?" asked the Count.

"I was no longer with them."

"They probably continued to quarrel."

"I know that they have disagreements sometimes, for these must happen when there are different opinions, but I know also that neither wishes to domineer over the other. They go their way, making less demands on life than before and therefore they are as happy as one can be when one takes life as it is. That was what the old period with its claim of being able to make a heaven on earth could not do, but what the new period has learnt."

THE END

End of Project Gutenberg's Fair Haven and Foul Strand, by August Strindberg