CHAPTER XI

THE SMITH FROM HENRIKSBERG

All that day there was but one short hour when Maia Lisa forgot her stepmother, and that was in the evening when she sat with Pastor Liliecrona and all the household round the great log fire in the living-room listening to the tall dark smith from Henriksberg, as he leant against one of the cupboards playing on the master’s fiddle.

It was so pleasant then that Maia Lisa thought she understood how her aunt could feel content to be a peasant’s wife. It was so wonderfully comfortable in the evening to sit round the fire in the midst of one’s servants, all busy with their work and all cheerful and ready for a chat. Master and man, mistress and maid, all talked together here as if there were no distinction between them. Was there after all any special happiness in living as gentlefolk and trying to be thought grander than other people? Did such a life bear in the end any better fruit than loneliness and sorrow?

Where is there such safety and comfort as in an old peasant home? Maia Lisa felt they were nearer nature there than anywhere else, that their life was built on stronger foundations, and not exposed to so many dangers as other people’s. Think what change and how many dangers in the world outside! Now whilst the dark-haired smith was playing, her thoughts went back to what she had heard that day about the manager of Henriksberg, the man who had once been such a wonderful violin player.

It was Pastor Liliecrona who had told her about his brother. He had been expecting him at Svanskog all day long, and no doubt that was why they happened to talk so much about him.

Maia Lisa had had the comfort of knowing that the handsome Pastor who at first had only looked upon her as a beautiful doll had scarcely spoken a word to anyone else ever since the moment when she had, so to speak, fallen upon him and told him that he must stop in Finnerud and not even dream of moving to Sjöskoga.

He must then have seen that she was a human being like himself, for after that he had not troubled to look at her, but had talked to her instead the whole afternoon; and very pleasant it had been, for he was as kindly as he was unaffected and simple-hearted. She found it quite as easy to talk to him as to her own dear father.

He had taken her out with him in the afternoon, for he never could sit indoors hour after hour, and they had walked up and down the high road talking of his brother, until the day began to draw in.

Liliecrona came of generations of pastors no less than she did, and could boast that his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had all followed one another in the same rural deanery just as she prided herself that her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother had been the wives of successive pastors of the same church.

If his father had lived, the youngest son, Sven, would, no doubt, have studied for the ministry as his brothers had done before him. But when his mother was left a widow with a large family to provide for, she had not been able to keep him at school. But an old friend of her husband’s, Herr Altringer, the owner of the Ekeby ironworks, had offered to take charge of him on condition that he might bring him up as an engineer. His offer was most gratefully accepted, and when Sven was fourteen years old he was sent to the Henriksberg works, which Herr Altringer had just bought. Herr Altringer wished him to learn his business from the very beginning, so he was set to sweep the office, drag coal into the smithy, and run errands for all and sundry.

Sven was kept at these tasks till he was seventeen, but then one day the works manager was informed that one of the forge workers was very ill. He went down to the workshops, stood in the doorway of the smith’s room, looked at the sick man for a moment, and then went straight to the office where the foreman was sitting writing. “You must look after the works for a couple of days,” said the manager. “I have to go off to the Finns and buy in coal.”

So off he went whilst the foreman took a comfortable seat on the office sofa, and thought it was a fine thing to be master for a little. But it was not very long before he, too, was called down to the workshops. Now it was one of the other workmen who was attacked in the same way as the hammer smith. The foreman went down at once to visit the invalid, stood awhile on the threshold of his room looking at him, and went straightway to the stream where the apprentice lad was generally to be found fishing for bleak.

And sure enough he found Sven there and asked him to come to the office. “Look here, Liliecrona,” he said, “the manager is away and I have been invited to a friend’s at a distance, so you must just manage to look after the works for a couple of days. Here are the keys and the cash-box; all you have to do is to see that the men go on with their work as usual.” With that he went off and the apprentice lad sat down on the office chair and thought how fine it was to be master of Henriksberg. But he had not sat there long before a message came from the works that the sick men were worse. He tore down to the main building and went into the hammer smith’s room. He did not stop on the threshold, however, like the other two, but stepped up to the sick man as he lay there with a flushed and swollen face terrible to look at. “Do you know what is the matter with you?” he asked the smith. “Smallpox,” came the answer; “and now you must go to the cupboard in the office where the manager keeps his drugs and get me some camphor and salicylic, that is if you dare stop and not run away like the others.”

And Sven had stopped, although, to end with, he had nearly all the workmen down with smallpox. Not a word came from either manager or foreman, and there was not a doctor to be found for sixty miles round. He went round with the old housekeeper and gave the sufferers all the remedies he had. Some died and some got better. But as the epidemic could not go on for ever, they saw the end of it at last. Then everything fell back into the usual routine. The foreman enjoyed himself for five months, and then came back, whilst the manager took a good half-year to buy in his coal before he, too, made his appearance again. Then the apprentice lad had to sweep out the office and catch bleak in the stream as he had done before.

But although the Henriksberg works lie in an out-of-the-way place enough, the story crept out and spread far and wide. So one day, the master, Herr Altringer, came on a visit. Not a word did he say of the matter either to the manager or the foreman, but simply asked how young Liliecrona was getting on. The manager gave him a very good character. He believed the lad would make a fine engineer if only he would show a little more interest in the work. He was not without ability, but inclined to go about dreaming, as though nothing in the business was any concern of his. Herr Altringer asked them to send him to the office, and when he came, he looked him straight in the eyes and asked why he had not run away like the others when the smallpox came.

Sven answered never a word, only flushed up as though that was the very worst question he could ask. “Weren’t you afraid?” “Well, yes, I was.” “Did you think you were responsible for the works?” “No, not that.” But at last Herr Altringer got at the truth. Sven had stopped because the manager’s violin had been left hanging on the office wall, and he had been able to play on it every day whilst he was alone. “I see,” said Altringer; “so you like playing the fiddle. We’ll ask the manager to lend you his violin once again, and you shall play us a tune.”

And Sven was not afraid of that. He tuned up and played a simple little air that he had learnt from the smiths. At first Herr Altringer laughed, but he soon grew serious when he noticed that the lad put something into his music that made the poor old fiddle sing in quite another way. “See now,” he said, “to-morrow you shall come with me. You shall go to Stockholm and learn to play the violin.”

Maia Lisa thought it a charming story, but there was just one thing that worried her. Why was he back again now in Henriksberg? Hadn’t he been successful in Stockholm?

Successful, yes indeed. For five years he had studied there until he was a perfect master of his art, or at least had learnt so much that no one in the country could teach him any more. Herr Altringer was pleased with him, and wondered if he should send him abroad so that he might be equal with the very best.

But three years ago Sven had come over quite unexpectedly to Ekeby to ask Herr Altringer if he had a foreman’s place empty in any one of his many ironworks. “Well, it’s not impossible,” said Altringer. “Have you a friend that you want to put in?” No; Sven wanted to get the post for himself. He had been in ironworks so many years that he thought he could fill a foreman’s place. “And how about the music?” It was all over with the music. He did not think he would ever touch a bow again.

Altringer looked at him more closely. Sven had always had a touch of sadness in his eyes, but now his whole body was the very picture of grief. “I see something serious has happened,” said Herr Altringer. “You must tell me what it is, for just as you came into the office I was thinking over my plan of letting you go abroad.”

Sven could scarcely answer. He stood biting his lip and fighting hard to steady his voice. “Have you not heard, sir, what happened when I last played?” No; Altringer had heard nothing; and Sven had to tell what it was. There had been a ball in a great room down at Näset, and Sven had been among the guests. But they had only had an old, worn-out piano, so that there was no life nor spirit in the dancing. Then Sven took out his fiddle and it was a different matter at once. Young and old stepped out, and every time he stopped they clapped their hands and stamped as they called to him to begin again. But what a terrible ending to it all! One of the daughters of the house had danced too violently. In the very middle of the wildest dance she had clung to her partner’s arm and then sunk on to the floor. And she had never risen again. She was dead.

Altringer understood, of course, what a heavy blow that was, but he did not think a young man’s career ought to be ruined for such a reason. “You will get over that,” he said. “It was a misfortune that might have happened to anyone, and in my opinion her partner who kept her dancing was most to blame.” “No,” said Sven; “it was I who made her dance. I played for no one but her all the evening. It was beautiful to see her, for she was as quick and light as the flames of a blazing fire. She danced for me and I played for her.”

Altringer only shrugged his shoulders. “You know that’s just nonsense,” he said. “Perhaps it is no wonder you feel like that so short a time after it has happened, but next week when I send you abroad it will pass.”

“No, sir, it will not pass. Wherever you may send me, I can never forget that I have played a living mortal to death.”

Altringer looked at him once more. “Were you in love with her?” “Yes,” answered Sven. “That very evening I had asked her to be my wife.”

Not another word did Altringer say to urge him to go abroad. “You shall be foreman in Henriksberg until you have forgotten,” he said. “I do not think you know all that is needed to fill the post, but you can learn; and I know, too, that I can rely upon you.” And this was how it came to pass that Sven Liliecrona had given up his violin and become a foreman of ironworks. Maia Lisa had listened in dead silence without once interrupting the speaker. How strange it was, she thought, that she was so soon to see the man who had loved so deeply and gone through such sorrow. For a long time she could not say a word, but suddenly she turned to Pastor Liliecrona and asked if his brother was dark.

Dark, yes that he was, dark as night.

The moment she had asked she thought what a very foolish question it was. But all the time that Pastor Liliecrona was speaking of his brother she had been wondering if he had looked like the tall dark smith from Henriksberg. Hadn’t he just the same depths of sorrow in his eyes? Why, she could not think, but somehow in her thoughts the two had melted into one and the same.

And even now whilst the smith was standing away by the cupboard playing his gay polka tunes she found it hard not to think that he was the man who had gone through all she had just been hearing about.

He had driven up whilst Liliecrona and she were still walking outside, just when the shadows were getting so dark that they were beginning to speak of going in, and the sledge passed so quickly that they had not been able to see who was in it. Pastor Liliecrona had thought it was his brother from Henriksberg come at last, whilst Maia Lisa fancied she had seen the dark smith sitting in the sledge although she did not say so.

But she was right enough! When they turned back to the house the innkeeper was standing on the steps and told them that a man had come from Henriksberg with a message that the foreman could not meet his brother in Svanskog that day. He had the letter with him in the stable where he was putting up his horse, if the Pastor would like to see him. Pastor Liliecrona went down to the stable and Maia Lisa joined her Aunt in the great living-room. She was already sitting there with her maids in front of the great log fire, busy with her spinning. Maia Lisa sat down at her aunt’s side and handed her the rolags. The master and men came in almost directly afterwards with their wood-work and joined the circle round the fire. Last of all, in came Pastor Liliecrona and the smith with him. They were going on to Henriksberg that evening, but not until the horse had had a rest. The Pastor chose a place as near Maia Lisa as possible, but the smith sat down where the shadows lay darkest, as far away as he could. And it was a continual buzz of gossip, joking and telling of tales until Fru Margreta turned to the smith and asked if he would not play them a tune or two. She had been told that he had a turn for music. He had not needed much asking either. The master lent him his old squeaking fiddle, and there he stood fiddling out polkas and old dance tunes neither better nor worse than any ordinary peasant player. Maia Lisa could not help a little feeling of disappointment. The reason, no doubt, was that she was still half spellbound and could not distinguish between fact and fancy. All evening her thoughts had been busy with the man who had played the death-dance for his heart’s love, and she saw only him in the shape of the smith. She had certainly expected that he, too, would have had a magic in his bow, strong and terrible enough to play mortals to their death.

In spite of all, however, she could not shake off her dream, and time after time she caught herself looking at the smith and wondering if he ever thought of anyone but the love he had lost. The smith had thrown off his stiff close-fitting peasant coat of fur that he might move his arms more freely, and now in one of those quick stolen glances that she cast at him she noticed a great, bright silver coin fastened to the watch-chain hanging from his pocket. Maia Lisa gave a little start. Was that the silver thaler she had sent him? Smiths were always so poor. How did he manage to possess a watch? Had the foreman given it to him by any chance? And even if he had, whatever had put it into his head to go about with a silver thaler hanging to no purpose at the end of his watch-chain? Of course, he was not a----

She was amazed at herself that she kept her seat and did not jump up and cry out when, in a flash, she understood the whole matter.

Of course, it was Sven Liliecrona standing there and no other; the very man who had played his heart’s love to her death. In a single moment she was so sure of this that she could have found it in her heart to go up to him and beg him to keep up the disguise no longer. She knew who he was. Why he had come to Lobyn as a simple peasant a couple of weeks ago she could not imagine. Perhaps he had put on the dress as the most convenient when he was going to peasant houses. And when no one had recognised him but taken him for a smith he had not undeceived them. Perhaps he had not liked to say who he was when he arrived in the very middle of the wedding.

She left off picking up the rolags and covered her eyes with her hands. Why had he come in disguise again to-day? She did not need to puzzle very long over this; in a moment everything was clear. This time he had a clear purpose in view, he wanted her and his brother....

It was strange and yet so pleasant to feel that he meant them to have a chance of seeing and talking to one another. No doubt it was after he had got the silver thaler from her yesterday evening that he had sent a speedy messenger ski-ing over the snow to entice his brother down to Svanskog. And he had let him wait all day for him, and when he did come late in the evening he had come as a smith. He had no wish to show himself. She was not to think of anyone else but his brother. And there he stood playing peasant polkas in peasant style to amuse peasant folk! He had, indeed, once said that he would never use a bow again, but no doubt he did not look upon this as violin playing.

And it was not her brain that was telling her all this. She felt she could read his inmost thoughts and she scarcely knew whether to smile or weep at what she read. One thing was certain, that he did not dislike her since he had brought about this meeting between her and his brother. Or had he only been sorry for her because she had such a hard life at home? He had wanted to get a wise kind friend who could take her away from every hardship.

Ay, he had a great sorrow himself that he could never get away from! His love was dead and he would never forget her. Maia Lisa for him was only a poor girl whom he had found sitting crying in the chimney-corner and whom he wanted to help to honour and happiness. She was obliged to lift her head and look at the others, and it was all she could do to keep back her tears when she thought how he asked nothing of life for himself.

But just as she lifted her eyes and when lost in thoughts and dreams both of sorrow and joy she was far, far away from her everyday trials, the latch was pulled once more and someone put in her head.

She stared at the new-comer as at a stranger and went not a step to meet her. Her Aunt pushed back her spinning-wheel and got up, but Maia Lisa sat motionless, still lost in dreams. She scarcely knew who the stranger was even when she heard a hoarse voice say that she had come with Long-Bengt to fetch Maia Lisa home, nor when Fru Margreta answered that surely the Pastor’s wife was not in too great a hurry to take off her coat and have a little supper before she went home again.