CHAPTER VII
THE BRIDE’S DANCE
On Twelfth-Night the Pastor and his wife had been to church, and were now on their way home after the service. She was half-frozen in the sleigh after sitting still for two hours in the cold church. How glad she was to know that they did not need to drive all the way home to Lövdala, but could break their journey at Lobyn, where they were bidden to the wedding-feast of a well-to-do peasant. They would be saved at least a quarter of their cold drive. She could think of nothing else, but how annoying it was that the Parsonage lay away at the far end of the parish, all but six whole miles from the church. The church itself was well situated in the middle of the parish, and was easily reached from every direction. Not so the Parsonage, which was a good twelve miles from all the houses lying far away to the south of the parish. And how difficult it was for the Pastor’s wife to get to church every Sunday, as was but fit and proper! It took a good four hours before she could get home again; and on Communion Sundays maybe even five or six. And when she got home she was quite certain to find the old housekeeper had cooked the dinner too soon, so that it had been waiting several hours and everything was dried up and burnt.
The same thoughts filled her mind every time she had to drive home from church cold and hungry. If she could only manage by some means or other to get a shorter way to church. If it had only been a question of inducing the parishioners to sell the old Parsonage and build a new one nearer the church, that in itself would have been difficult enough. But it was a much more intricate matter than that.
Good gracious, how vexatious it was that Svartsjö was, to begin with, only an offshoot of the great Church of Bro! From very early times it had been ordained that the rural dean of Bro should also be the rector of Svartsjö, and get half the stipend, and, of course, no change was possible in such an old-established custom as that. Or else, it really did seem as though her husband who had all the work ought also to have all the stipend. But he was only an assistant pastor, and had to be content with the usual assistant stipend. And the congregation was but a small and poor one, so that if their Pastor had only had what they gave him to live on, he would have been a pauper indeed.
If the Pastor of Svartsjö happened to be a little better off than other assistant ministers it was only because he not only had a house of his own, but enough land to give him his living. If he had not had that, he would have been in a poor case indeed. Of course she was glad that he owned Lövdala; indeed she would be the last to grumble about it. It was a fine property with a nice house and good land. Its only fault was that it lay so far from the church. Yet not quite the only fault! There was just one more. Those who lived on it seemed to think themselves a little better than other folk. She, who had seen really great places, could only laugh at the very idea, but in the parish it was reckoned quite a distinction to live at Lövdala. Even the Countess at Borg was not thought so much of as the Pastor’s family.
For her part she could never understand how that had come about.
A hundred years ago the whole of Lövdala had been nothing but a peasant-holding. It may have been large and rich enough, for no doubt they had splendid pasture lands on the bed of the old lake. But all the same it had been a peasant-holding and nothing more, and she would almost have said it was nothing more even now. Up there in Värmland, of course, there was nobody who knew what a real gentleman’s country-seat looked like.
It was nothing remarkable that the rich peasant’s son should manage to study and pass a contemptible priest’s examination, and become assistant pastor of Svartsjö. Neither was there anything astounding in his marrying one of the rural dean’s daughters. After all, he had never got any farther than Lövdala, but had stayed there all his life. He was said to have been a clever man, but that was hard to believe, or else he would surely have been made Pastor of some larger place.
No doubt he had been very comfortably off, for he had inherited Lövdala from his parents and could live there. He had not needed to go, hat in hand, to the peasants for their tithes and offerings. He lived on his own property, was quite independent, and as good as any one of them. And that, no doubt, had been as much to their liking as to his.
During the lifetime of this first Lövdala pastor there had been indeed no parsonage belonging to the parish, but there was one now, a small property adjoining Lövdala.
It seemed to her pure stupidity of the peasants to build the Parsonage there. They had not troubled the least that the Pastor had so far to go to the church. They had had quite another object in view, and that they had achieved. The second Pastor had married the first’s daughter, and inherited and lived in Lövdala. In this way he too had become a well-to-do peasant-holder of independent means, and not simply a poor assistant minister. And he too had stayed all his life in Svartsjö. He was said to have been a remarkable preacher, but she did not believe that either. She imagined that it was only because he had married one of their own Pastor’s daughters and lived at Lövdala that the Svartsjö folk insisted upon his great gifts of oratory.
The Pastor’s wife raised her muff and covered her face. The road went straight over the old lake-bed, and the cold breeze always blowing there nipped her ears. But her thoughts only travelled the faster.
It was plainly enough only the fact that the pastors of the parish must of necessity live at Lövdala, which made it so impossible to get a shorter road to church. Her husband was now the third Pastor in succession who lived there. He had acted in the same way as his predecessors, married the Pastor’s daughter and inherited the estate. He had made his home in Lövdala, but the Parsonage ground was so close that he could quite well manage that too, and with his two properties he was a well-to-do man. This was such a good arrangement that there was not a soul in the parish but wished its continuance as long as Svartsjö had a pastor and people. She could not deny that it had been a capital thing for the other Lövdala pastors, for she did not believe that they had been fit for anything better than to stay here all their lives. But it was a never-ending pity that her husband had lost his heart to both property and parish and was still here. For she would wager her life that he could have had the best living in the diocese any day if he had chosen to take it. She knew exactly why he liked Svartsjö so much. Since the same family had been pastors of the parish for so many years, and since both Pastors and Pastors’ wives had been so much beloved, they had got into a position of great authority. No one undertook anything at all without first going to the Parsonage for advice, and that was what he liked. Once she had mentioned to him that he might have had a larger church. Yes, he agreed, but then perhaps he would not have had so much influence. Here he thought he ruled over the whole parish.
It was, indeed, no easy matter to change all this. No doubt it was a capital thing for a young minister to marry one of the daughters of the Lövdala Pastor. He got a competence at once, an easily worked parish, and, for the rest, did not everyone say that to get a wife as beautiful and capable as any of the daughters of the Lövdala Parsonage was a fortune in itself? That might be true enough of those who had lived there before her time, but as far as Maia Lisa was concerned, it certainly was not a fact. The Pastor’s wife saw no beauty in her long face, nor could she see that she was fit for anything either. Of course she was doing her best now to improve her, but she got no help in that from anyone, scarcely even from her Father, who ought to have been the first to wish his daughter to grow into a sensible creature with thoughts for something besides play. All the same she meant to do her duty by her. There were not many who would venture to correct the heiress to Lövdala and to the whole parish.
The air round them resounded with the tinkling of bells, for here in Lobyn there were four cross-roads, and sleighs were coming from all directions bringing guests to the wedding. It was evidently going to be a grand affair. What a mercy she had managed to prevent her stepdaughter from coming with them! It was just in these old peasant houses that they made the most fuss of her. It was only to be expected that she should grow idle and haughty, and begin to think she could do whatever she chose. Yes, indeed, she was the best judge of what was good for her. But for the present she was not going to say so, not even to herself. Perhaps, however, she might be able to kill two birds with one stone; might get, maybe, a shorter road to church and, at the same time, teach her stepdaughter that she was no princess, but only a poor, insignificant Pastor’s daughter.... There now, had she not known that she would have to put up with all this? She had not crossed the threshold before everyone began asking why the Pastor’s daughter had not come too. Before she had unbuttoned her fur coat she had to explain, at least ten times, how tiresome it was that Maia Lisa would not leave her old Grandmother alone at home. Most inquirers were satisfied with this answer, but the givers of the wedding-feast wanted a better reason than that. Old Biorn Hindriksson and his wife had had to work away for many a long year before they could persuade their youngest granddaughter, who was to have their house and land after them, to marry the man they had chosen for her. And as a reward for her consent they wanted now to give her the finest wedding in their power.
Biorn Hindriksson was so old that he remembered Herr Olavus, the first Lövdala Pastor, and his wife, Fru Katrina Hesselgren, and he had never lost the respect he had for them. As long as there was still a descendant of Herr Olavus in the parish she must come to the marriage feast if it were not to be shorn of half its glory. He would not accept the excuse that the Pastor’s daughter could not leave home on her Grandmother’s account, and asked at once if one of the maids could not have given an eye to Fru Beata for that day at least. Besides, she was not on her death-bed!
His tone of voice showed plainly enough that he was really sorry, and not speaking just for form’s sake. Glad as he was to see the Pastor’s new wife, it could nevertheless not be denied that she did not belong to the old Parsonage family.
The Pastor’s wife replied that she had been of the same opinion as he, and said so too. But there it was: the Pastor’s daughter was so bound up in the old lady that it was a sheer impossibility to get her away if her Grandmother was the least ailing.
Now the Pastor’s wife had taken off her wraps and knew in her own mind that she was a fine-looking woman and well dressed too, so that they might search the land for a more dignified Pastor’s wife. And yet these peasant folk seemed to have no eyes for her at all.
Biorn Hindriksson’s wife wondered why Fru Beata herself had not made her granddaughter go. She must have known that not a wedding had taken place in their time where one of the old Pastor’s family had not danced with the bride.
The Pastor’s wife drew herself up and answered sharply that she had not known it was a matter of such moment, or she herself would have stayed at home instead. However, she would drive home, now at once, and then Maia Lisa could come.
With that the Pastor’s wife won the day. The peasant hosts were terribly vexed that they had offended her, and ended by begging and praying her to stay.
But it was the same question and answer over and over again when she went upstairs to the large room where she had to go round shaking hands with all the guests, who stood leaning against the walls, waiting for the marriage ceremony. She had been cold all day, but she was soon warm enough now. There was no end to their questions about Maia Lisa until she took her place on the sofa. The two most important peasants’ wives sat on either side of her, and they were silent as wax figures. They knew, indeed, that it was no fitting time to chatter when they were sitting and waiting for anything so solemn as the marriage service!
She felt that her cheeks were flaming red. How they had all attacked her! They had not plagued the Pastor with their questions. Did they think that he no longer had any voice in the matter?
Ulla Moreus, the sexton’s wife, appeared in the doorway and stepped forward to shake hands with her. Of course there would be more questions to answer now, for she was one of Maia Lisa’s best friends. However, she did not seem to be thinking of Maia Lisa. She and her Mother-in-law were there dressing the bride. They had finished now, but they wondered----
Indeed it would be such a help to them if Fru Raklitz would kindly come to the garret bedroom and see if the bride’s dress was just right.
The Pastor’s wife was well aware that no one in Värmland knew better how to dress a peasant bride than Ulla Moreus and her Mother-in-law. Still it was polite of them to wish to hear her opinion. So she went with Ulla to the bedroom where the bride stood ready, waiting for the bridesmaids to come and fetch her. They were thinking of nothing here but flowers and finery. It was a real relief to answer questions as to whether the gold chain was hanging as it should, whether they ought to put more bead necklaces on the bride, or whether she really admired the tall crown of cardboard that Ulla Moreus had sat up all night to decorate with red and green silk and gilt paper. They had thought until the very last moment that the old crown would have done again, but late last evening Ulla had remembered that this was the grandest wedding to be held this winter, and then she had cut a new foundation and decorated it.
The Pastor’s wife praised it and everything else as well. But old Mother Moreus still looked troubled, and in a little while she confided to the Pastor’s wife what was worrying her.
It was very nice that Sister[1] Raklitz was pleased with the wedding-dress, but she felt herself that everything was a failure if they could not induce the bride to look a little happier. There was not much pleasure in decking up anyone who looked after all as if she were going to the gallows.
The bride turned sharply away from them, muttering a few scarcely audible words. All the fine things she wore were nothing to her if Mamsell Maia Lisa was not coming to the wedding! Had she not promised thousands of times that she would come and see her in her wedding-dress?
Then Ulla Moreus put in her word, speaking in the bright, pleasant voice of one who likes to take a matter in hand and settle it all happily. No doubt Maia Lisa could leave her Grandmother for a little while. They would willingly send for her. It wasn’t after all a long drive.
And even the old Mother-in-law added a persuasive word as well: Maia Lisa and Britta were schoolfellows, and had been good friends ever since.
The Pastor’s wife answered in no very friendly tone. “No doubt, dear Sister, I should think there isn’t a single peasant girl in the parish who isn’t a good friend of Maia Lisa.” She tossed her head, and left the room. No one ventured to say anything more to her. Her face was flaming again by now. They needn’t think she did not see that they had only coaxed her up into the garret to talk about Maia Lisa.
The ceremony was over, and everything had gone well. The bride knew that the guests were all sitting now, talking in whispers of how she had looked. For her parents’ and grandparents’ sake she could have wished her face had not been quite so tear-stained. If only Mamsell Maia Lisa had come she would have gone through it all with a bright face. The Pastor’s daughter had so often said how she would like to see her as a bride; perhaps it was only to encourage her, but now she thought that the one piece of brightness that she had promised herself to-day had been snatched from her. Whilst the service was going on she had turned her head several times and glanced towards the door, for, in spite of all, she had been so sure Maia Lisa would come that she could not help looking for her. How could anyone be so hard-hearted and refuse her on such a day, the only thing she asked! Her eyes filled with tears at the very thought.
When they had laid the great table, shaped like a horseshoe, and the guests sat down to eat, they began to be very merry and talkative all round her. The others could eat, drink, and joke, but she felt all the time the same sense of oppression. She could not even think of food. She sat crumbling a slice of bread, so that they might think she was eating something. “If only Mamsell Maia Lisa had come to-day,” she thought, “it would have been a different matter. She would have made it easy for me.” She looked up at her bridegroom beside her with some confusion, wondering if he had heard anything, for it struck her that she had been thinking aloud. And in a moment she really did; she noticed she was sitting there murmuring: “Oh dear, dear, to think that Mamsell Maia Lisa has never come to my wedding!”
“What are you sitting there, saying to yourself?” asked the bridegroom.
She answered almost against her will, “Oh dear, dear, to think that Mamsell Maia Lisa has never come to my wedding!” The bridegroom remembered very well how he had had to beg and pray before this rich peasant’s daughter had consented to take him. Already people began to whisper that she had been forced to it by her grandparents, and if his bride was going to sit at the wedding-feast with such a sad face, the report would soon spread far and wide. He began to reprove her. It wasn’t fitting to take it so to heart. She could have the Pastor’s daughter another day.
The bride paid no heed to his words. She sat crumbling her bread, and in a little she sighed again: “Oh dear, dear, to think Mamsell Maia Lisa should not see me as a bride!”
Once more her husband tried to reason with her--“How foolish to make a fuss about such a thing,” he said. “What do you think Mamsell Maia Lisa troubles about you? We all know how much interest gentlefolk take in us peasants!”
But then the bride turned round sharply: “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what you were talking about. You wouldn’t be sitting where you are if the Pastor’s daughter had not spoken well of you, and said that she believed you would be good to me.”
Now it was the bridegroom’s turn to be silent, so silent, indeed, that when the guests sitting opposite wanted to speak to him, they had to shout before he answered.
The other guests could not fail to notice it, and they too grew silent, and did nothing but look anxiously at bride and bridegroom. But just when all were feeling most embarrassed, the young peasant turned to his bride. “If that is all you are troubled about,” he said, “it can soon be remedied. I think I am man enough to manage to let Mamsell Maia Lisa see you as a bride.”
She looked at him in amazement and saw he was in earnest.
“I will never forget that you cared enough for me to help me in this,” she answered. And as she spoke her face brightened, and she seemed a different creature.
* * * * *
The Pastor’s daughter was sitting crying before the stove in the kitchen bedroom at Lövdala. The tears were pouring down her cheeks. She simply could not keep them back, although she tried hard to, for she did not want the servants to think she was sitting there crying only because she was left alone at home whilst her dear father and stepmother were away enjoying themselves.
For that wasn’t why she was sad; no, indeed; her trouble was that she had not been able to keep her promise to Britta. How often they two had spoken of this great wedding-day! It had never been possible to make Britta quite happy about her bridegroom, but it had always cheered her up when the Pastor’s daughter told her that she was looking forward to seeing her in her wedding-dress. How could she help but cry? It was so hard to have had to break her word to Britta.
But how strange it was! She fancied she could hear sleighbells, the tramp of horses’ feet, and unmistakable sounds of a violin. The music grew plainer and plainer. Surely she heard something, but where in the world could it come from? She got up and went to the eastern window where she could see right down the avenue.
When she had lit the stove an hour ago it had been dark night outside, but now the wood had burnt out it was dark in the room. And, meanwhile, how light it had grown outside in the clear, bright starlight. The snow on the ground and the white frost on the trees were doing their part too, so that when she reached the window it seemed as though she were looking into a brightly lighted room.
She saw quite plainly a bridal procession coming out from the avenue, and on between the old houses behind the Parsonage. In the first sleigh sat the players with their fiddles under their chins, fiddling away as fast as fingers could go. In the next sat the bride and bridegroom, and the bride had not even a shawl over her head, but, instead, her crown shining brightly in the white light of the snow. After them came sleigh after sleigh filled with peasant guests. She recognised Sexton Moreus’ white horse, the churchwarden’s red sleigh, and----
But as she looked she grew so dizzy that she had to sit down on the chair by the window. She could not make out what it was. Why were the wedding-party from Lobyn driving down here to the empty Parsonage? Perhaps she only saw such things because all day long her thoughts had been busy with nothing but this marriage feast.
She heard them stop before the steps, heard the door open and people crowding into the hall. But she sat on just as before. Not that she was afraid, but alas! how heartbreaking it would be to go out to welcome them and find no one there after all!
Now they were in the drawing-room, and now they opened the door into the room next the kitchen. The players came first. Then Sexton Moreus with Ulla on his arm. Next the bride and bridegroom with two bridesmaids each carrying a three-branched candlestick, and after them a whole host of young folks, men and maids.
When they had all come in, Jan Oster and his friend stopped playing, and Sexton Moreus stepped up to the Pastor’s daughter and made a little speech. Nothing would satisfy Britta of Lobyn but that the Pastor’s daughter should see what a beautiful bride she was, and so she and her husband had meant to drive over alone, but then he and the others had thought that it would not give her much pleasure to see the bride unless she could see the bridal procession as well, and so they had all come or, at any rate, as many as were not too sleepy after the wedding-dinner.
The Pastor’s daughter was always badly dressed since she had had a stepmother. But both she and everyone else forgot all about that in the joy that lit up her face at their coming.
It was true enough what report said of these daughters of Lövdala Parsonage that they had some magic power over people. No one could really understand how she managed it, but when she threw her arms round the bride and shook hands with the bridegroom and all the others, every one of them felt that the real wedding joy had been wanting until that moment. For the Pastor’s daughter could throw off her sadness, and be so gay that other people too thought, “There is nothing so beautiful as life; it is untrue to say life is sad and troublous, when it is nothing but unmixed joy.”
The Pastor’s daughter only had to look at the bride and praise her crown to open their eyes too. They had not noticed before how pretty she was in her wedding-dress. When she turned to the bridegroom with a word of thanks for his coming and congratulated him on his wife, the same thing happened to him. He realised that he had not only married into the largest peasant-holding in Lobyn, but that he had also got the best peasant girl for his bride. No one could hear what she said to Britta, but Britta’s face told plainly enough that it was just what she needed to make her happy for all the rest of the day.
They had brought refreshments which they spread on the table, for they wanted her to taste the wedding-feast. And it was evident how delicious she thought it all was, but she would not eat anything until after they had gone again. She knew, of course, that they could not stay long, the only marvel was that they had managed to get away at all.
Ulla told her how they had watched their opportunity, and crept away immediately after the dinner. The old people had been sitting a little drowsy, needing their after-dinner nap, and had known nothing about it until the young folk had got away. But they must drive back as soon as the bride had danced one turn with Maia Lisa.
They went out into the drawing-room, and took their places round the wall to watch the dance. Fiddler Jan Oster tuned up a polka, and off went the bride with the Pastor’s daughter. But in the very first round, Maia Lisa turned pale with anxiety. In her happiness she had quite forgotten about the dance-money. On the wedding-day everyone, old and young, alike, had to dance with the bride, and everyone who danced with her had to give her the dance-money. But she, poor girl that she was, did not possess a single farthing.
The bride had not been so forgetful of her duty. Away on a table in the corner of the drawing-room she had put a bottle of scent and a bride’s box of pastry, raisins and wedding comfits to offer her after the dance.
The Pastor’s daughter felt that never before had fate treated her so badly. It would never do to break the old custom, for everyone would think that would bring bad luck.
Britta must have seen her anxiety, for in the midst of the dance she whispered that Mamsell Maia Lisa must just pretend to put something in her hand. Of course she couldn’t have any dance-money ready when they had come upon her so unexpectedly.
The Pastor’s daughter owned a pair of gold ear-rings and a gold brooch that had been her Mother’s before her. She would have liked to give Britta one or other of them, but she did not know if she dared. What would happen if her stepmother chanced to hear of it? It was not unusual to dance more than one round with the bride, but the Pastor’s daughter danced two or three, whilst she turned over in her mind what she could do. Not that that quite expresses her feelings, for she was in such terror that her thoughts flew in the wildest confusion.
Whilst she was dancing as slowly as she could, she thought of a silver spoon that had been given to her at her christening. But she was by no means certain that Raklitz would not go to the bride’s home the next day and ask for it again if she gave away anything so valuable. “The only thing I can do is to tell Britta she will get her money another time,” she said to herself. But then something happened that startled her, and off she went and finished the round at a good pace. For someone had watched her and slipped a coin into her fingers as she was dancing past. When the dance came to an end she had a whole bright silver thaler to lay in Britta’s hand.
The bride was so taken aback that she quite forgot to offer the wedding comfits, and the Pastor’s daughter had to ask if she was not to get any. Whilst she helped herself to scent, she looked round to find out who it was that had given her the thaler. She knew she had got it just as she passed the stove. Then it must have been the tall dark man standing between the stove and the cupboard who had helped her.
She bent forward and took some pastry from the box, and as she did so she whispered to the bride that she thought she knew everybody in the parish, but she could not quite recollect the name of the man standing by the cupboard.
The bride answered under her breath that that was not to be wondered at, for that was a man from another parish. He was a smith from the Henriksberg ironworks in Västmarken, and he had just come that day to buy some hay from her Grandfather. She didn’t really know why he had come with them, for he wasn’t one of the wedding guests. He hadn’t even got on his best clothes.
And sure enough the stranger was dressed in black sheepskin with a belt round his waist. The Pastor’s daughter wondered how she was to thank him, but she had no chance then, for the wedding-party were just coming up to say good-bye. She thanked them for coming, helped them on with their wraps, and waved her hand to them from the porch. When she came back to the drawing-room she was a little astonished to find the tall stranger still standing in the middle of the room.
But it soon occurred to her why he had stayed. Of course he wanted to know when he was to get back the thaler that he had lent. Who knows, perhaps he has taken it from the money his master gave him to pay for the hay!
It seemed as though he would like to deny having lent it, and when she persisted, he declared it was nothing worth speaking about.
But she could not consent to take a whole thaler from a stranger. She told him she would ask her Father for it as soon as he came home, and send it over the next morning, so that he could pay for the hay.
A kindly smile crept over his face like a gleam of sunshine. She must do as she liked in the matter, but he had plenty of money to manage, without the thaler.
She looked at him with a little wonder in her glance. Indeed, she began to think he had not stayed for the sake of the money. But why, then?
He stroked a long lock of hair back from his forehead, and looked past her to the other wall. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said; “perhaps there was something else I wanted to talk about.”
The Pastor’s daughter with a little feeling of impatience took a step towards the door.
The man looked at her again with his kindly smile. “I cannot understand how the others had the heart to drive away,” he said.
The Pastor’s daughter flushed and went on towards the door.
“They ought to have taken you with them to the dance, and not have left you all alone here.”
There was such a kindly note in his voice that she could not be angry. She turned towards him and laughed. “Oh, it won’t hurt me to be left alone, for I am happy now. And you must go as well. Contented as I am, no one need be uneasy on my account.”