Tales of Two Countries
“Yes, and only to think,” added Mrs. Warden, “that not even the heathen,
who are without all these blessings--that not even they have any excuse
for evil-doing; for they have conscience to guide them.”
“And I’m sure conscience speaks clearly enough to every one who has the
will to listen,” Mrs. Abel exclaimed, with emphasis.
“Yes, heaven knows it does,” answered Mrs. Warden, gazing straight
before her with a serious smile.
When the friends parted, they exchanged warm embraces.
Mrs. Warden grasped the ivory handle, entered the carriage, and drew her
train after her. Then she closed the carriage door--not with a slam, but
slowly and carefully.
“To Madame Labiche’s!” she called to the coachman; then, turning to her
friend who had accompanied her right down to the garden gate, she said,
with a quiet smile: “Now, thank heaven, I can order my silk dress with a
good conscience.”
“Yes, indeed you can!” exclaimed Mrs. Abel, watching her with tears in
her eyes. Then she hastened in-doors.
ROMANCE AND REALITY.
“Just you get married as soon as you can,” said Mrs. Olsen.
“Yes, I can’t understand why it shouldn’t be this very autumn,”
exclaimed the elder Miss Ludvigsen, who was an enthusiast for ideal
love.
“Oh, yes!” cried Miss Louisa, who was certain to be one of the
bridesmaids.
“But Sören says he can’t afford it,” answered the bride elect, somewhat
timidly.
“Can’t afford it!” repeated Miss Ludvigsen. “To think of a young girl
using such an expression! If you’re going to let your new-born love be
overgrown with prosaic calculations, what will be left of the ideal halo
which love alone can cast over life? That a man should be alive to these
considerations I can more or less understand--it’s in a way his duty;
but for a sensitive, womanly heart, in the heyday of sentiment!--No, no,
Marie; for heaven’s sake, don’t let these sordid money-questions darken
your happiness.”
“Oh, no!” cried Miss Louisa.
“And, besides,” Mrs. Olsen chimed in, “your _fiancé_ is by no means so
badly off. My husband and I began life on much less.--I know you’ll say
that times were different then. Good heavens, we all know that! What I
can’t understand is that you don’t get tired of telling us so. Don’t you
think that we old people, who have gone through the transition period,
have the best means of comparing the requirements of to-day with those
of our youth? You can surely understand that with my experience of
house-keeping, I’m not likely to disregard the altered conditions of
life; and yet I assure you that the salary your intended receives
from my husband, with what he can easily earn by extra work, is quite
sufficient to set up house upon.”
Mrs. Olsen had become quite eager in her argument, though no one thought
of contradicting her. She had so often, in conversations of this sort,
been irritated to hear people, and especially young married women,
enlarging on the ridiculous cheapness of everything thirty years ago.
She felt as though they wanted to make light of the exemplary fashion in
which she had conducted her household.
This conversation made a deep impression on the _fiancée_, for she had
great confidence in Mrs. Olsen’s shrewdness and experience. Since Marie
had become engaged to the Sheriff’s clerk, the Sheriff’s wife had taken
a keen interest in her. She was an energetic woman, and, as her own
children were already grown up and married, she found a welcome outlet
for her activity in busying herself with the concerns of the young
couple.
Marie’s mother, on the other hand, was a very retiring woman. Her
husband, a subordinate government official, had died so early that her
pension extremely scanty. She came of a good family, and had learned
nothing in her girlhood except to Play the piano. This accomplishment
she had long ceased to practise, and in the course of time had become
exceedingly religious.----“Look here, now, my dear fellow, aren’t you
thinking of getting married?” asked the Sheriff, in his genial way.
“Oh yes,” answered Sören, with some hesitation, “when I can afford it.
“Afford it!” the Sheriff repeated; “Why, you’re by no means so badly
off. I know you have something laid by--”
“A trifle,” Sören put in.
“Well, so be it; but it shows, at any rate, that you have an idea of
economy, and that’s as good as money in your pocket. You came out
high in your examination; and, with your family influence and other
advantages at headquarters, you needn’t wait long before applying for
some minor appointment; and once in the way of promotion, you know, you
go ahead in spite of yourself.”
Sören bit his pen and looked interested.
“Let us assume,” continued his principal, “that, thanks to your economy,
you can set up house without getting into any debt worth speaking
of. Then you’ll have your salary clear, and whatever you can earn in
addition by extra work. It would be strange, indeed, if a man of your
ability could note find employment for his leisure time in a rising
commercial centre like ours.”
Sören reflected all forenoon on what the Sheriff had said. He saw, more
and more clearly, that he had over-estimated the financial obstacles
to his marriage; and, after all, it was true that he had a good deal of
time on his hands out of office hours.
He was engaged to dine with his principal; and his intended, too, was to
be there. On the whole, the young people perhaps met quite as often
at the Sheriff’s as at Marie’s home. For the peculiar knack which Mrs.
Möller, Marie’s mother, had acquired, of giving every conversation a
religious turn, was not particularly attractive to them.
There was much talk at table of a lovely little house which Mrs. Olsen
had discovered; “A perfect nest for a newly married couple,” as she
expressed herself. Sören inquired, in passing, as to the financial
conditions, and thought them reasonable enough, if the place answered to
his hostess’s description.--Mrs. Olsen’s anxiety to see this marriage
hurried on was due in the first place, as above hinted, to her desire
for mere occupation, and, in the second place, to a vague longing for
some event, of whatever nature, to happen--a psychological phenomenon by
no means rare in energetic natures, living narrow and monotonous lives.
The Sheriff worked in the same direction, partly in obedience to his
wife’s orders, and partly because he thought that Sören’s marriage to
Marie, who owed so much to his family, would form another tie to bind
him to the office--for the Sheriff was pleased with his clerk.
After dinner the young couple strolled about the garden. They conversed
in an odd, short-winded fashion, until at last Sören, in a tone which
was meant to be careless, threw out the suggestion: “What should you say
to getting married this autumn?”
Marie forgot to express surprise. The same thought had been running
in her own head; so she answered, looking to the ground: “Well, if you
think you can afford it, I can have no objection.”
“Suppose we reckon the thing out,” said Sören, and drew her towards the
summer-house.
Half an hour afterwards they came out, arm-in-arm, into the sunshine.
They, too, seemed to radiate light--the glow of a spirited resolution,
formed after ripe thought and serious counting of the cost.
Some people might, perhaps, allege that it would be rash to assume the
absolute correctness of a calculation merely from the fact that two
lovers have arrived at exactly the same total; especially when the
problem happens to bear upon the choice between renunciation and the
supremest bliss.
In the course of the calculation Sören had not been without misgivings.
He remembered how, in his student days, he had spoken largely of our
duty towards posterity; how he had philosophically demonstrated the
egoistic element in love, and propounded the ludicrous question whether
people had a right, in pure heedlessness as it were, to bring children
into the world.
But time and practical life had, fortunately, cured him of all taste for
these idle and dangerous mental gymnastics. And, besides, he was far
too proper and well-bred to shock his innocent lady-love by taking into
account so indelicate a possibility as that of their having a large
family. Is it not one of the charms of young love that it should
leave such matters as these to heaven and the stork? [Note: The stork,
according to common nursery legends, brings babies under its wing.]
There was great jubilation at the Sheriff’s, and not there alone. Almost
the whole town was thrown into a sort of fever by the intelligence that
the Sheriff’s clerk was to be married in the autumn. Those who were
sure of an invitation to the wedding were already looking forward to it;
those who could not hope to be invited fretted and said spiteful things;
while those whose case was doubtful were half crazy with suspense. And
all emotions have their value in a stagnant little town.--Mrs. Olsen
was a woman of courage; yet her heart beat as she set forth to call upon
Mrs. Möller. It is no light matter to ask a mother to let her daughter
be married from your house. But she might have spared herself all
anxiety.
For Mrs. Möller shrank from every sort of exertion almost as much as
she shrank from sin in all its forms. Therefore she was much relieved
by Mrs. Olsen’s proposition, introduced with a delicacy which did not
always characterize that lady’s proceedings. However, it was not
Mrs. Möller’s way to make any show of pleasure or satisfaction. Since
everything, in one way or another, was a “cross” to be borne, she did
not fail, even in this case, to make it appear that her long-suffering
was proof against every trial.
Mrs. Olsen returned home beaming. She would have been balked of half
her pleasure in this marriage if she had not been allowed to give the
wedding party; for wedding-parties were Mrs. Olsen’s specialty. On such
occasions she put her economy aside, and the satisfaction she felt in
finding, an opening for all her energies made her positively amiable.
After all, the Sheriff’s post was a good one, and the Olsens had always
had a little property besides, which, however, they never talked about.
--So the wedding came off, and a splendid wedding it was. Miss Ludvigsen
had written an unrhymed song about true love, which was sung at the
feast, and Louisa eclipsed all the other bridesmaids.
The newly-married couple took up their quarters in the nest discovered
by Mrs. Olsen, and plunged into that half-conscious existence of festal
felicity which the English call the “honeymoon,” because it is too
sweet; the Germans, “Flitterwochen,” because its glory departs so
quickly; and we “the wheat-bread days” because we know that there is
coarser fare to follow.
But in Sören’s cottage the wheat-bread days lasted long; and when heaven
sent them a little angel with golden locks, their happiness was as great
as we can by any means expect in this weary world.
As for the incomings--well, they were fairly adequate, though Sören
had, unfortunately, not succeeded in making a start without getting into
debt; but that would, no doubt, come right in time.--Yes, in time!
The years passed, and with each of them heaven sent Sören a little
golden-locked angel. After six years of marriage they had exactly five
children. The quiet little town was unchanged, Sören was still the
Sheriff’s clerk, and the Sheriff’s household was as of old; but Sören
himself was scarcely to be recognized.
They tell of sorrows and heavy blows of fate which can turn a man’s hair
gray in a night. Such afflictions had not fallen to Sören’s lot. The
sorrows that had sprinkled his hair with gray, rounded his shoulders,
and made him old before his time, were of a lingering and vulgar type.
They were bread-sorrows.
Bread-sorrows are to other sorrows as toothache to other disorders.