Читать книгу Charlotte Löwensköld - Selma Lagerlöf - Страница 5

Table of Contents

It is of no consequence, surely, that a person sits wishing. If she does not lift so much as a finger to attain the object of her desire, what harm can there be in her wishing?

When a body knows that she is homely and poor and insignificant, while the one whom she covets has not a thought of her, then assuredly she may revel in her wishes as much as she likes.

If, in the bargain, she is married, and a virtuous wife, and has a little leaning toward pietism, and wouldn’t for all the world do anything wrong, then what does it matter that she sits wishing?

If, moreover, she is all of thirty-two and the one she thinks of is but nine-and-twenty; if, besides, she is awkward and shy and has no social gifts, she might as well sit at home and wish from morning to night. There’s nothing sinful in that, surely? It can’t lead to anything.

Though she may regard the longings of others as light spring breezes and her own as powerful storm winds, that can move mountains and drive our planet out of its course, she knows these are but fancies which, in reality, have no effect.

She should be glad that she lives in the church town, right on the main street, where she can see him pass by her window almost every day; that she can hear him preach every Sunday; that she can come sometimes to the deanery, where she may sit in the same room with him, though her shyness prevents her from speaking.

Strangely enough, there was a slight bond between him and her. He was unaware of it, perhaps, and she had never thought to mention it. Her mother was a Malvina Spaak, sometime housekeeper at Hedeby Manor, the home of his maternal grandparents, Baron and Baroness Löwensköld. Malvina, when about thirty-five years of age, had married a poor farmer and afterward had toiled and slaved in her own home, at weaving and household tasks, as she had once done in the home of others. But she had always kept up her connection with the Löwenskölds. They had come to see her, and she had made long visits at Hedeby, giving a hand at the spring-cleaning and the autumn bakes. This had lent a little lustre to an otherwise dull existence.

She had often talked to her little daughter of the days when she was in service at Hedeby; of the dead general whose ghost had haunted the place, and of young Baron Adrian who had wanted to help his old grandfather find rest in his grave.

The daughter knew that the mother had been in love with young Adrian from the way in which she had spoken of him. How handsome he was! and how gentle! He had such a dreamy look in his eyes and such indescribable charm in his every movement. The girl had thought at the time that the mother was exaggerating. A young man such as she had pictured was not to be found on this earth.

Then one day she beheld him!

Shortly after her marriage to the organist and their removal to Korskyrka, she saw him one Sunday step into the pulpit. He was no baron, only a Pastor Ekenstedt; but he was the son of a sister to the Baron Adrian whom Malvina Spaak had loved, and was handsome and boyishly slender and lithe. She recognized the large dreamy eyes her mother had talked about, and the pleasant smile.

She thought, as she looked at him, that her wishing had brought him there. She had always longed to see a man who measured up to her mother’s description of Adrian, and now at last she saw one! To be sure, she knew that wishes have no power; but it seemed strange, all the same, that he had come.

He did not appear to notice her, however, and toward the end of the summer he became engaged to Charlotte Löwensköld. In the autumn he returned to Upsala to continue his studies, and she thought he had gone out of her life forever. Wish as hard as she might, he would never come back to her.

Then, after an absence of five years, he appeared again in the pulpit, and again she thought he had come in answer to her wishes. He had given her no reason to think so. In fact, he was hardly aware of her existence, and he was still engaged to Charlotte Löwensköld.

She had never wished Charlotte any ill; she could lay her hand on the Bible and swear to that. Sometimes, though, she had wished that Charlotte would fall in love with somebody else, or that one of her rich relatives would invite her on a long journey to distant lands, so that she might be parted from young Ekenstedt in some pleasant and fortuitous way.

As wife of the organist, she was invited to the deanery now and then, and she chanced to be there the day Schagerström drove by and Charlotte said she would take him if he proposed. She had wished ever since that Schagerström would propose to Charlotte. Now, there was nothing wrong in that, surely? In any case, it had no significance.

If wishes had power, our world would be quite different from what it is. Only think how people have wished! Think how much good they have wished themselves! Think of the many who have wished themselves free from sin and sickness!—of all who have wished they might escape death! Aye, she could safely go on wishing, for wishes had no power.

But one bright Sunday that very summer, whom should she see walk into the church but Schagerström! She noticed that he chose a seat from where he could see Charlotte, and wished that he would think her pretty and alluring. With all her heart she wished it. Now, what harm was she doing Charlotte in wishing her a rich husband?

All that day she had the feeling that something was going to happen, and all night she lay tossing in a fever of expectancy. It was the same with her next morning: she could not do a stroke of work, but sat by the window with her hands crossed in her lap, waiting to see Schagerström drive by. But something far more wonderful happened. Late in the forenoon, Pastor Ekenstedt came to call.

It need hardly be said that she was surprised and delighted, and, at the same time, quite overcome with embarrassment. How she managed to greet him she never knew. At all events, he was soon seated in the most comfortable chair in her snug little parlour, and she right opposite him, gazing into his face.

Never had he appeared so young to her as now, when she saw him near to. She was well informed on all matters concerning his family, and knew that he was then twenty-nine years of age, though he looked a mere boy.

He vouchsafed in his charmingly simple and earnest way that he had but recently learned, through a letter from his mother, that she was a daughter to the Malvina Spaak who had been a good friend and veritable godsend to all the Löwenskölds. He was sorry not to have known of this before, and thought she should have enlightened him.

She was happy to know just why he had never noticed her till now; but she could not say anything, could not explain. She mumbled a few stupid, incoherent words, which he did not catch.

He looked surprised; it seemed almost incredible that a person of her age should be so bashful as to lose the power of speech. To give her time to collect herself, he began to speak of Hedeby and Malvina Spaak. He also went into the story of the ghost and the fatal ring. He said it was rather hard for him to believe most of the details, but that underlying it all was a profound truth. The ring, to his mind, symbolized the love of the things of this world, which held the soul in thrall and made it unfit to enter the Kingdom of God.

To think that he should be sitting there with her regarding her with his adorable smile, and talking to her as naturally and easily as to an old friend! It was happiness almost too great!

He was perhaps accustomed to receive no verbal response when visiting the poor and disconsolate, to bring comfort and cheer; and went on talking. He had pondered long Christ’s words to the rich youth, and was convinced that the primary cause of humanity’s many ills lay in this, that they loved more the things created than they loved the Creator.

Although she had not uttered a word, she had listened in a way that tempted him to go farther. He confessed to her that he had no wish to become either a dean or a vicar. He did not want any large parish, with spacious parsonage, extensive fields, and big church books—many responsibilities. What he desired was a small charge, where he would have time to devote to the cure of souls. His parsonage should be only a little gray cottage beautifully situated in the heart of a birch grove, by the shore of a lake. And the salary must be no more than enough for him to live upon.

She understood that, in this way, he would show people the right road to happiness, and her whole soul went out to him in worship. Never had she seen anything so young, so pure! How the people would love him! Of a sudden it struck her that what he had just said did not accord with something she had recently heard, and she wished to be quite clear on this point.

Had she been misinformed? The last time she was at the deanery she had heard his betrothed say that he intended to seek a position as headmaster of a gymnasium.

He sprang to his feet and began to pace the floor of the little parlour.

Had Charlotte said that? Was she certain that Charlotte had said it? He spoke so sharply it frightened her; but she answered in all meekness that, to the best of her recollection, Charlotte had said just that.

The blood mounted to his face and his wrath rose. She was so distressed she could have fallen at his feet and implored his forgiveness. Never had she thought he would take so to heart what she had told him of Charlotte. What should she say to “make him good” again? What could she do to appease him?

In the midst of her tense anxiety, she heard the tramp of horses and the rumble of wheels, and from force of habit turned toward the window. It was Schagerström who drove by. But her mind was all taken up with Karl Arthur, and she had no time to wonder whither the other was faring. Karl Arthur did not see the farer-by; he was still pacing the floor, a grim look on his face.

Suddenly, he stepped up to her and put out his hand in farewell. It was a terrible disappointment that he should be leaving so soon. She could have bitten her tongue off for uttering the words that had put him in such bad humour. There was nothing to do but take his proffered hand. She must be silent and let him go. In sheer desperation, she bent down and kissed his hand. He quickly drew it away and looked at her in surprise.

“I only wanted to ask your pardon,” she stammered.

He saw tears in her eyes, and felt moved to offer her some sort of explanation.

“Suppose, Fru Sundler, that for one reason or other you had placed a bandage before your eyes so that you saw nothing, and had put yourself into the hands of another, that she might lead you; how would you feel if the bandage were suddenly torn away and you found that your friend, your guide, whom you had trusted more than yourself, had drawn you to the edge of a precipice, and another step would have sent you over it? Would you not suffer the torments of hell?”

After this rhetorical outburst, he dashed out the door, never waiting for an answer. But on the porch he stopped. Fru Sundler wondered what made him. Perhaps he remembered how pleased and happy he had been when he entered her house—he who was now leaving it in anger and despair. She ran out to see whether he was still there.

He began talking the instant she appeared. The mental excitement had given new impetus to his thoughts, and he was glad to have a listener.

“I’m standing here looking at the pretty roses that border the path to your house, my dear Fru Sundler, and am asking myself if this is not the most beautiful summer I have ever known. Here we are now at the end of July, but is it not true that so far the weather has been perfect? Have not all the days been long and light?—longer and lighter than ever before? The heat, to be sure, has been rather intense, but never oppressive. Generally, there has been a freshening breeze to liven the air. Nor has the earth suffered drought as in other fair summers. Almost nightly we have had an hour or two of rain. The growing things have flourished beyond all expectation. Have you ever seen the trees so massed with foliage, or the flower beds in the gardens so gorgeously colourful? Ah! the raspberries were never so sweet, the bird-song never so clear, the people never so merry and pleasure loving as they are this year.”

He paused for a moment to take breath. Thea Sundler was careful not to disturb him by so much as a word. She thought of her sainted mother, and understood how she must have felt when the young baron had come to her in the kitchen or the milk room and given her his confidence.

The young clergyman continued:

“When at five o’clock of a morning I draw up my shade I see only clouds and mists. The rain patters against the windowpane and gushes down the water spout. Grasses and flowers bend to the shower. The clouds are so heavy with rain they almost trail along the ground. ‘To-day there’s an end to the fine weather,’ I say to myself, ‘and perhaps ’tis well.’

“Though almost certain the rain will continue all day, I stand at the window awhile to see what it will do. At five minutes past five of the clock the patter on the windowpane ceases; the water spout gushes a moment more, then it, too, subsides. Just at that point in the sky where the sun should appear comes a rent in the curtain of cloud, and a cluster of rays shoots down through the earthly mists. Soon the heavy gray vapours that rise from the hills at the horizon are transformed into thin blue mists. The raindrops on the grass blades trickle slowly to the ground, and the flowers lift up their sadly drooping chalices. Our little lake, which until now has looked quite sombre, begins to glitter as if a school of goldfish had swum up on to the surface of the water. Transported by all this beauty, I open wide my window and inhale the moist, scent-laden air—a delight beyond the imagination. And I cry out: ‘O God, Thou hast made Thy world too beautiful!’ ”

The young pastor smiled and gave a little shrug. He probably thought Thea Sundler was a bit shocked at his last utterance, and hastened to explain:

“I meant what I said. I have been afraid that this beautiful summer would beguile me into a love of the earthly. How often have I not wished the fine weather would come to an end! that the summer would bring thunder and lightning, drought and humidity, rainy days and chilly nights, as in other years.”

Thea Sundler fairly hung on his words. Whither was he leading? What would he say? She did not know, but she wished almost convulsively that he would continue and let her enjoy awhile longer the rich, mellow tones of his voice, his beautiful language, and expressive play of feature.

“Do you follow me?” he suddenly burst out. “But perhaps Nature has no power over you; does not speak to you in strong, mystic words; does not ask you why you do not accept her bounties thankfully; why you do not lay hold of happiness when it is within your reach; why you do not get you a home of your own and marry your heart’s beloved, as others are doing this blessed summer?”

He raised his hat and passed a hand across his brow.

“This lovely summer has been as a confederate to Charlotte. All this opulence, this mildness, this perpetual smoothness has intoxicated me. I have gone about like a blind man. Charlotte has seen my love grow stronger day by day, and my ardent desire to possess her.

“Ah, you do not know!—Every morning at six o’clock I leave the little annex, where my quarters are, and go up to the main building for early coffee. Charlotte joins me in the light, spacious dining room, where the fresh morning air comes pouring in at the open windows. She is happy and twitters like a bird as we sit down to our coffee, just we two.

“You think, perhaps, that Charlotte takes advantage of the occasion to discuss with me our plans for the future. Ah, no! She talks to me of my sick; my poor; she speaks of the points in my sermon that have especially impressed her. In all respects she seems to be just what a clergyman’s wife should be. Very rarely—and then only in jest and by the way—does she mention the headmastership. Every day she becomes more dear to me. When I’m back at my desk, I sit dreaming of Charlotte, and find it hard to do any work. I have already told you how I would order my life. I believe that my love will free Charlotte from her worldly shackles and that she will come with me to my little gray cottage.”

At this Thea Sundler involuntarily emitted a cry.

“Yes, of course you were right,” he said. “I have been blind. Charlotte has been leading me toward a pit. Hoping to draw from me, in a moment of weakness, the promise to seek a mastership, she wished to prepare you and others for the change, should I decide to enter upon a new field of activity. But God has protected me.”

He went close up to Thea Sundler. He must have read in her face that she was enjoying his talk; that she was happy; enraptured. It irritated him that she should delight in this flow of rhetoric called forth by his suffering. A look of contempt spread over his face. “Don’t imagine that I am thankful to you for what you have told me,” he said.

Fru Sundler was terrified. He had doubled his fists and was shaking them at her.

“I don’t thank you for snatching the bandage from before my eyes. You should not be pleased at what you have done. I hate you for not letting me fall into the pit! I wish never to see you again!”

He turned on his heel and walked rapidly down the narrow path between Fru Sundler’s pretty rose borders out into the road.

Thea Sundler, utterly crushed, went back into her parlour. She cast herself upon the floor and wept as she had never wept in all her life.