Part 2

There were three or four half blossomed out, and she inhaled the delicate, fresh fragrance while she leaned over them. And with that fragrance from her roses, came visions of all sorts of wonderful things; elegant ladies and gentlemen, lights, music, carriages and glossy horses, and music again, which she heard trembling far in the distance.

And when she crept into bed she did not think of Madam Speckbom’s patients or of Miss Falbe’s quiet room; but she slept in the midst of roses and music and dreams of white satin with swan’s-down about the shoulders. She was seventeen years old.

* * * * *

Life in the Ark went its broken way with a kind of regularity. Madam Speckbom waged her silent war with Dr. Bentzen; Miss Falbe toiled on with her school and with her brother; and “the gang” led their mysterious life above.

For a long time Elsie kept from going to the attic until one day she heard old Schirrmeister playing. She had such a longing to see if he was alone; there could be no harm in that.

He was not alone; but when she was once there, she staid there anyhow. And little by little, all became as before; except that now she did everything to keep her visits a secret from Miss Falbe.

Such was Madam Speckbom’s Ark, and in all that, Elsie grew up.

II.

“Yes, but we must bear in mind, ladies and gentlemen, that it not only concerns us here to come to the help of oppressed humanity in the aggregate; but that we have set ourselves at the task of working within distinct boundaries. Therefore, while with all my heart I can concur in the views advanced by Consul With, at the same time, I must insist that we should not go beyond our proper limits. It is possible enough that need--and what now especially interests us, moral depravity among young girls--that it may be just as great--yes, perhaps much greater in St. Paul’s parish than here in St. Peter’s. But I believe, indeed, that if our labors are really to bring forth visible fruits for blessing, we should confine ourselves to the bounds indicated by God himself, and that is--I think--our own parish.”

“Oh, how true that is that the chaplain says;” said Mrs. Bentzen joyfully. “It is just as it was before I took my own poor. All that I gave, that we poured forth, it disappeared without doing any good, and there were only more and more, who came and begged. But now I only let the maid say: ‘We have our own to take care of.’ So one is sure that no unworthy person gets it, and so one can see the invisible fruits--no, blessed fruits. How was it the chaplain expressed it; it was at once so true and so graceful?”

“Visible fruits for blessing,” said the chaplain with a modest blush.

“Yes--that was it,” said the lady, and repeated the words half aloud, so as to remember them.

“I, for my part, do not even think that it is right to give and help indiscriminately,” said the young wife of the new chief of police, and modestly cast down her handsome eyes.

The chaplain bowed in acknowledgment to the lady, and remarked that it was also said in the Scriptures, that it is not right to take bread from children and cast it before small dogs. Besides, he added some comments, in which he again insisted that the institution for fallen women, which they were met there to organize, ought to confine its labors strictly within the limits of St. Peter’s parish.

Merchant With, had, in fact, not the least objection to that. He had spoken some common-place words on the spur of the moment, in order to say something. Now he had to explain that it had been his intention as it were in large outlines--hem--to give a suggestion of what according to his--hem--opinion should be done concerning this--hem--this social evil.

The chaplain complimented him on the valuable contribution the Consul had made to the illumination of the matter. After which the discussion on that point was considered at an end, and the name proposed by the chaplain was adopted: The Institution for Fallen Women in St. Peter’s Parish.

Consul With stroked his black moustache, and stole an opportunity to look at his watch. It was his wife who had compelled him to take part in this meeting, at which no men except himself and the chaplain were to be found. Aside from them, it was a selection of the finest ladies of the town, who had come together on this occasion at the solicitation of the chaplain. Consul With was included, because they desired one of the town’s wealthiest and best names among the founders.

Malicious men might perhaps think that Consul With looked a little strange in an organization of just that character; for in reality, he did not have the best reputation.

Some found an excuse for him, in the circumstance that Consul With had done almost the same as Kierkegaard has it that Luther did, namely, married an ironing-board. For Mrs. With was certainly one of the flattest one’s eyes were like to meet.

Others thought she deserved nothing better, for being so foolish as to imagine that the handsome Otto With had chosen her for anything but old sailor Randulf’s money.

But the Consul himself was so easy and smooth, so companionable and affable that the reports slid off from him. Those who knew him intimately, laughed at him; he was now quite beyond reformation; but the most thought that he was not so bad as was told.

Meanwhile matters were progressing; the preliminary labors were discussed and divided among those who were present. That, in its turn, was not without its difficulties, and the chaplain had to be careful to the last degree, to maneuver among all these ladies without offending somebody.

He noticed, especially, that there were several of the ladies who aspired to the post of secretary of the Institution. And that was partly the chaplain’s own fault. For he had, half in sport, described it as interesting and responsible in this way to keep a big, thick register with red and blue headings.

The police-chief’s wife seemed to have been especially smitten by this thick register; and every time the secretaryship came under discussion, she let her handsome eyes rest upon the chaplain in a shy appeal.

But there were others who might be worthier of that distinction. First, there was Mrs. With, in whose elegant parlors the meeting was taking place, and from whom they expected the heaviest contribution. But the chaplain had shrewdly devised a compromise with her by making her husband, Consul With, chairman of the Institution.

Then there was the wealthy Mrs. Fanny Garman, from Sandsgaard? To be sure, she looked as if she was only bored and did not trouble herself about anything; but it might be that she would take a slight illy; one can never be sure about it.

And then it was a great problem, too, whether properly he ought not tender his pastor’s wife this secretaryship. Pastor Martens had, in his wife’s behalf, accepted the invitation to take part in the organization. But he had added, to be sure, that, although his Lena was interested with heart and soul in the matter, yet she was so weakly that, like a quiet housewife, she remained entirely within the sheltered enclosure of her home. Neither was she present at the meeting.

The chaplain began to grow uneasy; he was comparatively strange in the parish; and the founding of this Institution for Fallen Women in St. Peter’s parish was really to be his great debut. Now he felt the difficulties already; this secretaryship--what was he to do with it? But while he was sitting and writhing in all these considerations, there was a knock at the door, and Miss Falbe walked in.

After a hasty salutation to Mrs. With, she began curtly and emphatically, turning to the assembled company:

“I have been informed that you are organizing a society for rescuing young girls; and as I thought there might be a rush for places, I have made haste to present a young girl who very badly needs rescue from her environment. You certainly know her too, Mrs. Bentzen; it is little Elsie, at Madam Speckbom’s.”

Mrs. Bentzen tossed her head and brushed a thread off of her dress--of course she knew her; everybody knew the little out-cast; but she must plainly understand--

Several of the other ladies also muttered and whispered to each other; but Consul With was so unguarded as to call out:

“Ah! you mean Loppen, Miss Falbe--a handsome--hem, hem!”

It did no good to cough; the ironing-board sent him a look and Mrs. Garman laughed openly behind her large fan. But Miss Falbe continued her recommendation, describing all the temptations of life at the Ark.

“That Miss Falbe can bear to live at such a house,” said the ironing-board aside.

Miss Falbe forced herself to be silent. But when no one seemed disposed to make any response, the little wife of the chief of police said:

“Pardon, I am yet so strange here; but does the young girl you speak of, live within the bounds of St. Peter’s parish?”

That keen-witted question made so good an impression on the chaplain, that he decided she should have the secretaryship. But it was soon brought to light that the Ark really was inside the limits of St. Peter’s parish; and then again ensued a short, painful pause. For every one was anxious to oppose Miss Falbe, but no one saw what excuse they were to give.

Then the chaplain said: “Pardon, Miss Falbe; but as you know the object of this institution, you also understand what class of people in society we are starting out to rescue. Allow me, therefore, one question: Is the girl proposed by you, a fallen woman?”

“That I do not know,” answered Miss Falbe hurriedly, and colored; but just after, she continued composedly: “She is no more than seventeen years old and just on that account I hoped she could be saved. For, from the surroundings in which she has grown up, it seems to me almost a necessity that she must fall and go down, as we so often see girls in her position do.”

“Yes, Miss, to that I must answer, that in the first place I do not share these modern views about necessity. I, for my part, believe--and I am--even if the new wisdom of our times will laugh at me--I am happy to believe that right there, where human eyes see the certain, the necessary way to destruction, that right there is the place for God’s loving providence. And as to the matter itself,” added the chaplain, and looked about among the company, “I must now repeat what I have already had the honor to point out in this connection--that, just as have we found it our duty to confine our labors to a certain parish, so we must also maintain that our work of rescue comprehend a distinct class of our fellow men. That, too, we have intended to indicate in the name we have chosen: The Institution for Fallen Women--so only for the unfortunates whom we designate fallen women--of St. Peter’s Parish.”

This address was received with subdued, but warm approval, by all the ladies around the table; and several might be heard--“certainly,” “that is clear,” “it must be that way of course.”

For a moment it looked as it Miss Falbe would return a sharp answer; she was often that unaccountable; but she stopped and let it pass with a dry apology, “that she had mistaken,” as she expressed it.

Then she left the company.

“That’s always the way with Miss Falbe,” exclaimed Mrs. With, when the door was closed. “Something disagreeable’s always tagging after her.”

“She is so dreadfully severe,” said Mrs. Bentzen.

“I fear she lacks the proper spirit,” said the chaplain with a mild solemnity.

“So far as I know,” insinuated the police-chief’s wife in her guileless tone, “Miss Falbe is not a member of any charitable organization in town.”

“No, we had her with us at first in the Foundling’s Home,” answered Mrs. Bentzen. “But she was so unmanageable and domineering, and at last came the story of the quack doctor.”

This story was then related. It was the more suitable for the occasion, as it turned just on this same Elsie, whom Miss Falbe had presented. The wife of the police-chief inquired very anxiously about the difference between the ages of Miss Falbe and the young girl--a shrewdness which the chaplain could not fail to recognize to himself.

When just then Dr. Bentzen came in--he was the family physician--they had already had a full account of the whole scandal.

When he heard what they were talking about, he turned his red nose up in air, and began to rake down the Ark from top to bottom, in a torrent of words. It was a disgrace to the whole town; Puppelena was a thieves’ go-between, who kept a dolt of a musician to fool the police. Miss Falbe and her brother were of about the same stripe; but when he came to Madam Speckbom and Loppen, he talked himself into such a fury that his wife, as was her wont, had to go over to him, and soothe him, and gently push him out of doors.

After these interruptions they could not get affairs under way again. Mrs. Fanny Garman had buttoned her gloves, and they had seen the Sandsgaard horses before the window long ago. Mrs. Fanny had not opened her mouth, except to gape. Now and then she made a grimace of weariness to Consul With, which he answered when he dared.

The chaplain would have preferred to close with a little benediction. But it did not happen so. The ladies’ silk dresses rustled and crackled so much as they now began to rise, that he did not manage to begin.

This Institution was besides a little different from the numerous missions and charitable associations, where religious people are usually so prominent. The most of the ladies present commonly did not take part in such affairs; and it had been precisely the chaplain’s design for this Institution to gather the most aristocratic ladies, who would otherwise confine themselves to furnishing financial support alone.

By this, it was by no means his intention to make his Institution more aristocratic and exclusive than the other organizations of the town. But he was of the opinion that the ministers of our day pay too much attention to the middle class, and neglect to admonish those who stand highest in society, and think themselves in the possession of the loftiest culture.

That was the idea he wished to carry out.

But the town understood him, alas! not at all. And just as competition and strong rivalry always hold sway among the innumerable organizations for all sorts of missions and the numberless swarms of bazaar-committees for every imaginable purpose, so they were all united in looking with envious eyes upon this new rival--this aristocratic, highly-connected Institution for Fallen Women of St. Peter’s Parish--with Consul With for chairman.

III.

Madam Speckbom had some practice, too, in the suburbs of the city; and she was very proud when a carriage, or even a gig, stopped before her door.

Elsie was now and then permitted to go with her when there was room; and these trips were, in fact, all that Loppen saw of country life. Otherwise, she never went beyond the narrow, crooked streets of the town; or, at most, stole a boat and rowed a way out in the bay.

But one pleasant day toward the last of August, she was permitted to go into the country with Madam; a call had come from Consul With’s brick-works, where the foreman’s wife was one of Madam’s old patients.

The whole Ark was in a commotion because of the event, and all the children of the neighborhood stood in awe about the gig to see Madam Speckbom climb in. Christian Falbe stood above and nodded; “the gang” had gathered around the front window of the garret, from which they could see the gig drive away; and they shouted and winked at Loppen. She turned, beaming with delight, and laughed so it rang in the narrow street.

The sun was not really bright yet. It shone violet-grey through the motionless, heavy, autumn fog which rose from the water and damp marshes, and mingled with the dark brown, morning smoke from all the chimneys down in the town.

But when they came up higher, there was no more fog, except far below, where a dot still hung over the parks or over the big trees by the church. And it grew warm and quite clear, so one could glimpse the strip of open sea, out in the west. But over the fjord with its islands, and the lofty, blue mountains, down over the meadows and golden harvest-fields, and up over the hillocks and patches of heather, which were blue with blossoms, over all lay the early autumn morning, so peacefully--so peacefully and softly.

Loppen laughed and talked so much at first that Madam Speckbom bade her hold her tongue. Madam had rather entertain herself with the coach boy, who stood behind, about the state of health and things in general out in the country.

Elsie held her tongue then, not just because she cared so much about what Madam said, but gradually she lost all desire to talk.

She began to enjoy it more by herself--all that she saw around her. She no longer cried out, every time she saw a cow; but it made her happy to think how good it seemed to walk about and feed in the fresh, cool grass.

It was quite motionless; and the water which came and vanished among the hills was as bright as a mirror. The rye was light golden; but the oats yet had flecks of green, down in the valleys, where the soil was deep. The heavy, short heads hung low, after the wind which had blown the day before; and over all was such a warm, ripe fragrance.

But when they had gone so far from town, that the fields ceased and the heather spread in great, violet tufts on both sides of the road; then the air became so oppressively rich that Elsie threw her breath all out several times, and clasped her bosom; it felt as if her bodice was too tight.

All this beauty of nature, of which she knew so little, filled her with a kind of pain, so that tears came into her eyes. She reviewed all her little short-comings, and thought she was not good enough to be shone upon by this blessed sun.

But after that, she felt a boundless, warm vigor flow through her, from head to foot. All at once she became so happy, so secure, so thankful for everything, to everybody, that she would have leaped out of the gig into the arms of anybody whatsoever--only to give thanks, because she was so happy, so overwhelmingly happy. She thought she owed all the world so much.

For a presentiment of a great, great boon in store for her came over her; she leaned back as well as she could in the humped-up gig and gave herself up to dreaming.

But it was not the old dreams about the bride and carriages. It was a new dream; great, wonderful, formless, almost dreadful.

Elsie stole a chance to open a couple of buttons in her dress to get at her bodice; it was really too tight.

When they arrived, it was Loppen who felt like telling Madam to hold her tongue, so deep was she in her dreams and so painful was it to be torn out of them.

The foreman’s house lay a little away from the other buildings of the brick-works; and while Madam went in to see her patient, Elsie looked about through the long building, with shelves instead of walls.

Still half in her dream, she walked and looked at all the wonderful things, and everything to-day made a peculiar, unreal impression upon her.

She paid no attention to the workmen, who moved about her, grimy and besmeared with clay; but she was a long time standing and watching the big water-wheel, which drove the clay mills. At the back side of the wheel, as the buckets went over, hundreds and thousands of minute drops of water sprang off; they leaped up in arches, and fell in little, pearly stars, which glittered against the dark wheel as it turned around.

It was cool and refreshing below the water-wheel, and the regular beat of the buckets as they splashed around, and the bright pearls of water dancing before her eyes, ensnared her into new dreams, until some one cried out to her. She stood directly in the way of a giant, who came groaning in from the clay-bank with a heavy load for the tile mills.

Elsie walked in through the long passage-ways where building brick stood piled in rows like psalm-books--high over her head and far, far ahead of her, clear to the end of the passage, where she saw some very little people moving about out in the sunshine.

Through the roof where there were broken tiles, a sunbeam broke here and there, and drew a long, glowing streak aslant down through the air, and fixed a round sun-spot on the floor.

The sparrows which had had their nests up there, still maintained a sinful life, with battles and bickerings. From the passage near by, came the rapid beating of the paddles which made the bricks smooth before they dried; far in the distance a lusty young fellow was singing a mournful love ditty as he worked; and through it all the big water-wheel went on splashing, patiently and monotonously, and drove the mills so they creaked.

Elsie heard voices and turned curiously into a side passage; there were three young boys shaping brick. Her eyes at once fixed themselves on the one who stood at the moulding-table and pressed the brick into the moulds.

He might have been nineteen or twenty years old, with coal-black hair, a little curly about the ears, eye-brows large and rather heavy; but when he now glanced up from his work he fixed a pair of dark, almost black eyes on Elsie.

She looked away and colored. Never in her life, thought she, had she seen anything so handsome. He had a little, dark down under the nose; else the mouth could as well have been a girl’s mouth, so red and tender was it.

Elsie at once thought it was the mouth she had dreamed about all day.

She went a step beyond the passage; but turned and drew near again on tip-toe. Then she heard some one in the side passage saying:

“By George, you must know her, Svend! She blushed so when she saw you.”

Svend smiled; she could just see his mouth through the piles of brick. Then he wiped his forehead with his bare arms, and so besmeared himself worse with clay, and said:

“That was a deuce of a pretty woman.”

Loppen thought that was neatly spoken beyond comparison, and she felt proud and flattered. Softly she stole away to enjoy her triumph in solitude.

Very soon, however, she had to go back again; but just then the dinner-bell rang. The laborers streamed out of the alleys and down to the sea to wash a little before dinner; and a little boy came to call Elsie. She was to dine with Madam at the foreman’s house.

In the afternoon, Madam had a few calls to make at the neighboring farms and Elsie was to go along. But she seemed so inattentive and clumsy that Madam Speckbom lost all patience and said she had better go where she pleased.

Loppen laughed, and ran down to the brick-works again. It was almost four o’clock. As soon as Svend caught sight of her, he declared that he would stop for that day. The others wished him to go on until the usual tale was reached; but he threw down the mould and went away to dress himself.

His fellows growled, but let him have his way; they knew that he could be just as obstinate at times as he was usually good-humored; and, besides, there was wild blood in Svend; that is, he was from the gypsies and they are dangerous to cross.

When a little later, he presented himself before Elsie in a clean collar, a blue suit, and round hat, she scarcely recognized him. She was altogether taken with his charms. However, she soon noticed that he was more awkward and rustic than she had supposed, and it was not many minutes before she felt quite superior.

After she had asked him about different things, he offered to show her about the factory. And then, he all at once regained his speech; yes, he even laughed at her once or twice when she was too dumb.

They now walked through the long passages together, while he explained to her everything they saw; he took her clear up on the furnace, where she could peep down on the glowing brick which were being fired.