Part 4

Madame Speckbom had missed Loppen so badly that she had almost grown old in six months’ time; she had repented, too, perhaps, but she was of too stern and obstinate a composition ever to acknowledge it.

But Miss Falbe proceeded without allowing herself to be scared off by the curls, telling how it had gone with Elsie of late; she had kept an eye on her as well as she could.

Since early that year, Loppen had been living with the young boy from the brick-works--partly out there, partly in a notorious lodging-house in town.

But he was lazy, and, besides, he drank all the time when he was in town. So Elsie had suffered very much; and what was worse, she had changed so in this short time that when Miss Falbe called and tried to help and counseled her, Loppen had laughed defiantly and said that she would take care of herself.

“Yes, yes--there, you see; that’s the kind of a girl she is,” muttered Madam.

But Elsie was sick now; and that afternoon when Miss Falbe found her alone--Svend had not shown his face for several days--her defiance was all gone; she wept and was so humble and penitent.

Miss Falbe talked so long about Elsie that Madam thawed; and at evening Loppen was brought home and had her old bed in the little chamber where the morning sun shone in.

At first Elsie did not dare to look Madam in the eye. But when she had again accustomed herself to the old surroundings, and especially after it was over with, and she had given birth to a miserable, little, still-born child, the old intimacy between them began to return.

“But,” said Madam Speckbom, when they had had a long talk about the past, “If, after this, you commit any follies or run away, or if you only a single time go up to Puppelena’s, then it will be all over between us--over, once for all.”

Elsie felt so certain that such a thing could never happen again; she had gone through too much for that.

And now it was so delightful.

As to Svend, Madam had promised herself that if he would be sober and work, she would help them to get married.

And it was that Elsie lay and thought about; and as her strength slowly waxed with good food and treatment, she began in her old way to dream.

But now they were quite different; her dreams from those when she lay in her virgin bed, and did not really comprehend what she was dreaming of.

Now she cast away the horse and swan’s-down and longed for a little house close by the brick-works for Svend and herself, and a big rose-bush in front like those in the bellman’s garden; oh, when she thought of the bellman’s roses! She could almost recall their fragrance so that she could smell them.

She was too young and light-hearted to grieve long because the child was still-born. And when she was up and began to walk around, she felt happier than she had felt for a long time. Her beauty came back, too; her eyes became bright again and her figure rounded.

One evening, when Madam had just gone out on professional calls, Svend came in.

Elsie was much alarmed, for Madam had forbidden her receiving him; she wanted to talk with Svend herself first.

But she could not drive him away; for that matter, he would not let himself be driven away; it was so long since they had seen each other. Loppen appeased herself by resolving that she would tell Madam when she went home, however it went with her.

But she did not do so. When it came to the point, she had not the courage; and Svend continued calling on her twice a week--especially Saturday evenings.

Whether Madam Speckbom suspected anything, Elsie could not be certain; but it troubled her; yet, she could not bring herself to confess. It was harder, too, the longer it ran on; and at last she had not the slightest desire to talk confidentially with Madam.

There was so much sunshine in July and August, and so little of it came into Madam Speckbom’s narrow streets.

Loppen sat by the window and looked up at the sky, and she thought never so long about Svend and the brick-works, and all the bright pearls which leaped from the water-wheel and off the bellman’s roses; she breathed heavily; what would she not give for such a rose!

The next Saturday Svend brought her one. There were scores of them, he said; one scented their fragrance clear out on the road, and they hung out over the hedge this year, so one did not have to climb over.

When he had to go again, at half-past eight, so that Madam should not surprise them, Elsie wanted to go to the corner with him. She held the rose in her hand; it was well-nigh ruined, and he teased her to go out with him and pluck a good many.

But she would not; and she walked on and explained to him for the twentieth time how much more sensible it was for her to stay with Madam as long as possible; and then they could better arrange to get married in the fall.

Svend listened patiently to her, and in this way they walked on from corner to corner, across the slopes behind the town. But when he had her so far, he took her about the waist and said:

“Don’t be foolish, now, Elsie! What do you want down in that black hospital? Only think how fresh and lovely it is here?”

He was browned again by the sun; the warm gypsy blood flowed up into his cheeks, and his teeth glistened in the twilight. It was impossible for her to withstand him, as bold and ready as he stood there; and happy and careless she ran away with him into the silent, beautiful summer night.

* * * * *

“I told you that at the start,” cried Madam Speckbom, half-bitterly and half-triumphantly, “she’ll stay here, said I, just till she is well, then she’ll run off. For I know the blood, that I do; and besides, now I hear that fellow of hers is a gypsy. If I had only known that, he would never have got permission to go with her that accursed evening.”

“It might be she would come back yet,” interrupted Miss Falbe.

“Yes, just let her try it,” cried Madam, menacingly.

“But, Madam Speckbom! You wouldn’t tear her to pieces!”

“That I would, Miss Falbe--as sure as my name is Caroline Speckbom. It would be a sin and a shame to help one who will not be helped; there are enough, in all conscience, who need it.”

“Yes, but those who will not be helped are just the ones who need help the most.”

“Pardon, Miss Falbe; but there’s no sense in that. Sometimes you are too bright and learned--just like Dr. Bentzen--that is, you are ten thousand times better--in every direction--oh, there can be no comparison!” added Madam, thoroughly abashed that she had come to compare the excellent Miss Falbe with anything so abominable as Dr. Bentzen.

* * * * *

It was a hard winter for the poor. It was well to cling to one of the charitable ladies who brought aid from the various institutions. And aid came to many, and did good where it came.

But there were those who were not so fortunate as to reach the aid, and many to whom the aid would not stretch down. For where vice had allied itself with poverty, help might be a curse, and it was a sin to take the bread from the worthy poor, who gave thanks with tears and blessings.

Loppen no longer got aid; all became, in time, tired of her. When she and Svend, late in the autumn, moved in from the brick-works, they lived well for a week or so, on the rest of his summer’s wages; but when it was gone, they had nothing at all.

For what Madam Speckbom had once said, that Elsie and Svend suited each other, proved only too true. They were alike light-hearted, alike happy in living well, and alike incapable of saving.

Svend, in this particular, was the better; but he drank it up immediately.

Loppen for a time set about deceiving one after another of the charitable ladies. But when it was over, she was of so bad repute the city over, that she did not know which way to turn.

So she deserted Svend and went with another, who had a few shillings left, came back to him and disappeared again; so no one really knew where she kept herself.

Even Miss Falbe lost sight of her. But at gentlemen’s dinners, the chief of police used to quote Loppen as an example of how exceedingly fast, women of the common people go to the bottom when they have once gone astray. And the gentlemen stared moodily down into their champagne glasses, and wondered that moral strength was so poor among the lower classes.

Elsie neither thought nor dreamed any more; she was neither ashamed nor penitent.

From day to day she struggled on through misery; laughed when it went merrily, with food and drink, and ran the town over when she was in want.

At last she sank into a kind of a waitress in a bar-room down by the dock, where she drank ale with foreign sailors.

VI.

The day before Christmas was a busy day for the whole town, and not least busy for the kind ladies who were distributing goods to the poor.

Miss Falbe was usually not so deeply interested at Christmas; for, odd and singular as she was in everything, she used to keep the little she had, until after Christmas. But yet to-day she was in a hurry from early morning.

She searched the town up and down, for she had made up her mind to find Elsie.

It was over a month since she had seen her; but to-day, when everybody was happy and enjoying themselves, she could not get poor Elsie out of her head; and she hunted high and low for her in all the crannies and hovels of the poor.

Late in the afternoon, when she had almost given it up, she suddenly met Elsie at a street corner.

Miss Falbe had often seen how quickly beauty, youth and grace fall from those who follow Loppen’s path; but never before had she seen such a change.

But she was not the woman to be frightened off. With a tight grasp she seized Loppen by the arm, when she tried to run, and said quietly, as if nothing was the matter:

“Good evening, Elsie! It is nice that I met you. Won’t you come and eat Christmas porridge with us this evening?”

Loppen looked up. For a moment there was a blaze of defiance and impudence in the big, bright eyes; but all at once she broke down, and walked a few steps sobbing, while she leaned on Miss Falbe.

Elsie wore a brown shawl, and had nothing upon her head. She had grown thin and pale in the face, and as she walked along, bowed and weeping, her neck was so rough and scrawny, that no one would have suspected that she had not yet completed her twentieth year. There was nothing left of her but her eyes, the big, bright eyes which were all the larger now that her face had lost its roundness.

She could make no response; she did not even try to do so, and Miss Falbe proceeded without waiting for an answer:

“I told Christian when I came out that I should bring you home with me if I met you. I shall go home at six; I am only going down to the mill to see a sick woman. Then we will drink our tea, and eat our porridge together. You can just as well sleep there, too; I will arrange the lounge for you in the sitting-room.”

Elsie pressed her hand. They stood behind high stone steps where it was quite dark, and Miss Falbe took her about the waist.

“You must promise me sure that you will come, Elsie.”

“Yes, miss, I will come,” answered Elsie firmly, and looked up.

“Thank you; now you are a good girl,” cried Miss Falbe joyfully, “now you must start over there. It is past five o’clock; I hear the bells ringing at the churches, so I will be there soon after you. Christian is at home; it is nice and warm there; tell him I will be there right away.”

With that she hurried away. She was so happy that she almost ran.

But Loppen walked slowly toward the town, while she kept in the shadow as much as possible. To reach the Ark she had first to pass through the more aristocratic quarter, where the gaslights were more frequent, and where also the shops lit up what they could of an evening.

So she made a circuit through the park, and went right by the church. One of the side doors stood open; she had a strange longing, slipped in and sat down on a bench by one of the huge pillars.

At first she was half deafened by the loud clangor of the bells which were ringing in the tower. But when she had grown accustomed to the sound, it seemed as if she rested upon it and swung to and fro beneath the lofty arches.

There by the pulpit a couple of scrub-women were kneeling; they had a lamp on the floor which they moved about with them, and up in the choir was a lantern which the men, who were repairing the heating apparatus, had set down.

Loppen had not been in the church for a long time, and it touched her wonderfully to see the holy place again in the uncertain twilight, and amid this festive clangor of the chiming bells.

Until an hour ago, she had not had a single thought but to get herself something to eat, or still better, something to drink; for she had been starving for several weeks, as they starve who eat a little bread or salt fish if opportunity offers, and otherwise keep life in themselves with ale and brandy.

To-day she had tasted neither food nor drink, but that was all forgotten now; it had been forgotten, in fact, from the very first word Miss Falbe said.

That there was still granted one person who would talk to her like that!

A light had come into the night of degradation in which she had so long been roving about; thoughts of her better days, which she had dreaded and driven away with drink, came again without paining her. She could really sit there in the gloomy church and think of her little chamber at Madam Speckbom’s. For Miss Falbe had smoothed away the worst of her shame; she felt as if she had been cleansed from head to foot, and through it all she rejoiced on account of the porridge.

But the bells which had for a time been chiming softly, and as if far aloft, joined now in a great, strong peal which so filled the church that her ears rang with it. One of the scrub-women moved her light at the same moment, so that all the relieved heads on the pulpit stood out.

Elsie stared upon them and her eyes followed the dim light into all the corners of the church, up over the high arches where new heads gleamed out from among sculptured stone flowers and leaf-tracery.

And at last the mighty tones of the bells seemed to her, to be streaming out from the pulpit thus lit up--quite as when she sat shivering by Madam Speckbom’s side, while the priest thundered against sinners and shook the hard words about hell and judgment over her head. And now all those hard words had hidden themselves here and there among the stone flowers, and thrust their heads out to see if she was there.

A man arose from a trap door in the choir floor, took up the lantern and came toward her. Upon the white wall his shadow moved like a long, black demon who was coming to seize her. She watched him draw near; the anguish palsied her; she could not rise from her seat; she was bound tight; she was locked in--she was locked into the church alone; and there he came--the light swung, the bells roared right in her ears; half crazed, she leaped up with a scream and ran; he was close at her heels! A thousand heads and fingers of scorn pointed after her! There she is, there--there, she threw herself against the door; it was open--she was out--she was saved, she thought; saved from the very claws of the evil one.

By common consent, it was genuine Christmas weather; starlit and clear at night, and just cold enough to be comfortable in furs.

Elsie hurried off to the Ark. There was a light up at Falbe’s; but she had not yet overcome her fright at the church, and did not dare to go up just then.

Instead, she stole into Madam Speckbom’s court-yard, where she was so much at home. A candle stood lighted upon the kitchen table. Loppen peeped in, but no one was there. She felt an uncontrollable longing to go in; it looked as if Madam and the servant girl were both out. She had long ago known how to lift the latch in a way of her own, so that it made no noise.

All was as of old; she recognized every article and odor in the kitchen. There stood a plate of bread and butter on the table. Loppen was prodigiously hungry, but she did not touch it; she would soon get something to eat in an honorable way.

But so as not to be tempted, she cautiously opened the door to the drawing-room; no one was there, either.

The gas-light out on the corner stood just in front of one of the windows, so it was always light in the room in winter; and lying on the table Elsie saw three or four big bundles. Loppen was so familiar with customs of the household that she knew they were clothing and food which Madam Speckbom intended to distribute to the poor in her charge, Christmas eve.

While half from curiosity, half from absent-mindedness, she was feeling of each bundle, she happened to throw something down upon the floor.

She picked it up and examined it in the gas-light. Elsie recognized the soft, little thing; it was her own baby hat--the little, brown hat with the rose-red band, which was made from the indestructible “Loppen” cloak.

She could not recall the time when she wore the hat; but many a time had she seen it in Madam Speckbom’s drawer, and every time Madam had said that she should have it for her first baby.

Then she must be entirely given up now; her hat, the only thing she owned on earth, was to be given to some one else.

She pressed the hat to her face; but when she smelled the well-known perfume of Madam Speckbom’s bureau, she burst into tears.

For a moment she stood in this way and cried over her baby hat, while her spirits sank and sank, until she heard some one in the hall; then she thrust the hat into her pocket and stole out the way she had come.

It must be past six; Miss Falbe must surely be waiting. Lappen forced herself to go in at the street entrance and up the stairs. But at the Falbes’ door she stopped and listened. Christian was walking up and down, as was his wont; through the keyhole she could only see his shadow, which came and went upon the wall. It was plain that Miss Falbe had not come home yet.

Loppen felt that it was impossible for her to go in while he was alone; she had rather wait without until Miss Falbe came.

But once she thought he was coming to the door; she flew in a fright a few steps up the attic stairs; and while she was standing there and listening, she heard from above tones which she had never heard before.

It was neither the drum nor the flute nor the piano; but long, moaning tones, tender and mysterious, as if they knew all her misery and had come to comfort her.

When she cautiously opened the door to Schirrmeister’s room, she saw the old musician standing erect before the lamp. He was playing the violin.

The light fell fair upon his little wrinkled face; but the humid, drunken eyes had a singular expression, and with an appropriate bow he saluted Elsie.

He had straightened his old back, and while his arm carried the bow with the precise elegance of former days, he bowed his little head, bald as a radish, listeningly over the violin.

It had been a year and a day since he had played the instrument of his youth. But this evening something so wonderful had come over him; he got his violin out and in some way mended the strings, and now he was playing his youth, his dreams, his puny triumphs, and his great overthrow.

He played a few chords and at last Spohr’s “Adagio” which had gained for him the master’s approval and he played without stumbling a single time--clearly and correctly as the master would have had it.

The starving note copyist and the drunken musician, he was no longer. With head thrown back, eyes wide open, he stood there in the light of the sooty oil-lamp and played the garret room into a vaulted salon with hundreds of lamps and rows of breathlessly attentive ladies and gentlemen. His wretchedness fell from him and the artist stood forth once more; and the half-extinguished spark in his soul broke out into a noble flame as if music had forgiven him--music whom he had loved and betrayed; and at last came the great master, laid his hand upon his head and said: “He will go high in it.”

With the instrument under his arm and with down-cast bow, Anton Schirrmeister bowed himself out into the room. Then he hastily laid the violin away in its case, closed the cover upon it, and threw himself into a chair with his hands over his eyes. But when a little later he looked up, Elsie was sitting just in front of him, on a chest by the door. She too, was holding her hands over her eyes.

And the old wreck looked at the young wreck and shook his head. Something was heard shuffling up the stairs and out into the garret as if a number of people were trying to walk softly. Puppelena peered in and then she stepped aside to make room for the others.

It was the whole “gang.” She had collected them here and there. They were following her in the hope that she had something for them; so they were in a merry humor.

Loppen tried to steal away, but one of them took hold of her. It was Svend.

They had not seen each other for several weeks; and when they parted they were at outs. But in the mood Elsie was in, she was touched to see him--even as ugly and disreputable as he was.

Svend noticed this and sat down beside her on the chest, to lament and whine and promise to do better and everything good if she would only stay with him again.

Elsie remained sitting and listening half abstractedly to the well-known voice and the well-known promises. But all at once there was a tumult over at the table; the tinker arose and swore and everybody looked at Puppelena more or less angrily--as he dared.

In short, it was so far from her having anything to banquet on, that on the contrary, she had hunted them up to get something to keep Christmas with--indeed, she had shared with them often enough.

She turned her big, heavy face around toward the men and said contemptuously:

“It’s brave fellows you are! Not so much as a bottle of ale for blessed Christmas! Fie, for shame!”

They were non-plussed. The tinker muttered something about the hard times, Jorgen Tambur looked up at the ceiling, and even Olkonomen let his underlip hang idly; in so serious a situation he did not dare to mention the message he had just sent.

Only the man with the many faces retained his smile. He sat close beside Puppelena and chewed raisins and nuts and threw the shells across the table.

Elsie knew him better now than when he frightened her with his grimaces. In many places, she had caught sight of him; he came and disappeared and no one seemed to notice him. But she knew that he had escaped from the prison at Akershus, and that he had staid out now for more than two years without the police being able to find him. They called him the mechanic because he was so expert at picking locks.

He now said to Puppelena, with a familiar nod:

“Yes, you are right there. People who have two strong arms, and eyes to see with, and yet can’t get what they want on such a day--such folks I wouldn’t give much for.”

“What have you, then?” demanded the tinker.

“Oh, I don’t usually carry much with me,” answered the mechanic indifferently. “But at any rate, I am full; and now I am doing like the aristocrats--eating dessert after the meal.”

With this he tossed a handful of raisins and nuts carelessly across the table. A young fellow who had lately joined “the gang,” was gallant enough to pass a few to Loppen, who sat apart on the chest by the door.

The sweet taste excited her, hungry as she was. She leaned forward to see if there were not more. But the others had taken them; there were, in fact, only two or three apiece; just enough so each would get the taste in his mouth.

The tinker muttered something about not everybody being versed in mechanics.

“There’s no need of it, either,” answered the other, while he deftly landed a bunch of raisins in Elsie’s lap. “Where I came from, you could go in and out with a coffee-sack on your back.”