Part 12

"It was an unlucky day! The year was approaching its end when the chief payments would be made. The harvest promised to be bountiful but its overplus could not cover everything. The Knight had to find other means of raising money, and he found them. He ordered some fine timber-trees round the courtyard to be cut down, but in so doing, they came too near the house, so that his wife's favourite lime-tree was also cut down. The Knight did not know that she had a special liking for it, and the act was quite unintentional. His wife had been ill for a week or two, and when she came into the dining-room she saw that the lime-tree had disappeared; she at once believed that it had been cut down to annoy her. She also noticed that her rose-bushes had withered, for no one had had time to think of such trifles amid all the bustle of bringing in the harvest. This seemed to her another act of unkindness and she sent all the available horses and oxen to fetch water.

"Now there intervened a new circumstance to hasten the coming misfortune. The bailiff had come to the castle to wait for the bringing in of the harvest, and had an interview with the Knight's wife just after she had made the two above-mentioned discoveries. They found that they had known each other as children, and a confidential chat followed, which afforded her some amusement. She liked her visitor's rustic but courteous manners, and the comparison she made between his politeness and her husband's boorishness, was not to the advantage of the latter. She forgot that her husband could be as polite as the bailiff when paying a formal visit, and that the bailiff could be as brusque as he in everyday business.

"Thus everything was in train for what should happen when her husband came home. The bailiff had gone and left her alone with her thoughts. When her husband came in, he was cheerful, being pleased to see his wife up again, and because the continued dry weather was good for the harvest, which was all now ready cut and could be brought in in a single day. But his wife, depressed by her thoughts, felt annoyed by his cheerfulness, and now the shots went off, one after the other. She asked about her lime-tree, and he said he had cut it down because he required timber; she then asked why he must cut down 'just' the lime-tree which shaded her window; he answered that he had not cut down just that one, but all of them together.

"Then she began about the rose-bushes. He replied that he had never promised to water them. She, having no answer to this, discovered that he was wearing greased boots, and immediately remarked upon it. He acknowledged his inadvertence and was about to repair it on the spot by drawing them off, but she became furious at such an act of discourtesy. Hard words passed between them and she declared that he loved her no more. Then the Knight answered somewhat in this way: 'I don't love you, you say, because I work for you and don't sit and gossip by your embroidery frame; I don't love you because I am hungry through neglecting food; I don't love you because I don't change my boots when I come for a minute into the room. I don't love you, you say! Oh, if you only knew how much I loved you!'

"To this his wife replied: 'before we married you loved me and at the same time gossiped by my embroidery frame, took off your boots when you came in, and showed me politeness. What has happened then, to make you change your behaviour?'

"Her husband answered: 'We are married now.' His wife thought he meant that marriage had given him a proprietary right over her, and that he wished to show this by his free-and-easy demeanour, but this last was simply due to his unshakeable trust in her vow to love him through joy and sorrow, and in her forbearance, if, in order to avoid loss of time, he dropped a number of little empty ceremonies. He was on the point of telling her that it was in order to stave off ruin that he worked in the fields, thought only of crops, tramped in the mud, and brought dirt into the house, but he kept silence, for he thought that in her weak state, she could not bear the shock, and he knew that in twenty-four hours all danger would be passed and the house would be saved. He asked her to forgive him, and they forgave one another, and spoke gently together again. But then came a shock! The steward rushed in and announced that a storm was approaching. The Knight's wife was glad that the roses would get rain, but he was not. It seemed to him like the finger of God, and he told his wife everything but bade her at the same time be of good courage. He then gave orders that all the oxen should be yoked and the harvest brought in at once. He was told that they had been sent to fetch water. Who had sent them? 'I did,' answered his wife. 'I wanted water for my flowers, which you allowed to be dried up, while I was ill.'

"'Aren't you ashamed to say you did?' asked the Knight.

"She answered: 'You plume yourself on having deceived me for a whole year. I have no need to be ashamed of telling the truth, since I have committed no fault, but only met with a misfortune.' Then he became furious, went to her with upraised hand, and struck her."

"And served her devilish right!" said the Count.

"Fie! Fie! young sir! To strike a weak woman!"

"Why should one not strike a woman, when one strikes children?"

"Because woman is weaker, sir."

"Another reason! One cannot get at the stronger, and one must not strike the weaker: Whom shall one strike then?"

"One should not strike at all, my friend. Fie! Fie! What sentiments you utter, and you wish to be a soldier!"

"Yes! What happens in war? The stronger strikes and the weaker is struck. Isn't that logic?"

"It may be logic, but it is not morality. But do you want to hear the continuation?"

"Wasn't it over then, with their love at any rate?"

"No, sir! not by a long way! Love does not depart so easily. Well! she believed now just as you do, that it was all over with love, and she asked the bailiff, who came in just then, to make an appeal for separation in her name to the King."

"And she wanted to leave her child?"

"No, she thought she could take it with her. Her pride was wounded to the quick, and she felt crushed under the ruins of her beautiful castle in the air."

"And her husband?"

"He was pulverised! His dream of wedded love was over, and he was ruined besides, for the rainstorm had carried away and destroyed the whole of his harvest. And when he saw that it was she whom he loved who was the cause of his misfortune he felt resentment in his heart against her, but he loved her still? when his anger had been allayed."

"Still?"

"Yes, sir, for love does not ask why. It only knows that it is so. The Knight was ruined, and left his house to look after itself while he rode about in the woods and fields. His wife, on the contrary, awoke to a life of energy and diligence and took in hand the whole management of the house; necessity made the little, tender being who never had worked, strong; she sewed clothes for herself and the children; she made payments and looked after the servants, and this last was not the easiest, for the latter had grown accustomed to regard the little spoilt lady as only a guest, but she took hold of affairs with an energetic hand and kept them in order. When money was insufficient she pawned her jewels, and by that means paid wages and cleared off debts. One day when the Knight awoke to reflection and came home anxiously to look after the condition of affairs which he regarded as hopeless, he found everything in proper order. When he made inquiries, he was told that his wife had saved everything. Then remorse and shame awoke in him and he went to ask her on his knees to forgive him for not having understood and valued her. She forgave him and declared that she had not formerly deserved to be more highly valued, since she did not then possess the qualities which she afterwards acquired. They were reconciled as friends, but she declared that her love was dead, and that she did not intend to be his wife for the future.

"Their conversation was interrupted by the bailiff, who during this time had lived in the house and helped the wife by his advice and service. Her husband felt himself put aside and his place occupied by another; jealousy raged in him, and he forbade his wife to receive a stranger in her rooms. His wife thereupon declared that she would visit the bailiff in his rooms but her husband reminded her that he had rights over her person, since she was still his wife according to the law. But she had that day received by post the decree of separation and told him that she was free and could go where she liked. Then when he saw that it was all over, he collapsed and begged her on his knees to remain. When she saw the proud Knight crawling on the ground like a slave she lost the last remnants of respect for him, and when she remembered how once in her weakness and misery, she had looked up to him as the one who could carry her in his arms over thorns and stones, she wished to fly from this spectacle. Being no more able to find in him, what he had once been to her, she simply went away."

"Well now," interrupted the Count, who began to be bored, "it really was over."

"No, no, young sir, it only looked so, but was not. But here I must make a confession. I saw everything with my own eyes, sir, for I was her friend and honoured her in my heart. How foolish I was, I will also confess. We of the old school, who were brought up at the end of the age of chivalry, had learnt to see in woman a creature above the ordinary level of humanity; we revered the outward part, and that which was beautiful and useless; in our ideas that which pleased the eye took the first place. You can well imagine that I, though a seeker of the truth, was so misled by these old ideas, that I thought she was sinking just when she showed the greatest energy and courage. Yes, on the very day that the decree of separation came, I had a conversation with her which I can remember as clearly as though I had written it down. I said: 'If you knew how idolatrously high you once stood in my sight. And I saw the angel let her white wings fall, I saw the fairy lose her golden shoe. I saw you the morning after the marriage when you rode on your white horse through the wood, it carried you so lightly over the damp grass and lifted you so high over the mud of the marsh without a spot coming on your silver-bright clothing. For a moment I thought as I stood behind a tree; "Suppose she fell!" and my thought turned into a vision. I saw you sink in the mire; the black water spirited over you; your yellow hair lay like sunshine over the white blossoms of the bog of myrtle; you sank and sank till I only saw your little hand; then I heard a falcon scream up in the air and mount up on its wrings till it was lost in the clouds.' But then she answered me so well. 'You said once long ago that reality with all its dirt and sordidness was given us by God, and that we should not curse it, but take it as it is. Very well! But now you hint that I have sunk because I am on the way to reconcile myself with this life; I have changed the garment of the rich for that of the poor, since I am poor; I lost my youth when I obeyed the law of nature and became a mother; the beauty of my hands is spoilt by sewing, my eyes are dim with care, the burden of life presses me to the earth but my soul mounts--mounts like the falcon towards the sky and freedom, while my earthly body sinks in the mud amid evil-smelling weeds.'

"Then I asked if she really believed she could keep the soul above while the body sank, and she answered 'No!' This was because she, like myself, had the delusion that something sank. The body, however, did not sink through work; on the contrary, it was hardened and strengthened; it improved and mounted but did not sink. However, we were both so foolish that we both imagined it did, having been indoctrinated with this view from our youth upwards. We considered white hands, though they might be weak and sickly as more beautiful than those which were hardened and embrowned by toil. So perverse were people's ideas in my youth, sir, and so they are still, here and there. But in my perversity I went farther and advised her to commit a crime 6 Loose the falcon and let it mount, I said.'

"'I have already thought of that,' she answered, understanding my thought, 'but the chain is strong.'

"'I have the key to it,' I replied.

"She asked me to give it her, and received from me a bottle of poison.

"Now I return to the story where I left it off. It was where she had left her husband's room to seek the bailiff in the upper story. When she came there she had to wait, for the bailiff had visitors. She also received a lesson, for none of her married friends would greet her, because she had dissolved her marriage. One of these friends had been unfaithful to her husband and had a lover but she thought herself too good to take Frau Margit's hand. What is one to say to that? At that time it was considered one of the greatest crimes to dissolve a marriage, but now, thank Heaven! our ideas have changed. She came, as I have said, to the bailiff to ask his advice as she had done all the time when difficulties arose.

"Did she love him? Probably not; but the heart is never so likely to deceive itself as in such cases. She imagined that she did, because she thought she had lost her husband and by birth and upbringing she was not adapted to stand alone.

"But the bailiff was another sort of man. He was like one of those birds with a seraglio which I spoke of, and if he had not been so cowardly, he would have already enticed the Knight's wife. But he did not do it, for he saw that this fruit would drop when it was ripe enough. Therefore he waited. But he had another characteristic; he was as vain as a cock in a hen-house, and thought that he was a terrible fellow whom no woman could resist. So when he overheard Frau Margit say that she intended visiting him in his room, he believed that the time had come, and made elaborate preparations to receive her. She came quite unsuspiciously, for she trusted his friendship and devotion to her interests. She wished to speak of the serious prospect which lay before her; he spoke of his love and she did not wish to listen. She was legally free but still felt herself bound. The might of memory held her and perhaps the old love had a word to say in the matter. The bailiff became bolder and begged for her love on his knees. Then she despised him. His vanity was wounded, he forgot himself, threw the mask aside, and wished to use force. I came accidentally there and was able to give him the _coup de grâce_ by telling Frau Margit that he was engaged to be married. There was nothing left for him but to withdraw.

"But she had already, when her last hope collapsed and her last dream vanished, used the key to open the gate of eternity; I who knew that the poison required an hour to produce its effect, used the opportunity to speak to her, as one speaks to the dying. Ah! certainly the love of mortals for this wretched life is great, and at such moments the human soul is turned upside down; what lies at the bottom comes uppermost, old memories revive; old beliefs, however absurd and however rightly they may have been rejected, arise again, and I woke up in her the old ideas of duty, foolish perhaps, but necessary now. I brought her so far that she wished to live and commence again a life of renunciation and reflection in the convent. But since the convent no longer existed I persuaded her to be willing to exchange it for the imprisonment of home, where there is plenty of opportunity for penance in mutual self-denial, for devotion in the fulfilment of duties and in obedience. She fought against her pride and regretted her surrender, she raged against life, which had deceived her, and against men who had lied and said that life was a pleasure-garden. In this matter I agreed with her, for the unhappiness in most marriages arises from the fact that people persuade the married pair that they will find absolute happiness in marriage, whereas happiness is not to be found in life at all.

"She was frantic, but an accident came to my aid. Her child, whose room was underneath us, began to cry. She was shaken to her depths, and said that she was willing to live for her child's sake, in order to teach it that life is not what people describe it to be. She did not wish to leave it to the same fate which she had escaped. She did not speak of her husband; whether she thought of him or not, I cannot say. I who had given her the poison, knew where the antidote was; but as I still wished to keep her in fear, I gave her less hope than I myself possessed.

"I went away, and when I returned, I found her in her husband's arms. He had found her on the stairs, where she had fallen down in a swoon. All was forgiven and all was forgotten. You think that strange? But have you not forgiven your mother although she chastised you, and does not your mother love you, although you have deceived her, and caused her grief and anxiety. This last agitation had convulsed her soul so that the old love lay uppermost like a clear pearl, which has been fished up from the miry bottom of the sea where it lay hidden in a dirty mollusc. But she still struggled with her pride and said she would not love him, although she did love him. I never forget his answer, which contains the whole riddle, 'You did not wish to love me, Margit,' he said, 'for your pride forbade it, but you love me still. You love me, although I raised my hand against you, and although I was shamefully cowardly when the trouble came. I wished to hate you when you left me; I wished to kill you, because you were willing to sacrifice your child, and still I love you. Do you not now believe in the power of love over our evil wills?'

"So he said; and I say now like the fabulist: this fable teaches that love is a great power which passes all understanding and against which our wills can do nothing. Love bears all things, gives up all things, and of faith, hope, and love, sir, love is the greatest."

"Well, how did they go on afterwards?" asked the Count.

"I was no longer with them."

"They probably continued to quarrel."

"I know that they have disagreements sometimes, for these must happen when there are different opinions, but I know also that neither wishes to domineer over the other. They go their way, making less demands on life than before and therefore they are as happy as one can be when one takes life as it is. That was what the old period with its claim of being able to make a heaven on earth could not do, but what the new period has learnt."

THE END

End of Project Gutenberg's Fair Haven and Foul Strand, by August Strindberg