CHAPTER XI

by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson

　　It was during the noonday rest; the people at the great Heidegards weresleeping, the hay was scattered over the meadows, the rakes were stakedin the ground. Below the barn-bridge stood the hay sleds, the harnesslay, taken off, beside them, and the horses were tethered at a littledistance. With the exception of the latter and some hens that hadstrayed across the fields, not a living creature was visible on thewhole plain.

　　There was a notch in the mountains above the gards, and through it theroad led to the Heidegard saeters,—large, fertile mountain plains. Aman was standing in this notch, taking a survey of the plain below,just as if he were watching for some one. Behind him lay a littlemountain lake, from which flowed the brook which made this mountainpass; on either side of this lake ran cattle-paths, leading to thesaeters, which could be seen in the distance. There floated toward hima shouting and a barking, cattle-bells tinkled among the mountainridges; for the cows had straggled apart in search of water, and thedogs and herd-boys were vainly striving to drive them together. Thecows came galloping along with the most absurd antics and involuntaryplunges, and with short, mad bellowing, their tails held aloft, theyrushed down into the water, where they came to a stand; every time theymoved their heads the tinkling of their bells was heard across thelake. The dogs drank a little, but stayed behind on firm land; theherd-boys followed, and seated themselves on the warm, smoothhill-side. Here they drew forth their lunch boxes, exchanged with oneanother, bragged about their dogs, oxen, and the family they livedwith, then undressed, and sprang into the water with the cows. Thedogs persisted in not going in; but loitered lazily around, their headshanging, with hot eyes and lolling tongues. Round about on the slopesnot a bird was to be seen, not a sound was heard, save the prattling ofchildren and the tinkling of bells; the heather was parched and dry,the sun blazed on the hill-sides, so that everything was scorched byits heat.

　　It was Oyvind who was sitting up there in the mid-day sun, waiting. Hesat in his shirt-sleeves, close by the brook which flowed from thelake. No one yet appeared on the Heidegard plain, and he was graduallybeginning to grow anxious when suddenly a large dog came walking withheavy steps out of a door in Nordistuen, followed by a girl in whitesleeves. She tripped across the meadow toward the cliff; he felt astrong desire to shout down to her, but dared not. He took a carefulsurvey of the gard to see if any one might come out and notice her, butthere seemed to be no danger of detection, and several times he rosefrom impatience.

　　She arrived at last, following a path by the side of the brook, the doga little in advance of her, snuffing the air, she catching hold of thelow shrubs, and walking with more and more weary gait. Oyvind sprangdownward; the dog growled and was hushed; but as soon as Marit sawOyvind coming she sat down on a large stone, as red as blood, tired andovercome by the heat. He flung himself down on the stone by her side.

　　"Thank you for coming."

　　"What heat and what a distance! Have you been here long?"

　　"No. Since we are watched in the evening, we must make use of thenoon. But after this I think we will not act so secretly, nor take somuch trouble; it was just about this I wanted to speak to you."

　　"Not so secretly?"

　　"I know very well that all that is done secretly pleases you best; butto show courage pleases you also. To-day I have come to have a longtalk with you, and now you must listen."

　　"Is it true that you are trying to be agriculturist for the district?"

　　"Yes, and I expect to succeed. In this I have a double purpose: first,to win a position for myself; but secondly, and chiefly, to accomplishsomething which your grandfather can see and understand. Luckily itchances that most of the Heidegard freeholders are young people whowish for improvements and desire help; they have money, too. So Ishall begin among them. I shall regulate everything from their stablesto their water-pipes; I shall give lectures and work; I shall fairlybesiege the old man with good deeds."

　　"Those are brave words. What more, Oyvind?"

　　"Why, the rest simply concerns us two. You must not go away."

　　"Not if he orders it?"

　　"And keep nothing secret that concerns us two."

　　"Even if he torments me?"

　　"We gain more and defend ourselves better by allowing everything to beopen. We must manage to be so constantly before the eyes of people,that they are constantly forced to talk about how fond we are of eachother; so much the sooner will they wish that all may go well with us.You must not leave home. There is danger of gossip forcing its waybetween those who are parted. We pay no heed to any idle talk thefirst year, but we begin by degrees to believe in it the second. Wetwo will meet once a week and laugh away the mischief people would liketo make between us; we shall be able to meet occasionally at a dance,and keep step together until everything sings about us, while those whobackbite us are sitting around. We shall meet at church and greet eachother so that it may attract the attention of all those who wish us ahundred miles apart. If any one makes a song about us we will sit downtogether and try to get up one in answer to it; we must succeed if weassist each other. No one can harm us if we keep together, and thusshow people that we keep together. All unhappy love belongs eitherto timid people, or weak people, or sick people, or calculating people,who keep waiting for some special opportunity, or cunning people, who,in the end, smart for their own cunning; or to sensuous people that donot care enough for each other to forget rank and distinction; they goand hide from sight, they send letters, they tremble at a word, andfinally they mistake fear, that constant uneasiness and irritation inthe blood, for love, become wretched and dissolve like sugar. Ohpshaw! if they truly loved each other they would have no fear; theywould laugh, and would openly march to the church door, in the face ofevery smile and every word. I have read about it in books, and I haveseen it for myself. That is a pitiful love which chooses a secretcourse. Love naturally begins in secresy because it begins in shyness;but it must live openly because it lives in joy. It is as when theleaves are changing; that which is to grow cannot conceal itself, andin every instance you see that all which is dry falls from the tree themoment the new leaves begin to sprout. He who gains love casts off allthe old, dead rubbish he formerly clung to, the sap wells up and rushesonward; and should no one notice it then? Hey, my girl! they shallbecome happy at seeing us happy; two who are betrothed and remain trueto each other confer a benefit on people, for they give them a poemwhich their children learn by heart to the shame of their unbelievingparents. I have read of many such cases; and some still live in thememory of the people of this parish, and those who relate thesestories, and are moved by them, are the children of the very personswho once caused all the mischief. Yes, Marit, now we two will joinhands, so; yes, and we will promise each other to cling together, so;yes, and now it will all come right. Hurrah!"

　　He was about to take hold of her head, but she turned it away andglided down off the stone.

　　He kept his seat; she came back, and leaning her arms on his knee,stood talking with him, looking up into his face.

　　"Listen, Oyvind; what if he is determined I shall leave home, howthen?"

　　"Then you must say No, right out."

　　"Oh, dear! how would that be possible?"

　　"He cannot carry you out to the carriage."

　　"If he does not quite do that, he can force me in many other ways."

　　"That I do not believe; you owe obedience, to be sure, as long as it isnot a sin; but it is also your duty to let him fully understand howhard it is for you to be obedient this time. I am sure he will changehis mind when he sees this; now he thinks, like most people, that it isonly childish nonsense. Prove to him that it is something more."

　　"He is not to be trifled with, I can assure you. He watches me like atethered goat."

　　"But you tug at the tether several times a day."

　　"That is not true."

　　"Yes, you do; every time you think of me in secret you tug at it."

　　"Yes, in that way. But are you so very sure that I think often ofyou?"

　　"You would not be sitting here if you did not."

　　"Why, dear me! did you not send word for me to come?"

　　"But you came because your thoughts drove you here."

　　"Rather because the weather was so fine."

　　"You said a while ago that it was too warm."

　　"To go up hill, yes; but down again?"

　　"Why did you come up, then?"

　　"That I might run down again."

　　"Why did you not run down before this?"

　　"Because I had to rest."

　　"And talk with me about love?"

　　"It was an easy matter to give you the pleasure of listening."

　　"While the birds sang."

　　"And the others were sleeping."

　　"And the bells rang."

　　"In the shady grove."

　　Here they both saw Marit's grandfather come sauntering out into theyard, and go to the bell-rope to ring the farm people up. The peoplecame slowly forth from the barns, sheds, and houses, moved sleepilytoward their horses and rakes, scattered themselves over the meadow,and presently all was life and work again. Only the grandfather wentin and out of the houses, and finally up on the highest barn-bridge andlooked out. There came running up to him a little boy, whom he musthave called. The boy, sure enough, started off in the direction ofPladsen. The grandfather, meanwhile, moved about the gard, oftenlooking upward and having a suspicion, at least, that the black spot onthe "giant rock" was Marit and Oyvind. Now for the second time Marit'sgreat dog was the cause of trouble. He saw a strange horse drive in tothe Heidegards, and believing himself to be only doing his duty, beganto bark with all his might. They hushed the dog, but he had grownangry and would not be quiet; the grandfather stood below staring up.But matters grew still worse, for all the herd-boys' dogs heard withsurprise the strange voice and came running up. When they saw that itwas a large, wolf-like giant, all the stiff-haired Lapp-dogs gatheredabout him. Marit became so terrified that she ran away without sayingfarewell. Oyvind rushed into the midst of the fray, kicked and fought;but the dogs merely changed the field of battle, and then flew at oneanother again, with hideous howls and kicks; Oyvind after them again,and so it kept on until they had rolled over to the edge of the brook,when he once more came running up. The result of this was that theyall tumbled together into the water, just at a place where it was quitedeep, and there they parted, shame-faced. Thus ended this forestbattle. Oyvind walked through the forest until he reached the parishroad; but Marit met her grandfather up by the fence. This was thedog's fault.

　　"Where do you come from?"

　　"From the wood."

　　"What were you doing there?"

　　"Plucking berries."

　　"That is not true."

　　"No; neither is it."

　　"What were you doing, then?"

　　"I was talking with some one."

　　"Was it with the Pladsen boy?"

　　"Yes."

　　"Hear me now, Marit; to-morrow you leave home."

　　"No."

　　"Listen to me, Marit; I have but one single thing to say, only one: youshall go."

　　"You cannot lift me into the carriage."

　　"Indeed? Can I not?"

　　"No; because you will not."

　　"Will I not? Listen now, Marit, just for sport, you see, just forsport. I am going to tell you that I will crush the backbone of thatworthless fellow of yours."

　　"No; you would not dare do so."

　　"I would not dare? Do you say I would not dare? Who should interfere?

　　Who?"

　　"The school-master."

　　"School—school—school-master. Does he trouble his head about thatfellow, do you think?"

　　"Yes; it is he who has kept him at the agricultural school."

　　"The school-master?"

　　"The school-master."

　　"Hearken now, Marit; I will have no more of this nonsense; you shallleave the parish. You only cause me sorrow and trouble; that was theway with your mother, too, only sorrow and trouble. I am an old man.I want to see you well provided for. I will not live in people's talkas a fool just for this matter. I only wish your own good; you shouldunderstand this, Marit. Soon I will be gone, and then you will be leftalone. What would have become of your mother if it had not been forme? Listen, Marit; be sensible, pay heed to what I have to say. Ionly desire your own good."

　　"No, you do not."

　　"Indeed? What do I want, then?"

　　"To carry out your own will, that is what you want; but you do not askabout mine."

　　"And have you a will, you young sea-gull, you? Do you suppose you knowwhat is for your good, you fool? I will give you a taste of the rod, Iwill, for all you are so big and tall. Listen now, Marit; let me talkkindly with you. You are not so bad at heart, but you have lost yoursenses. You must listen to me. I am an old and sensible man. We willtalk kindly together a little; I have not done so remarkably well inthe world as folks think; a poor bird on the wing could easily fly awaywith the little I have; your father handled it roughly, indeed he did.Let us care for ourselves in this world, it is the best thing we cando. It is all very well for the school-master to talk, for he hasmoney himself; so has the priest;—let them preach. But with us whomust slave for our daily bread, it is quite different. I am old. Iknow much. I have seen many things; love, you see, may do very well totalk about; yes, but it is not worth much. It may answer for priestsand such folks, peasants must look at it in a different light. Firstfood, you see, then God's Word, and then a little writing andarithmetic, and then a little love, if it happens to come in the way;but, by the Eternals! there is no use in beginning with love and endingwith food. What can you say, now, Marit?"

　　"I do not know."

　　"You do not know what you ought to answer?"

　　"Yes, indeed, I know that."

　　"Well, then?"

　　"May I say it?"

　　"Yes; of course you may say it."

　　"I care a great deal for that love of mine."

　　He stood aghast for a moment, recalling a hundred similar conversationswith similar results, then he shook his head, turned his back, andwalked away.

　　He picked a quarrel with the housemen, abused the girls, beat the largedog, and almost frightened the life out of a little hen that hadstrayed into the field; but to Marit he said nothing.

　　That evening Marit was so happy when she went up-stairs to bed, thatshe opened the window, lay in the window-frame, looked out and sang.She had found a pretty little love-song, and it was that she sang.

　　"Lovest thou but me,

　　I will e'er love thee,

　　All my days on earth, so fondly;

　　Short were summer's days,

　　Now the flower decays,—

　　Comes again with spring, so kindly.

　　"What you said last year

　　Still rings in my ear,

　　As I all alone am sitting,

　　And your thoughts do try

　　In my heart to fly,—

　　Picture life in sunshine flitting.

　　"Litli—litli—loy,

　　Well I hear the boy,

　　Sighs behind the birches heaving.

　　I am in dismay,

　　Thou must show the way,

　　For the night her shroud is weaving.

　　"Flomma, lomma, hys,

　　Sang I of a kiss,

　　No, thou surely art mistaken.

　　Didst thou hear it, say?

　　Cast the thought away;

　　Look on me as one forsaken.

　　"Oh, good-night! good-night!

　　Dreams of eyes so bright,

　　Hold me now in soft embraces,

　　But that wily word,

　　Which thou thought'st unheard,

　　Leaves in me of love no traces.

　　"I my window close,

　　But in sweet repose

　　Songs from thee I hear returning;

　　Calling me they smile,

　　And my thoughts beguile,—

　　Must I e'er for thee be yearning?"