The Bridal March; One Day

by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson

CHAPTER II

Two years later, in the course of the winter, Ella was coming quickly up from the ice with her skates in her hand. She wore her new tight-fitting jacket for the first time; in fact, it was principally this jacket which had tempted her out. The plait hung jauntily down from under her grey cap. It was longer and thicker than ever; it throve wonderfully.

As usual, she went round by "Andresen's at the corner." To see the house was enough. Just as her eyes rested on it, Aksel Aarö appeared in the doorway. He came slowly down the steps. He was at home again! His fair beard lay on the dark fur of his coat, a fur cap covered his low forehead and came down almost to his eyes; those large, attractive eyes. They looked at one another; they had to meet and pass; he smiled as he raised his cap, and she—stood still and curtseyed, like a schoolgirl in a short frock. For two years she had not dropped a curtsey, or done otherwise than bow like a grown-up person. Short people are most particular about this privilege; but to him, before whom she specially wished to appear grown-up, she had stood still and curtseyed as when he had last seen her. Occupied by this mishap she rushed into another. She said to herself, "Do not look round, keep yourself stiff, do not look round; do you hear?" But at the corner, just as she was turning away from him, she did look back for all that, and saw him do the same. From that moment there were no other people, no houses, no time or place. She did not know how she got home, or why she lay crying on her bed, with her face in the pillow.

A fortnight later, there was a large party at the club, in honour of Aksel Aarö. Every one wished to be there, every one wished to bid their popular friend welcome home. He had been greatly missed. They had heard from Hull how indispensable he had by degrees become in society there. If his voice had had a greater compass—it did not comprise a large range of notes—he would have obtained an engagement at Her Majesty's Theatre; so it was said over there. At this ball, the Choral Society—his old Choral Society—would again sing with him.

Ella was there; she came too early—only four people before her. She trembled with expectancy in the empty rooms and passages, but more especially in the hall where she had made "a spectacle of herself." She wore a red ball-dress, without any ornaments or flowers; this was by her mother's wish. She feared that she had betrayed herself by coming so early, and remained alone in a side room; she did not appear until the rooms had been fully lighted, and the perfume, the buzz of voices, and the tuning of instruments lured her in. Ella was so short, that when she came into the crowd, she had not seen Aksel Aarö when she heard several whispers of "There he is," and some one added, "He is coming towards us." It was Fru Holmbo for whom he was looking, and to whom he bowed; but just behind her stood Ella. When she felt that she was discovered, the bud blushed rosier than its calyx. He left Fru Holmbo at once.

"Good evening," he said very softly, holding out his hand, which Ella took without looking up. "Good evening," he said again, still more softly, and drew nearer.

She was aware of a gentle pressure and had to raise her eyes. They conveyed a bashful message half confident, half timid. It was a rapid glance, by which no one was enlightened or scandalised. He looked down at her, while he stroked his beard, but either because he had nothing more to say—he was not talkative—or that he could not say what he wished; he became absolutely silent. In the quiet way which was peculiar to him he turned and left her. He was on at once by his friends, and for the rest of the evening she only saw him now and again, and always at a distance.

He did not dance, but she did. Everybody said how "sweet" she was (it was said with all respect); and that evening she really did beam with happiness. In whatever part of the room Aksel Aarö chanced to be, she felt conscious of his presence, felt a secret delight in whirling past him. His eyes followed her, his nearness made all and everything resplendent.

Standing in the doorway was a heavy, sturdy fellow, who had constituted himself the critic of the assemblage. He appeared to be between thirty and forty; nearer the latter; he had a weather-beaten, coarsely-moulded, but spirited face, black hair, and hazel eyes; his figure approached the gigantic. Every one in the room knew him; Hjalmar Olsen, the fearless commander of one of the largest steamers.

He scanned the dancers as they passed him, but gave the palm to the little one in the red dress; she was the pleasantest to look at: not only was she a fine girl, but her buoyant happiness seemed to infect him. When Aksel Aarö approached, Hjalmar Olsen received a share of the love glances which streamed from her eyes. She danced every dance. Hjalmar Olsen was tall enough to catch glimpses of her in all parts of the room. She also noticed him; he soon became a lighthouse in her voyage, but a lighthouse which interested itself in the ships. Thus he now felt that she was in danger so near to Peter Klausson's waistcoat. He knew Peter Klausson.

Her tiny feet tripped a waltz, while the plait kept up an accompanying polka. Certainly Peter Klausson did press her too close to his waistcoat!

Olsen therefore sought her out as soon as the waltz was over, but it was not so easy to secure a dance; a waltz was the first one for which she was free, and she gave him that. Just as this was arranged, every one pressed towards the platform, on which the Choral Society now appeared. Ella felt herself hopelessly little when they all rushed forward and packed themselves together. Hjalmar Olsen, who saw her vain attempts to obtain a peep, offered to lift her up on to the bench which ran along the wall, by which they were standing. She dare not agree to this, but he saw that others were mounting the bench, and before she could prevent it, she was up there too. Almost at the same moment Aksel Aarö came in among his companions and was received with the most energetic hand-clapping by all his friends—men as well as women. He bowed politely though somewhat coldly, but the expressions of welcome did not cease until his companions drew back a little, while he came forward. First of all, the Society gave one of its older songs. He kept his voice on a level with the others, which was considered in very good taste. After this the conductor took his seat at the piano, to accompany a song which Aarö wished to give alone. The song was a composition of Selmer and much in fashion at the capital. It could be sung by men as well as women, only in the last verse her had to be substituted for his. Here it had never been heard before.

During the first song Aarö had searched the room with his eyes, and, from the moment when he discovered where Ella stood, he had kept them fixed there. Now he placed himself near the piano, and during the song he continued to look in her direction. As he sang, his melancholy eyes lighted up; his figure grew plastic.

I sing to one, to only one
Of all the listening throng;
To one alone is fully known
The meaning of my song.
Lend power, ye listeners, to each word.
But for that only one
Who in me woke sweet music's chord
My song had ne'er been sung.

Though deviously the path may run,
Passing through all hearts here,
Yet still is it the only one
Which to one heart is near.
Strengthen, oh, loving hearts, my song,
So that it still may swell
Through all love's choir; the only one
That in her heart may dwell.

His voice was captivating; no one had ever listened to such a love-message. This time many beside Ella had tears in their eyes. When the song ended, they all remained waiting for some moments, as though expecting another verse; and there was a short silence, but then applause broke forth such as had never been heard. They wanted to have the song again, but no one had yet known Aksel Aarö to sing anything twice running; so they relinquished the idea.

Ella had never heard the song; neither words nor music. When, with his eyes turned in her direction, he had begun to sing, she felt as though she should fall; such unheard-of boldness she had never imagined. That he, otherwise so considerate, should sing this across to her, so that all could hear! White as the wall against which she leaned for support, she suffered such anguish of mind, that she looked round for help. Immediately behind her, on the same bench, stood Fru Holmbo, magnetised, beautiful as a statue. She no more saw Ella's distress than she did the clock in the market-place. This absolute indifference calmed her, she recovered her self-possession. The neighbourhood of the others, which had been so terrible to her, was of no consequence, so long as they did not perceive anything. She could listen now without distress. More covertly, more charmingly, he could not have spoken, notwithstanding that every one heard it. If only he had not looked at her! If only she had been able to hide herself!

As soon as the last notes ceased, she jumped down from the bench. Among all the shoulders her shyness returned—her happy dream, her secret in its bridal attire. What was it that had happened? What would happen next? All round her were sparkling eyes, applauding voices, clapping hands—was it not as though they lighted torches in his honour, paid him homage—was not all this in her honour as well?

Dancing began again at once, and off she went. Off as though all were done for her, or as though she were the "only one!" Her partners tried, one after another, to talk to her, but in vain. She only laughed, laughed in their faces, as though they were mad, and she alone understood the state of the case.

She danced, beamed, laughed, from one partner to another. So when Olsen got his waltz it was as though he were received with a score of fresh bouquets and a "Long live Hjalmar Olsen!" He was more than flattered. When she laid her white arm on his black coat he felt that at the bottom he was as unworthy as Peter Klausson. He certainly would not sully her, he held her punctiliously away from him. When he fancied that she was laughing, and wished to see the little creature's merry face, down there near his waistcoat, and in the endeavour to do so, thought that he had been indiscreet, Hjalmar Olsen felt ashamed of himself, and danced on with his eyes staring straight before him, like a sleep-walker. He danced on in a dream of self-satisfaction and transport. Ella tried now and then to touch the floor; she wished to have at least some certainty that she was keeping time. Impossible! He took charge at once, of himself, her dance and his, her time and his, she never got near the floor without an effort, all the rest was an aerial flight. He could hear her laughing and was pleased that she was enjoying it, but he did not look at her. Those with whom he came into collision were less pleased, which was their affair. He was greatly put out when the music ceased; they were only just getting into swing, but he was obliged to put her down at the compulsory stopping-place.

Shortly afterwards there was some more singing, first by the Society alone, then they and Aarö together sang Grieg's "Landfall." Finally, Aarö sang to a piano accompaniment. This time Ella had hidden herself among those at the back, but as they constantly pressed forward she remained standing alone. This exactly suited her; she saw him, but he did not see her, nor even look towards the place where she was standing.

She had never heard this song, did not even know that it existed, although when the first words were heard it was evident that it was known to the others. Of course she knew that each word and note were his, but as he had before chosen a story which would only reach the one to whom he wished to sing, she did not doubt that it was the same now. The first words, "My young love's veiled," could there be a truer picture of concealed love? Once more it was for her! That the veil should be lifted but for him and dropped as soon as any one else could see. Was not that as it must be between them? That love's secrecy is like a sacred place, that in it is hidden earth's highest happiness. She trembled as she recognised it. The music swept the words over her like ice-cold water, this perfect comprehension made her shiver, with fear and joy at the same time. No one saw her, that was her safeguard. She dreaded every fresh word before it came, and each one again made her shiver. With her arms pressed against her breast, her head bowed over her hands, she stood and trembled as though waves surged over her. And when the second verse came with the line, "The greatest joy this world can give," and especially when it was repeated, her tears would well forth, as they had done once before. She checked them with all her might, but remembering how little it had helped her then, her powers of resistance gave way, she was almost sobbing when the very word was used in the song. The coincidence was too superb, it swept all emotion aside, she could have laughed aloud instead. She was sure of everything, everything now. It thus happened that the last line in its literal sense, in its jubilant sympathy, came to her like a flash of lightning, like the stab of a knife. The song ran thus:

My young love's veiled to all but me,
No eyes save mine those eyes may see,
Which, while to others all unknown,
Command, melt, beam for me alone.
Down falls the veil, would others see.

In every good, where two are one,
A twofold holiness doth reign;
The greatest joy this world can give
Is when earth's long desires shall live,
When two as soul to soul are born again.

Why must my love then veiled be?
Why sobs she piteous, silently,
As though her heart must break for love?
Because that veil from pain is wove,
And all our joy in yearning need we see.

Startling, deafening applause! They must, they would have the song again, this time Aarö's haughty opposition should be useless; but he would not give way, and at last some of the audience gave up the attempt, though others continued insistent.

During this interval several ladies escaped out of the crowd: they passed near Ella.

"Did you see Fru Holmbo, how she hid herself and cried?"

"Yes, but did you see her during the first song? Up on the bench? It was to her that he was singing the whole time."

Not long afterwards—it might have been about two in the morning—a little cloaked figure flew along the streets. By her hood and wraps the watchman judged that she must be one of the ladies from the ball. They generally had some one with them, but the ball was not over yet. Something had evidently happened; she was going so quickly too.

It was Ella. She passed near the deserted Town Hall, which was now used as a warehouse. The outer walls still remained, but the beautiful interior wood-work had been sold and removed. That is how it is with me, thought Ella. She flew along as fast as she could, onward to sleepless nights and joyless days.

In the course of the morning Aksel Aarö was carried home by his companions, dead drunk. By some it was maintained that he had swallowed a tumbler of whisky in the belief that it was beer; others said that he was a "bout drinker." He had long been so but had concealed it. Those are called "bout-drinkers" who at long intervals seem impelled to drink. His father had been so before him.

A few days later Aksel Aarö went quietly off to America.