In God's Way: A Novel

by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson

They were about to start for home after a long evening when there had been a great deal too much music for those small rooms; she hastened to get on her wraps and get away. Here he took her arm. "It is fortunate," said he, "that the moon is just up." She thought they would have got into one of the sledges that stood waiting there, or into a carriage that just then drove up; she gave a little scream, as it was quite smooth ice just by the door, yet she went on bravely. Meanwhile they passed by one sledge after the other, and the carriage, too. None seemed to be theirs. "Are we not going to drive?" asked she. The rogue laughed; it was he who had planned this walk. She tried to hide her disappointment; but, after a few vain efforts, begged to be allowed to drive. Then he recollected how frightened she had been that first time; his conscience pricked him, and he declared they would go to the very first stand, which was not far off. The road was not so very slippery, but it was steep; she clung to his arm, staring nervously before her, with an occasional little scream. Matters did not mend as they advanced, for at times the whole road was covered with ice, though there were always one or two safe spots. He rather lost courage; especially as he no longer heard her little screams. He had never seen anyone so frightened before. As a matter of course, they made their way slowly, step by step, with many and long pauses.

Some of the gardens and fields round about them were bare, and some were covered with snow and ice; it was to these she tried to make her way; but he showed her that the way was stopped either by a house or a garden; it was not like in the country. The fields looked broken up, the sky, too, for long, narrow, cloudlets were floating through the dark-blue atmosphere above, exactly like ice down below here with gaps between. The moon seemed to be racing after the cloudlets at full speed, trying to overtake them, pass through and hurry still farther on; there must be a perfect hurricane up above; down below all was quiet. Kallem's mistake made him feel both uneasy and unhappy. The unsteady light there was over the whole of nature, with its scattered colouring only increased this feeling; surely something would go wrong. And never did that feeling come over him without its bringing back to his remembrance that night of terror from his childhood, with all its consequences. Was this to follow him all through life, this terrifying forewarning of his own wrong-doings? He was greatly excited; for she must not be allowed to fall. If it had not been for her timidity he would have gone down the hills in a merry, sliding dance; now her being frightened made him frightened too. Each slippery place became a real danger, from which he was only saved by passing on to a fresh one; they neither looked at each other nor did they utter a word, they were impatient and afraid. They were several minutes in doing what otherwise would have taken a few seconds; the one secretly blamed the other, struggling on as though for dear life. There was just an occasional gasping, "Good heavens!" or "Take care here!" or a despairing "No, no, it's no use!" and then a "Try again! Come along!"--at last not even that. She might groan and lament, almost cry, he no longer answered her. She was so taken up by her own fright that she never noticed the change.

But at last they saw salvation in front of them, namely, high houses on each side which had kept off the sun and prevented the snow melting. The question was now to get thus far; the stand was close by. At last they succeeded. She stopped and drew breath and tried to laugh, but without success. "Let us wait a little," she said, and drew a long breath again. They turned and looked on either side; farther away they heard sleigh bells and listened. "I hope the last horse has not left the stand," said she; "it is late." She took his arm and they walked on. The road was not quite all; right here either; the snow was trodden down hard, but there had been sand strewn on the pavement; they walked quicker, and by degrees with greater assurance. "Thank God!" said she, as much relieved as though she had come out of a sea of ice. Hardly had she said the words before down she fell. They had come to a deceptive place where there had been water, which was now frozen and covered with hoar frost. She slipped, and up against one of his feet, so that he too slipped and fell--the one on top of the other. He swore a tremendous oath in the fulness of his heart, and sprang to his feet again in order to help her; but she lay there immovable with closed eyes.

He turned like ice. Was it concussion of the brain? He laid her on his knee, pulled off his right-hand glove with his teeth, and then untied the strings under' her chin. Her arms hung loosely down, her face was pale as death, he opened her cloak, he wanted to give her air. Then she moved. "Ragni!" whispered he; "Ragni!" and bent down still nearer to her. "Dear, darling Ragni! Forgive me!" She opened her eyes. "Do you hear? Can you forgive me?" The colour came back to her cheeks, her hand went up to her cloak, which was unfastened; then she must have felt it, she had only been dazed with fright. He could no longer control his joy, he pressed her head to him and kissed her one, two, three times. "Oh, how I love you!" whispered he, and kissed her again. He felt she wanted to move, so he got up at once and helped her up as well. But she was not able to stand alone, and nearly fell, so he supported her to the garden railing just in front of the house; she caught hold of it and leaned against it as if she could not bear her own weight. He let go his hold of her to see if she could stand without help, which she was able to do. "I'll run for a sledge," said he, and away he went. As he ran along he bethought himself that he might have done that at once and all would have been avoided. But would he be able to get a sledge? If not there, he would run on farther. If only she could stand and nobody go by.... He ran and he flew, and when he saw a horse and sledge standing there, he jumped in, and would have had the coachman drive off at the top of his speed without knowing where he was to go to. When that was rectified and the sledge had started, he realized what he had said and done as he held her in his arms! He had felt it all along, though it had only been as it were in soft and gentle tones, now it burst out into full, rich melody.

"Drive on, faster! She is standing over there to the right. We fell down, and she hurt herself. There she is!" He jumped out and hurried up to her, while the coachman turned and drove the sledge close up to them. She was still leaning against the railing, half sideways; she had fastened her cloak again and drawn down her veil. She gave him her hand when he came, that she might have support; he took it, put his other hand on her waist so as to guide her in front of him; he did not wish to risk being upset again. There was no further accident, he put her in the sledge, wrapped her up carefully, paid the coachman and told him where to go. She begged him not to drive with her; she never said good-bye; never looked up. They drove off.

At once he felt--now she was leaving him. Nothing annoys a sensible man more than his own stupidity and want of control. He wandered about the streets that night by the hour, and sneaked home like a beaten hound. He dared not inquire of the servant next morning, but in the evening she told him, unasked, that her mistress had not been well; she had been sick and was still in bed, but was rather better. Marie's conscious smile put him into a towering passion. And she had the impudence, too, to examine his face closely. All the same, he was obliged to go and inquire the next day; her mistress was up and quite well again. But neither that day nor the next did he get a glimpse of her, or hear a sound from any of the children. Neither did she play in the evening, he made an excuse to stay at home and listen. Neither she nor the children passed that way when they were going out; they went down the back-stairs. He never met her. She chose new ways and roads.

Until then his love had been a secret happiness full of many plans. But now he had used violence and broken into the sanctuary, and his bright days and healthy nights gave way to ceaseless dreaming and useless ponderings. He went through all that happened, and each time with self-torturing pangs. He despised himself, allowed himself to be led into all sorts of dissipation and then despised himself all the more. From the moment he had touched her lips and had offended her ears there was, as it were, a veil drawn across her image; he no longer saw the pure, dove-like whiteness, borne in all its charms and helplessness by music; he only saw one he longed for. But his was a healthy nature and he had a strong sense of the comic side of things; he would not let himself be eaten up by this self-torture and stupid longing; he would move away immediately and would do it under pretence that he was going to travel. In that way he thought to overcome all difficulties as he would leap over a fence of split sticks. He could not bear her having closed her door to him; he could not even bear the servant's impertinent smile.

He was struck now by so much in this moving of his which was like the time when Rendalen had moved. He had not borne it one single day, either! Surely it could never have been for the same reason? He laughed aloud; of course it must be exactly the same thing that had happened to him!

Rendalen's mother had been in town and had lived there; at that time Ragni had been with them a great deal; Rendalen and she had played duets together. They kept this up after his mother had left, and it was always on his piano; he knew that for certain.... This seemed to him a most humiliating coincidence.

Kallem knew no higher or nobler nature than Rendalen's; he would never have allowed himself any liberties. But that she could succeed in so completely disturbing his peace of mind that he had been obliged to move? There must be something strange in her thus to unsettle them. He excused himself in this way, but what was worse was that he felt an ever-increasing temptation. The same evening he said to Marie that he was going to leave either the next day or the day after, he was not sure which it would be; but she was to ask for his bill--as a matter of course, he would pay for the whole quarter. The girl looked at him, she guessed the hidden meaning at once; did she enjoy it or had she something to tell? In her usual modest way, she asked if he wanted his bill at once? No, he did not.