“‘I’m engaged to be married—that’s all!’ was the laconic reply.
“‘Engaged! But with whom?’
“‘Why, with Eva, of course!’
“Then he said he felt very hungry, and his brother-in-law had to take a journey into the larder and fetch out some cold meat, and then down into the cellar after a bottle of champagne. His sister’s bed served for a table, and a new chapter in ‘Fridtjof’s saga’ was inaugurated at this nocturnal banquet.”
The story goes, Nansen first met his future wife in a snowdrift. One day, it appears, when up in the Frogner woods, he espied two little boots sticking up out of the snow. Curiosity prompted him to go and see to whom the said boots belonged, and as he approached for that purpose, a little snow be-sprinkled head peered up at him. It was Eva Sars!
What gives this anecdote interest is that it was out of the snow and the cold to which he was to dedicate his life, she, who became dearer to him than life itself, first appeared.
Another circumstance connected therewith worthy of note is that Eva Sars was a person of rather a cold and repellent nature, and gave one the impression that there was a good deal of snow in her disposition. Hence the reason perhaps why she kept aloof rather than attracted those who would know her. Fridtjof Nansen, however, was not the man to be deterred by coldness. He was determined to win her, even if he should have to cross the inland ice of Greenland for that purpose.
But when she became his wife all the reserve and coldness of her nature disappeared. She took the warmest interest in his plans, participated in his work, making every sacrifice a woman can make to promote his purpose. In all his excursions in the open air she accompanied him; and when she knew that he was making preparations for another expedition, one involving life itself, not a murmur escaped her lips. And when the hour of parting came at last, and a long, lonely time of waiting lay before her, she broke out into song. For in those dreary years of hope deferred she developed into an accomplished songstress; and when the fame of Nansen’s exploit resounded throughout the whole north, the echo of her song answered in joyful acclaim. The maidens of Norway listening to her spirited strains, and beholding this brave little woman with her proudly uplifted head, learnt from Eva Nansen that such was the way in which a woman should meet a sorrow—such the way in which she should undergo a time of trial.
The following story, in Nansen’s own words, will serve to give an idea of the sort of woman she was:
“It was New Year’s Eve, 1890. Eva and I had gone on a little trip to Kröderen,[1] and we determined to get to the top of Norefjeld. “We slept at Olberg, and, feeling rather lazy next morning, did not set out till nearly noon. We took it very easily, moreover! Even in summer-time it is a stiff day’s work to clamber up Norefjeld; but in winter, when the days are short, one has to look pretty sharp to reach the top while it is light. Moreover, the route we chose, though perhaps the most direct, was not by any means the shortest. The snow lay very deep; and soon it became impossible to go on ski, the ascent being so steep, that we had to take them off and carry them. However, we had made up our minds to reach the top; for it would never do to turn back after having gone half-way, difficult though the ascent might be. The last part of our journey was the most trying of all; I had to cut out steps with my ski-staff to get a foothold in the frozen snow. I went in front, and Eva followed close behind me. It really seemed that we slipped two steps backward for every one we took forward. At last we reached the top; it was pitch dark, and we had been going from ten A.M. to five P.M., without food. But, thank goodness, we had some cheese and pemmican with us, so we sat down on the snow, and ate it.