The Danes Sketched by Themselves Volume Iii Part 19

With dark forebodings I pushed open the door. A stout, strong-looking, middle-aged woman, of the labouring cla.s.s, who was carding wool, was the first on whom my eye fell; but it was not she who sang. The songstress had her back turned to me, she sat rocking herself rapidly backwards and forwards, and kept moving her hands as if she were spinning. The first-named arose and bade me welcome, but I hastened forwards to see the face of her companion. It was Cecilia--pale, but still beautiful. She looked up at me--ah! then I read insanity in the vacant, though s.h.i.+ning eyes, in the inexpressive smile, in the whole mindless countenance! I also observed that she had no spinning-wheel before her, but that _that_ which she was so busily turning must have been made of the same material as Macbeth's dagger.

She suddenly stopped both her song and her airy wheel, and asked me hurriedly and eagerly, 'Are you from Holstein? Did you see Esben? Is he coming soon?'

I perceived her state, and thinking it best to humour her, I answered without hesitation,

'Yes; he will not be very long of coming now. I bring his kind remembrances to you.'

'Then I must away to meet him!' she exclaimed, in a joyful tone of voice, and springing up from her straw chair, she rushed towards the door.

'Wait a moment, Cecil!' cried the other woman, throwing aside her work, 'and let me go with you.' She winked to me, and put her finger to her head, to inform me in dumb show that her companion was wrong _there_.

'Mother,' she exclaimed aloud, knocking hastily at the kitchen-door; 'there is some one here--come, will you, for we are going out!'

She then ran after the wanderer, who was already beyond the little court-yard.

The old woman came in. I did not recognize her, but guessed, rightly enough, that she was the unfortunate girl's mother. Years and sorrow had made sad havoc on her appearance. She did not seem to remember me either, but after a civil 'Welcome--pray, sit down,' she asked the usual question, 'May I be permitted to know where you are from, good sir?'

I told her; and also reminded her that I had been her guest some years ago.

'Good Lord!' she exclaimed, clasping her hands, 'is it you? Pray, take a seat at the table while I got some refreshment for you.'

Though I was very eager to hear all the particulars of what had caused poor Cecilia's sad situation, yet a presentiment that some great calamity had happened, and a feeling of respect for the old woman's grief, restrained me from at once asking what I wished, yet dreaded, to hear.

'Is your husband not at home?' was my first inquiry.

'My husband!' she exclaimed. 'Our Lord has taken him long since--alas!

It is now three years, come Michaelmas next, that I have been a widow.

But, pray eat something--it is homely fare--but don't spare it.'

'Many thanks,' said I. 'But tell me about yourselves. So your poor husband is gone--that must have been a sad loss--a sad grief to you.'

'Ah, yes!' she replied, with tears in her eyes; 'but that was not the only one. Did you see my daughter?'

'Yes,' I answered; 'she seemed to me a little strange.'

'She is quite deranged,' she exclaimed, bursting into tears. 'She has to be watched constantly, and I am obliged to keep a woman to look after her. To be sure she spins a little--but she has scarcely time to do anything, for she has to be after poor Cecil at every hour of the day, when her thoughts fall upon Esben.'

'Where is Esben?' I asked.

'In G.o.d's kingdom,' she answered, solemnly. 'So you did not ask her about him? Oh, Lord, have mercy on us! He came to a dreadful end, n.o.body ever heard of such a frightful thing. But pray make yourself at home--you can eat and drink while you are listening. Ay, ay, sad things have happened since you were here. And times are also very hard--business is extremely dull, and we have to employ strangers now to carry it on.'

When I saw that her regret for past comforts mingled with her sorrow for present evils, and that neither were too great to prevent her relating her misfortunes, I took courage and asked her about them. She gave me a history, which, with the permission of my readers, I will repeat in the narrator's own simple and homely style. After having drawn a chair to the table, and taken up her knitting, she began:

'Kjeld Esbensen and ourselves have been neighbours since my first arrival here. Kjeld's Esben and our Cecil became good friends before anyone knew anything about it. My husband was not pleased, nor I neither, for Esben had nothing, and his father but little. We always thought that the girl would have had more pride, or more prudence than to dream of throwing herself away on such a raw lad. It is true he travelled about with a little pack, and made a few s.h.i.+llings; but how far would these go? He came as a suitor to Cecilia, but her father said _No_, which was not surprising, and thereupon Esben set off to Holstein. We observed that Cecil lost her spirits, but we did not think much of that--'She is sure to forget him,' said my good man, 'when the right one comes.'

'It was not long before Mads Egelund--I don't know if you ever saw him--he lives a few miles from this--he came and offered himself with an unenc.u.mbered property, and three thousand dollars a-year. That was something worth having. Michel immediately said _Yes_; but Cecil, G.o.d help her! said _No_. So her father was very angry, and led her a sad life. I always thought he was too hard upon her, but the worthy man would take no advice; he knew what was best, and he, and the father of Mads, went to the clergyman to publish the banns. All went well for two Sundays, but on the third one, when he said, "If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in holy matrimony, ye are to declare it," Cecil rose abruptly and cried out, "I do; the banns for Esben and myself have been published three times in Paradise."

'I tried to hush her, but it was too late; every soul in church had heard her, and had turned to stare at our seat. We were put to dreadful shame and mortification! I did not then imagine she was out of her mind; but when the clergyman had left the pulpit, she began again, and raved about Esben and Paradise, her wedding and her wedding-dress, till we were obliged to take her out of church. My good Michel scolded her well, and declared that it was all a trick; but, G.o.d help us! there was no trick in it. It was all sad reality--she was insane then, and she is insane now.'

Here the speaker let the stocking she was knitting drop on her lap; took the woollen clew from her left shoulder, turned it round and round, and looked at it in all directions, but it was evident that her thoughts were not with it. After seeming to forget everything around her for a few minutes, she took up her knitting-needles, and, along with her work, resumed her sad tale.

'All her talk was about her being dead, and having got to Paradise, where she was to be married to Esben, as soon as he also was dead; and she remained in this state day and night. My good Michel, of blessed memory, then perceived how it was with her. "It is G.o.d's doing," said he, "and none can read His will." But he took it to heart for all that; and as to me, many were the hours that I lay awake in my bed and wept, while everybody else was sleeping. Sometimes I could not help saying, that it would have been better if the young people had married. "That may still come about," said my husband. But that never was to be.

'For the first two months or so she was very ungovernable, and we tried severity with her; afterwards she became quiet, spoke little, but sighed and wept a great deal. She could not be induced to occupy herself in any way, for she always said, "In Heaven every day is a holiday."

'Full half-a-year pa.s.sed in this way, and it was more than double that time since Esben had gone to the south, yet none of us had heard anything of him, either for good or for evil. However, one day, when we were sitting here--my good man, Cecil, and myself--who should walk in but Esben! He had just arrived, had not yet even been to his own home, and had no idea what had happened, until he cast his eyes upon the girl, and then he could not fail to see that all was not right there.

'"You have tarried long," said she; "everything has been ready for the bridal a year and a day. But, tell me, are you living or dead?"

'"Good Heavens, Cecil!" cried he, "you can surely see that I am living."

'"That is a pity," said she, "for then you cannot enter the gates of Paradise. Strive to die as soon as possible, for Mads Egelund is watching to see if he can't come first."

'"This is a sad condition," said he. "Oh, Michel! Michel! you have done terrible wrong to us. I am now worth my five thousand dollars, too; and my mother's brother in Holstein has lately died unmarried--I am to be his heir."

'"What's that you say?" exclaimed my husband. "It is a pity we did not know all this some time ago. But have patience; the girl will recover now."

'Esben shook his head, but went up to my daughter, and taking her hand, said,

'"Cecil, speak sensibly now--we are both living; and if you will only be reasonable, your parents will give their consent to our marriage."

'But she s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand from him, and putting both her arms behind her back, she shrieked,

'"Away from me! What have I to do with you? You are a mortal man, and I am one of G.o.d's angels."

'Thereupon he turned away, and began to weep bitterly.

'"G.o.d forgive you, Michel Kraensen!" at last he said; "G.o.d forgive you for the evil you have done to us two miserable beings!"

'"Nay, take comfort," said my good man, "all may yet go well. Sleep here to-night, and let us see how she behaves in the morning."

'It was towards evening, and a dreadful storm of thunder and lightning came on, the most fearful I ever witnessed in my life--one might have thought the last day was at hand. So Esben consented to stay with us, and by-and-by, when the storm had abated, we all went to bed; but through the wall I could hear Esben sighing, and almost sobbing. I fancied, too, that I heard him praying to our Heavenly Father: at length, I fell asleep.

'It might have been an hour or two past midnight when I awoke. All was still around. The storm was over, and the clear moonlight shone in calmly at the windows. I lay reflecting on the calamity that had befallen us--little did I think of that which I am now going to relate.

It struck me, after a time, that Cecil was very quiet. Her little room was close to ours; I listened, but could not, as usual, hear her breathe; Esben, too, seemed to be extremely still. I felt a sort of foreboding that all was not right; therefore, leaving my bed, I crept softly to Cecilia's. I looked in--I felt for her--but _there_ she was not. I then became very uneasy, hurried to the kitchen, struck a light, and went to the room which Esben occupied. Oh, horror of horrors! what did I behold there! She was sitting on Esben's bed, and had laid her head upon his breast, but when I came closer I saw that he was as white as a corpse, and that the lower part of his face, and the sheets, were red with blood. I screamed, and sank to the ground, but Cecil beckoned to me with one hand, while she patted his cheek with the other.

'"Hush, hus.h.!.+" she exclaimed, half aloud, "my dearest love is now sleeping the sweet sleep. As soon as you have buried his body, angels will carry his soul to Paradise, and there we shall hold our bridal, amidst joy and glory."

'Alas! alas! merciful Father, pardon her! She had cut his throat--the b.l.o.o.d.y knife lay upon the floor beside the bed!'

Here the unfortunate widow hid her face with both her hands, and wept bitterly, while horror and distress filled my heart.

After a pause, she continued:--'As you may believe, there were sad lamentations and great wretchedness both at our house and at Esben's; but what is done cannot be undone. When the dead body was carried to the parents, they thought at first that it had been brought from Holstein--and, oh, what a crying and a screeching there was! It was enough to bring the house down about their ears. No wonder, too, for Esben was a fine young man, well to do--and just when he had come into a fine property and so much money, that he must die in the flower of his youth, and by the hand of her he loved. My worthy Michel could never get over _that_; he never held up his head again. In the course of a short time he became seriously ill, and then our Lord took him from me.

'The self-same day that he was buried, Cecilia fell into a deep sleep, and slept for many, many hours on a stretch. When she awoke, her reason had returned. I was sitting by her bed, and praying that the Almighty would release her, when suddenly, as she lay there, she heaved a deep, deep sigh, and casting her eyes on me, said, "Are _you_ there? Where have I been? It seems to me that I have had a most extraordinary dream.

I fancied I was in heaven, and Esben was there with me. Speak, mother; tell me, for G.o.d's sake, where is Esben? Have you heard nothing from him since he went to Holstein?" I hardly knew what I could answer, but I said, "No, we have no news from him." She sighed. "Where is my father?" she then asked. "All is well with your father," I replied; "G.o.d has taken him to himself." She began to weep. "Ah, mother, let me see him!" she entreated. "That is impossible, my child," I said, "for he is in his grave." "G.o.d preserve me!" she exclaimed. "How long, then, have I slept?" By this exclamation I perceived that she had no idea of the state that she had been in. "Why did you not wake me, mother?" she asked; "had you nothing for me to do? Oh! how sweetly I have been sleeping, and what delightful dreams I have had. Esben came every evening and visited me; but it was rather odd that he had on a s.h.i.+ning white dress, and a red necklace round his neck.'"

At this part of her story the old woman fell into deep thought, and it was not until after she had heaved many heavy sighs, that she continued her narration.