Marie Grubbe - Jens Peter Jacobsen (best english novels for beginners .txt) 📗
- Author: Jens Peter Jacobsen
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onward without a goal in the glare of smarting, stinging light,
deafened by intolerable noise and hubbub. A delicious feeling of
shelter and calm stole over her, a sense of undisturbed rest in a
grateful shadow, in a sweet and friendly silence, and she liked to
deepen the peace of her refuge by picturing to herself the world
outside where people were still striving and struggling while she had,
as it were, slipped behind life and found a safe little haven where
none could discover her or bring unrest into her sweet twilight
solitude.
As time went on, however, the silence became oppressive, the peace
dull, and the shadow dark. She began to listen for sounds of living
life from without. So it was not unwelcome to her when Erik Grubbe
proposed a change. He wished her to reside at Kalo manor, the property
of her husband, and he pointed out to her that as Ulrik Frederik had
her entire fortune in his possession and yet did not send anything for
her maintenance, it was but fair she should be supported from his
estate. There she would be in clover; she might have a houseful of
servants and live in the elegant and costly fashion to which she was
accustomed far better than at Tjele, which was quite too poor for her.
Moreover, the King, as a part of his wedding gift, had settled upon
her in case of Ulrik Frederik’s death an income equal to that at which
Kalo was rated and in doing so he had clearly had Kalo in mind, since
it was conveyed to Ulrik Frederik six months after their marriage. If
they should not patch up their difference, Ulrik Frederik would very
likely have to give up to her the estate intended for her dowager
seat, and she might as well become familiar with it. It would be well
too that Ulrik Frederik should get used to knowing her in possession
of it; he would then the more readily resign it to her.
What Erik Grubbe really had in mind was to rid himself of the expense
of keeping Marie at Tjele and to make the breach between Ulrik
Frederik and his wife less evident in the eyes of the world. It was
at least a step toward reconciliation, and there was no knowing what
it might lead to.
So Marie went to Kalo, but she did not live in the style she had
pictured to herself, for Ulrik Frederik had given his bailiff, Johan
Utrecht, orders to receive and entertain Madam Gyldenlove but not to
give her a stiver in ready money. Besides Kalo was, if possible, even
more tiresome than Tjele, and Marie would probably not have remained
there long if she had not had a visitor who was soon to become more
than a visitor to her.
His name was Sti Hogh.
Since the night of the ballet in Frederiksborg Park, Marie had often
thought of her brother-in-law and always with a warm sense of
gratitude. Many a time at Aggershus, when she had been wounded in some
particularly galling manner, the thought of Sti’s reverent, silently
adoring homage had comforted her, and he treated her in precisely the
same way now that she was forgotten and forsaken as in the days of her
glory. There was the same flattering hopelessness in his mien and the
same humble adoration in his eyes.
He would never remain at Kalo for more than two or three days at a
time; then he would leave for a week’s visit in the neighborhood, and
Marie learned to long for his coming and to sigh when he went away,
for he was practically the only company she had. They became very
intimate, and there was but little they did not confide to each other.
“Madam,” said Sti one day, “is it your purpose to return to his
Excellency if he make you full and proper apologies?”
“Even though he were to come here crawling on his knees,” she replied,
“I would thrust him away. I have naught but contempt and loathing for
him in my heart, for there’s not a faithful sentiment in his mind,
not one honest drop of warm blood in his body. He is a slimy, cursed
harlot and no man. He has the empty, faithless eyes of a harlot and
the soulless, clammy desire of a harlot. There has never a
warm-blooded passion carried him out of himself, never a heartfelt
word cried from his lips. I hate him, Sti, for I feel myself
besmirched by his stealthy hands and bawdy words.”
“Then, madam, you will sue for a separation?”
Marie replied that she would, and if her father had only stood by her,
the case would have been far advanced, but he was in no hurry, for he
still thought the quarrel could be patched up, though it never would
be.
They talked of what maintenance she might look for after the divorce,
and Marie said that Erik Grubbe meant to demand Kalo on her behalf.
Sti thought this was ill-considered. He forecast a very different lot
for her than sitting as a dowager in an obscure corner of Jutland and
at last, perhaps, marrying a country squire, which was the utmost she
could aspire to if she stayed. Her role at court was played out, for
Ulrik Frederik was in such high favor that he would have no trouble in
keeping her away from it and it from her. No, Sti’s advice was that
she should demand her fortune in ready money and, as soon as it was
paid her, leave the country, never to set foot in it again. With her
beauty and grace she could win a fairer fate in France than here in
this miserable land with its boorish nobility and poor little
imitation of a court.
He told her so, and the frugal life at Kalo made a good background for
the alluring pictures he sketched of the splendid and brilliant court
of Louis the Fourteenth. Marie was fascinated and came to regard
France as the theatre of all her dreams.
Sti Hogh was as much under the spell of his love for Marie as ever,
and he often spoke to her of his passion, never asking or demanding
anything, never even expressing hope or regret, but taking for granted
that she did not return his love and never would. At first Marie heard
him with a certain uneasy surprise, but after a while she became
absorbed in listening to these hopeless musings on a love of which she
was the source, and it was not without a certain intoxicating sense of
power that she heard herself called the lord of life and death to so
strange a person as Sti Hogh. Before long, however, Sti’s lack of
spirit began to irritate her. He seemed to give up the fight merely
because the object of it was unattainable and to accept tamely the
fact that too high was too high. She did not exactly doubt that there
was real passion underneath his strange words or grief behind his
melancholy looks, but she wondered whether he did not speak more
strongly than he felt. A hopeless passion that did not defiantly close
its eyes to its own hopelessness and storm ahead—she could not
understand it and did not believe in it. She formed a mental picture
of Sti Hogh as a morbid nature, everlastingly fingering himself and
hugging the illusion of being richer and bigger and finer than he
really was. Since no reality bore out this conception of himself, he
seemed to feed his imagination with great feelings and strong passions
that were, in truth, born only in the fantastic pregnancy of his
over-busy brain. His last words to her—for at her father’s request
she was returning to Tjele, where he could not follow her—served to
confirm her in the opinion that this mental portrait resembled him in
every feature.
He had bid her good-by and was standing with his hand on the latch,
when he turned back to her, saying, “A black leaf of my book of life
is being turned now that your Kalo days are over, madam. I shall
think of this time with longing and anguish, as one who has lost all
earthly happiness and all that was his hope and desire, and yet,
madam, if such a thing should come to pass as that there were reason
to think you loved me and if I were to believe it, then God only knows
what it might make of me. Perhaps it might rouse in me those powers
which have hitherto failed to unfold their mighty wings. Then perhaps
the part of my nature that is thirsting after great deeds and burning
with hope might be in the ascendant and make my name famous and great.
Yet it might as well be that such unutterable happiness would slacken
every high-strung fibre, silence every crying demand, and dull every
hope. Thus the land of my happiness might be to my gifts and powers a
lazy Capua… .”
No wonder Marie thought of him as she did, and she realized that it
was best so. Yet she sighed.
She returned to Tjele by Erik Grubbe’s desire, for he was afraid that
Sti might persuade her to some step that did not fit into his plans,
and besides he was bound to try whether he could not talk her into
some compromise by which the marriage might remain in force. This
proved fruitless, but still Erik Grubbe continued to write Ulrik
Frederik letters begging him to take back Marie. Ulrik Frederik never
replied. He preferred to let the matter hang fire as long as possible,
for the sacrifice of property that would have to follow a divorce was
extremely inconvenient for him. As for his father-in-law’s assurances
of Marie’s conciliatory state of mind, he did not put any faith in
them. Squire Erik Grubbe’s untruthfulness was too well known.
Meanwhile Erik Grubbe’s letters grew more and more threatening, and
there were hints of a personal appeal to the King. Ulrik Frederik
realized that matters could not go on this way much longer, and while
in Copenhagen, he wrote his bailiff at Kalo, Johan Utrecht, ordering
him to find out secretly whether Madam Gyldenlove would meet him there
unknown to Erik Grubbe. This letter was written in March of
sixty-nine. Ulrik Frederik hoped by this meeting to learn how Marie
really felt, and in case he found her compliant, he meant to take her
back with him to Aggershus. If not, he would make promises of steps
leading to an immediate divorce and so secure for himself as favorable
terms as possible. But Marie Grubbe refused to meet him, and Ulrik
Frederik was obliged to go back to Norway with nothing accomplished.
Still Erik Grubbe went on with his futile letter writing, but in
February of sixteen hundred and seventy, they had tidings of the death
of Frederik the Third, and then Erik Grubbe felt the time had come to
act. King Frederik had always held his son Ulrik Frederik in such high
regard and had such a blind fondness for him that in a case like this
he would no doubt have laid all the blame on the other party. King
Christian might be expected to take a different attitude, for though
he and Ulrik Frederik were bosom friends and boon-companions, a tiny
shadow of jealousy might lurk in the mind of the King, who had often
in his father’s time been pushed aside for his more gifted and
brilliant half-brother. Besides, young rulers liked to show their
impartiality and would often in their zeal for justice be unfair to
the very persons whom they might be supposed
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