Charlotte Löwensköld. Selma Lagerlöf

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      She understood that, in this way, he would show people the right road to happiness, and her whole soul went out to him in worship. Never had she seen anything so young, so pure! How the people would love him! Of a sudden it struck her that what he had just said did not accord with something she had recently heard, and she wished to be quite clear on this point.

      Had she been misinformed? The last time she was at the deanery she had heard his betrothed say that he intended to seek a position as headmaster of a gymnasium.

      He sprang to his feet and began to pace the floor of the little parlour.

      Had Charlotte said that? Was she certain that Charlotte had said it? He spoke so sharply it frightened her; but she answered in all meekness that, to the best of her recollection, Charlotte had said just that.

      The blood mounted to his face and his wrath rose. She was so distressed she could have fallen at his feet and implored his forgiveness. Never had she thought he would take so to heart what she had told him of Charlotte. What should she say to “make him good” again? What could she do to appease him?

      In the midst of her tense anxiety, she heard the tramp of horses and the rumble of wheels, and from force of habit turned toward the window. It was Schagerström who drove by. But her mind was all taken up with Karl Arthur, and she had no time to wonder whither the other was faring. Karl Arthur did not see the farer-by; he was still pacing the floor, a grim look on his face.

      Suddenly, he stepped up to her and put out his hand in farewell. It was a terrible disappointment that he should be leaving so soon. She could have bitten her tongue off for uttering the words that had put him in such bad humour. There was nothing to do but take his proffered hand. She must be silent and let him go. In sheer desperation, she bent down and kissed his hand. He quickly drew it away and looked at her in surprise.

      “I only wanted to ask your pardon,” she stammered.

      He saw tears in her eyes, and felt moved to offer her some sort of explanation.

      “Suppose, Fru Sundler, that for one reason or other you had placed a bandage before your eyes so that you saw nothing, and had put yourself into the hands of another, that she might lead you; how would you feel if the bandage were suddenly torn away and you found that your friend, your guide, whom you had trusted more than yourself, had drawn you to the edge of a precipice, and another step would have sent you over it? Would you not suffer the torments of hell?”

      After this rhetorical outburst, he dashed out the door, never waiting for an answer. But on the porch he stopped. Fru Sundler wondered what made him. Perhaps he remembered how pleased and happy he had been when he entered her house—he who was now leaving it in anger and despair. She ran out to see whether he was still there.

      He began talking the instant she appeared. The mental excitement had given new impetus to his thoughts, and he was glad to have a listener.

      “I’m standing here looking at the pretty roses that border the path to your house, my dear Fru Sundler, and am asking myself if this is not the most beautiful summer I have ever known. Here we are now at the end of July, but is it not true that so far the weather has been perfect? Have not all the days been long and light?—longer and lighter than ever before? The heat, to be sure, has been rather intense, but never oppressive. Generally, there has been a freshening breeze to liven the air. Nor has the earth suffered drought as in other fair summers. Almost nightly we have had an hour or two of rain. The growing things have flourished beyond all expectation. Have you ever seen the trees so massed with foliage, or the flower beds in the gardens so gorgeously colourful? Ah! the raspberries were never so sweet, the bird-song never so clear, the people never so merry and pleasure loving as they are this year.”

      He paused for a moment to take breath. Thea Sundler was careful not to disturb him by so much as a word. She thought of her sainted mother, and understood how she must have felt when the young baron had come to her in the kitchen or the milk room and given her his confidence.

      The young clergyman continued:

      “When at five o’clock of a morning I draw up my shade I see only clouds and mists. The rain patters against the windowpane and gushes down the water spout. Grasses and flowers bend to the shower. The clouds are so heavy with rain they almost trail along the ground. ‘To-day there’s an end to the fine weather,’ I say to myself, ‘and perhaps ’tis well.’

      “Though almost certain the rain will continue all day, I stand at the window awhile to see what it will do. At five minutes past five of the clock the patter on the windowpane ceases; the water spout gushes a moment more, then it, too, subsides. Just at that point in the sky where the sun should appear comes a rent in the curtain of cloud, and a cluster of rays shoots down through the earthly mists. Soon the heavy gray vapours that rise from the hills at the horizon are transformed into thin blue mists. The raindrops on the grass blades trickle slowly to the ground, and the flowers lift up their sadly drooping chalices. Our little lake, which until now has looked quite sombre, begins to glitter as if a school of goldfish had swum up on to the surface of the water. Transported by all this beauty, I open wide my window and inhale the moist, scent-laden air—a delight beyond the imagination. And I cry out: ‘O God, Thou hast made Thy world too beautiful!’ ”

      The young pastor smiled and gave a little shrug. He probably thought Thea Sundler was a bit shocked at his last utterance, and hastened to explain:

      “I meant what I said. I have been afraid that this beautiful summer would beguile me into a love of the earthly. How often have I not wished the fine weather would come to an end! that the summer would bring thunder and lightning, drought and humidity, rainy days and chilly nights, as in other years.”

      Thea Sundler fairly hung on his words. Whither was he leading? What would he say? She did not know, but she wished almost convulsively that he would continue and let her enjoy awhile longer the rich, mellow tones of his voice, his beautiful language, and expressive play of feature.

      “Do you follow me?” he suddenly burst out. “But perhaps Nature has no power over you; does not speak to you in strong, mystic words; does not ask you why you do not accept her bounties thankfully; why you do not lay hold of happiness when it is within your reach; why you do not get you a home of your own and marry your heart’s beloved, as others are doing this blessed summer?”

      He raised his hat and passed a hand across his brow.

      “This lovely summer has been as a confederate to Charlotte. All this opulence, this mildness, this perpetual smoothness has intoxicated me. I have gone about like a blind man. Charlotte has seen my love grow stronger day by day, and my ardent desire to possess her.

      “Ah, you do not know!—Every morning at six o’clock I leave the little annex, where my quarters are, and go up to the main building for early coffee. Charlotte joins me in the light, spacious dining room, where the fresh morning air comes pouring in at the open windows. She is happy and twitters like a bird as we sit down to our coffee, just we two.

      “You think, perhaps, that Charlotte takes advantage of the occasion to discuss with me our plans for the future. Ah, no! She talks to me of my sick; my poor; she speaks of the points in my sermon that have especially impressed her. In all respects she seems to be just what a clergyman’s wife should be. Very rarely—and then only in jest and by the way—does she mention the headmastership. Every day she becomes more dear to me. When I’m back at my desk, I sit dreaming of Charlotte, and find it hard to do any work. I have already told you how СКАЧАТЬ