Emanuel, or Children of the Soil/Book 2, Chapter 7
It was the first time that Emanuel had been seen in Skibberup without his official gown and ruff. His appearance, therefore, aroused considerable attention all over the village. The spring air and the day of rest had tempted people out of their houses everywhere; even the old cripples had hobbled out from the chimney corners, and sat on the doorsteps, sunning themselves. Both men and women were busy digging in the cottage gardens, and bareheaded children ran about playing. Few, either of men or women, had a greeting for the young priest, though they all looked up from their work, and followed him with their eyes as far as they could. Some of the youths who were leaning over the fences by the girls, or standing in the gateways smoking long pipes, were beguiled by the bright sunshine into insolent smiles and half-audible remarks as he passed.
In the doorway of a low house stood a man in blue striped shirt-sleeves, with a child in his arms. It was the big black-bearded snow-clearer who had made the hearty little speech of welcome to Emanuel on the evening that he went to the sick girl. Now the man only smiled, showing his white teeth when Emanuel passed; and the child in his arms beginning to cry, he said, quite loud, as he wiped its nose with his fingers, "There's naught to be frightened of, my lass! it's on'y his rev'rence, our young parson!"
Although Emanuel was already tolerably accustomed to the incivility of the people, and although he had brought himself to believe that the reason of the discord between himself and the congregation was principally owing to a want in himself, he was often obliged to struggle against the dull wrath which was roused in him, more especially by the conduct of the young people. To-day, too, he found it difficult to preserve his equanimity, and he did not breathe freely till he reached Anders Jörgen's little farm in the southern end of the village. It was not without emotion that he passed under the low gateway and recognised the lantern which still twisted slowly round at the end of the cord, under the rafters. In the yard he stopped and looked around him. Not a creature was to be seen or heard. He went up to the low dwelling-house, entered the passage, and knocked twice at a door to the left. No one answered.
After a moment's hesitation he opened the door and went into the broad, low-ceilinged living room, with its equipment of antique furniture, which had attracted his attention on yonder evening. The room was empty. Nor was any sound to be heard in the adjoining rooms except the loud ticking of the tall old clock in the side room where the girl had lain ill. He was at his wit's end. He knocked at various doors leading to different parts of the house, but he received no answer anywhere. The house appeared to be deserted. He remained standing a moment in the middle of the floor, lost in thought, while his eye wandered over the room. He recognised the heavy oak table and the benches under the small, many-paned windows, the large square stove, the dark earthen floor strewn with sand, the spinning wheel, and the blue striped curtains of the alcove bed in one corner of the room. A row of shining pewter plates stood upon a high shelf, and upon the wall behind the old armchair by the stove, by way of ornament, hung a cross of straw, a bunch of sweet herbs, and two framed samplers, bearing the date of 1798. All bore witness to a sense of order and scrupulous cleanliness. An air of simple, festive, Sunday comfort rested over the little sunny peasant's home, with which Emanuel was charmed. He involuntarily compared this simplicity with the gorgeous luxury of his own home, furnished with all the modern townspeople's outfit of thick carpets, velvet upholstery, heavy portières and exotic plants, in which the depraved taste of advanced civilization indulged. On the wall between the windows he discovered a small collection of portraits of well-known men in simple wood-cuts. There were Tscherning,[1] Grundtvig, Monrad,[2] and a few others whom he knew. The centre place was occupied by a larger picture which showed Frederick VII. signing the constitution. Emanuel remembered the same picture in his mother's room—and it moved him strangely to meet it again after so many years in these surroundings.
He was roused from his observations by hearing steps in the courtyard. From a little gate between the stables came a young girl with a yoke on her shoulders, and milk pails suspended, followed by the same white-haired lad who had driven the sledge on that winter night. The young girl had on her Sunday best, a cherry-coloured dress fancifully braided over the bosom and on the sleeves. She had fastened up the skirt in her belt in front, and had a light handkerchief tied round her head, which gave her round-cheeked face a still rounder and rosier effect. A white-footed cat was arching its back, and purring round the milk pails, its attention being divided between the young girl and two little kittens carried by the boy. About the middle of the yard it bounded towards a hollow stone in front of an empty dog kennel, where it was evidently used to having its ration of milk given to it. But as the girl walked dreamily on as if she had forgotten it to-day, the animal sprang towards her and clawed the edge of her skirt. Then she smiled half-seriously, turned and poured a liberal allowance of the still steaming milk into the hollow stone. But now the cat's martyrdom began; instead of putting down the kittens, the boy lifted them above his head, defending himself meanwhile with his foot, against the raging mother which tried to climb up his leg, and then turned to the girl with a woeful expression as if accustomed to look there for protection. The girl pleaded for the poor animal, though she was not able to help smiling a little, but the boy would not give up his prize, and continued to dance about the yard, the cat at his heels.
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Emanuel stood at the window silently surveying this scene. His glance rested especially on the young girl, whom he easily recognised as the daughter of the house. He had imagined her to be taller and handsomer; but to make up for this, her trim, little, neatly built figure disclosed peculiar earnestness of purpose coupled with such youthful bloom, that he had difficulty in taking his eyes off her.
As the boy continued his game, he thought it time to make his presence known. He went back to the door by which he had entered, and stepped out on to the stone flags in front of the entrance.
Brother and sister both uttered a little startled cry when they caught sight of him. With a burning blush the young girl hurriedly pulled her skirt down and tore off the handkerchief she had worn for milking, while her brother hastily let go the kittens, and disappeared through the nearest barn door.
Emanuel went down the steps and along to greet her.
"Pray, don't let me disturb you," he said, lifting his brown plush hat a couple of inches from his head. "I happened to be passing, and looked in to ask after you. I see you have quite recovered since last I saw you."
"Thank you," she muttered, looking behind her with a dark, uneasy glance, as if for succour.
At this moment a stable door opened, and old Anders Jörgen came tramping out in heavy metal-tipped wooden shoes, with a halter in his hand. He was in a black and white flannel shirt, and a fur cap with a tassel covered his wiry grey hair. He was humming a merry tune, but no sooner did his half-blind eyes make out Emanuel than he also became rigid with astonishment, and threw away the halter as if he had been caught in a crime.
Emanuel went towards him, holding out his hand in a friendly manner. The old man could not get over his flurry, but went on stammering out confused excuses for his "work-a-day look."
"Oh, never mind about that! The proverb says, 'A workman is not ashamed of his tools,'" said Emanuel, becoming more easy at the sight of their embarrassment.
"I hope you are well, Anders Jörgen? It is a long time since I saw you."
"Thank ye—thank ye; it's just this way, ye see, the beasts mun be looked after, be it work-a-day or holy day." The old man went on excusing himself. "We've just got two new-calved cows—an one o' them's got a chill—an ye can't very weel neglect her."
"Of course not—don't reproach yourself!" said Emanuel, smiling. "I was just passing and thought I should like to see how time goes with you. I see that your daughter—isn't her name Hansine?"
"Ay, your reverence."
"I see she has quite recovered. I hope she has got over her illness entirely."
"I'm much obliged to ye, sir. I think she's quite hearty again, thank the Lord; but, if you please, won't your rev'rence step inside? Mother'll be here directly, she's only slipped out to see a woman at the Plantation."
They walked over the yard together, and went into the room where the sun still shone brightly into the windows, throwing little squares of golden light over the table and the sanded floor. Anders Jörgen offered Emanuel the seat of honour in the old arm-chair by the stove, while he himself, in white stocking feet, sat on the corner of a wooden chair by the alcove. He folded his hands solemnly on his knees, palms upwards, as he did during the sermon at church, and remained sitting in this position, listening to every sound outside with an uneasy expression, in the plainly visible hope that it was his wife returning to set him free from his misery.
Emanuel, on the contrary, felt more and more at his ease in the comfortable little peasant's room. He quickly found a subject for conversation in the fine spring weather, and with a degree of ease which astonished himself, he talked of the joy and gratitude which the farmers in particular ought to feel at seeing how the Almighty was blessing their labours. He did not pay any attention to Anders Jörgen's restless abstraction. On the other hand, he often looked in the course of the conversation with attention towards the daughter of the house. She had come into the room, and sat down with a piece of work by the window, where the sun fell on to her erect little figure, and threw a warm glow over her darkbrown plaits. She had completed her toilet by a broad crotchet collar which fell over her shoulders in points; she had smoothed her hair with water, and fastened it up in coils. She made her entrance with a somewhat stiff upright bearing, and a rather defiant expression, as if trying to indemnify herself for the state of confusion in which the curate had found her. But from the moment that she seated herself on the bench at the furthest end of the room from Emanuel, she remained immovably bent over her work, half turned away, as if she was trying as much as possible to efface herself; while, in reality, her position and the colour of her cheeks plainly betrayed that she was all ears in her distant corner, and was eagerly drinking in every word of the curate's.
It did not occur to Emanuel that his glance sometimes rested in a rather free and direct way upon her. He was so delighted at having at last found a small circle of listeners, that by degrees he forgot all his shyness. All at once, steps were heard on the flags in the yard. Anders Jörgen moved in his chair with a sigh of relief, and the young girl along by the window threw a hasty glance through the panes to prepare the newcomer. But she suddenly changed colour, and with a startled, almost frightened glance, her eyes sought her father's.
A moment later three discreet raps sounded on the door.