Emanuel, or Children of the Soil/Book 3, Chapter 6
The singing sounded well in the clear, quiet spring evening. In the open air, the voices lost the harsh tone they had under the low roof of the Meeting House. It was as if the wide space gave them depth; as if heaven and earth lent them their colours. Then they sang various national airs, in which the others gradually joined. Then a powerful man's voice called for "The death of young Buré."
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"The death of young Buré!… The death of young Buré!" was eagerly repeated on all sides, while the young men raised themselves to sitting postures.
Ane—Hansine's red-haired friend—was chosen to lead. She sat out at the very end of the boat like a figure head, and began to sing in a high powerful voice, which reminded one of the bright tints of her hair. The whole party sang the chorus, in which the girls came in as seconds. Nielsen the carpenter stood in the middle of the sandy place with legs astride, beating time with his arms, while he led the chorus in smiling enthusiasm, his teeth gleaming through his dark Viking beard.
In the early dawn,
That Sir Buré kissèd Dame Inger's mouth.
Heigh ho! but the morn is gay!
All dapple-gray;
Dame Inger gazed down from her window all day.
Heigh ho! but the Woods are green!
His silken sail,
And Sir Buré was borne on the blue waves so fast.
Heigh ho! but 'tis heavy to part."
There were twenty odd verses in all; when the last was sung, the girls jumped off the boat and all the men clapped their hands.
"Perhaps you don't know that song, sir," said a young man with a fair beard and smiling face, who, together with a few other young men, sauntered up to Emanuel to open a conversation with him. "It's a sort of favourite with the young folks here, because it was written by our own High School director over in Sandinge. You may have heard tell of him. I daresay he's known all over the country."
Emanuel remembered very well having heard Sandinge High School spoken of as the place which the youth of the neighbourhood frequented, under the weaver's direction, when they wished to reach a higher intellectual development than the village school afforded; so he moved nearer to the three peasants, to hear something more about these peculiar teaching institutions which had gained so much ground in the country in the last few years, and which he had often wished to know better.
He then heard to his great astonishment that Sandinge was barely six miles off, a short distance from the opposite shore. They could plainly see the heath-clad hills, behind which the town was hidden, from the place where they sat. The man with the fair beard was himself a former pupil, and gave such a glowing account of the life and teaching at the school, that Emanuel was quite anxious to make the acquaintance of this man, and made up his mind to visit him at no distant date.
In the meantime, baskets of provisions were brought out by the married women, some of the girls handed sandwiches on the lids of baskets or dock leaves, while others went about with bottles of milk. The carpenter took charge of a jar of small beer, and altogether acted as master of the ceremonies, while the weaver, on the other hand, sat in elevated retirement on a tuft of grass, talking to a couple of old women.
After supper the girls and the young men took to playing games and dancing to their own singing.
Emanuel, who had again remained alone, sat with his cheek resting on his hand, looking down on this scene with a half absent smile. The merry voices of the young people carried his thoughts over the water—and further away.
He thought of the home of his childhood, and his own joyless youth, and of all his dreams. He felt now—that he was in the midst of the realization of those dreams. This was the joyous mirth of childhood at which he had dimly guessed. Here was the Promised Land, for whose milk and honey he had yearned.
His eye sought Hansine. He only found her after considerable search among a little group of older girls, who were not taking part in the dancing, but stood by the boat looking on. She was sitting behind the others on the gunnel, with her head half turned away, gazing fixedly at a distant point of the water, as if the notes of the singing had led her thoughts, too, on distant travels. The twilight was considerably advanced, and her features were not plainly visible at the distance where Emanuel was. But the outline of her figure was all the more plainly marked against the purple water. His eye followed the lines of her profile, and the powerful curves of the upper part of her figure—and a fear arose in him—a fear that, from one cause or another, she might have something against him. Otherwise he could not understand why she had so carefully avoided him all day, to the extent of not even coming near him. Had she, perhaps, been disappointed in his discourse? He had really spoken several times, with her alone in his mind, and his wish had all along been that she, above all others, should understand him. Was it possible that she was the only one not to be touched by his words?
His disturbed expression was noticed by some of the old people, who at once remarked upon it to some of the others. As they thought he might disapprove of the dancing, they passed the word to stop it. Besides, the evening was so far advanced that it was time to break up. A cold mist was rising from the ground and the stars were out.
A few old people rose and began to take leave, then others followed their example. They were on the whole a little disappointed that Emanuel had not spoken, or told a story or suchlike. Old Erik, who had sat at his feet—like a true disciple—had looked up, every time there was a moment's silence, into Emanuel's face, with a happy expectant expression, like a child who hopes to have the whole world of elves and fairies unfolded to him. But all the same they went and shook hands with him, and thanked him heartily for his company.
Only Hansine took her red-haired friend by the arm as soon as the company broke up, and disappeared with her along the shore, to walk part of the way home with her to the "Gamekeeper's Lodge," as the country people complacently called the humble cottage provided for the overseers, in a little wood, in the southern corner of the parish.