The school had all the appearance of a hen-house when some one has broken in upon its denizens. Has not every one seen such a sight? At first the hens fly with terrified cries against windows, walls, steps, and roosting-places, till they become tired and confused, and can fly no more. Then they run about the floor with wilder cries than ever, knocking against dishes, troughs, one another. And when the danger is past, the commotion is not--they chatter, lament, scream all at once, in continual commotion. This goes on and increases, for whenever one of them is inclined to stop, some others are more persevering and will not. They recall all the remembrance of their affright, and the whole bevy starts off again worse than before.
Finally, they begin to plume themselves, to flap their wings, and set themselves straight, till at last things return to their original condition. But at the school things did not settle down during the whole day--some effects remained even longer, and threatened to become dangerous.
What spiteful pleasure was shown in the town, what victorious laughter was heard! Nothing else was talked of in the offices, on the quays, in the streets!
When a day or two later Fru Rendalen returned, the landing-place was crowded with people, mostly young men, who had come to meet her. It became known at the school on Saturday that she would arrive by the steamer on Sunday afternoon. No one could find a better use for his leisure time than to see how a great person returns from a defeat.
The scandal, which she had sought to cover by the journey, had now become as great as the journey had been long. When Rendalen came down with the carriage, he could not push his way through, but had to get some one to take charge of it while he tried to get past himself. Nora, Tinka, Anna, and several other friends, who had talked of going down together, stopped when they saw the crowd; thus following the example of St. Peter of old, naturally with the difference demanded by modern days. Little Miss Hall alone defied these dangerous warlike preparations. She slipped along till she reached Rendalen's side, just as he was preparing to go on board. He was very nervous.
Fru Rendalen looked much worn, the glances which she hastily exchanged with Tomas and Miss Hall proved that she understood why the crowd was here, and that she did not feel safe among them. She held her son's arm very fast.
But respect for her--perhaps, now that they were face to face with her, a feeling of compassion also--prevented them from attempting anything.
Way was made for them. Of course they could see by words and manner that this was no guard of honour, even some of their older acquaintances were there, such as the Town Bailiff and his wife. They hardly bowed; with the sternness of high morality they watched these evil-doers go by.
Those who had been standing nearest to the quay now made their way towards the carriage, followed by degrees by those whom the three had already passed. The carriage was quite surrounded when they got into it. In consequence of this they had to go slowly, step by step, once more through the crowd, which became more tiresome. They were hardly through before Rendalen whipped up. He was much incensed. At this moment he saw Anton Dosen, with a number of others, hurrying across towards them; they were flushed and had evidently just come from dinner. They all bowed with immense deference; either Dosen's bow was impolite, or it appeared so to Rendalen in his irritation. In an instant he pulled up the horses, threw back the reins to Miss Hall, was out of the carriage and up with Dosen, giving him a box on the ear which made him reel. He was back at the carriage, up and off again so quickly, that no one grasped what had happened before the carriage was rumbling over the cobble stones.
In the hall up at the house stood the three deserters, Tinka, Anna, and Nora. Miss Hall was the first up the steps, and with beaming eyes told them all that had happened; but Fru Rendalen found no pleasure in it.
Rendalen, too, disappeared as soon as he had brought his mother up; it was long before he returned, and he was then in low spirits.
The conversation turned exclusively on the dark point in Tora's story, upon which she herself had laid but little stress, hardly ever mentioning it--the meeting at Fru Grondal's. It had frustrated any attempt made in the town to lay the blame on Niels Furst. Fru Grondal had supported Furst's assertions in the most minute particulars.
Tora Holm had been furiously in love with him, she returned to the town merely to get Furst to accompany her.
Fru Rendalen could assure them that the only thing which Tora had been "furious" about was the confidential terms which Fru Grondal and Furst were upon. This had put her out all the more perhaps, because she was beginning to feel an interest in him. She understood this later. They all agreed to let Tora herself relate the circumstances. Tinka wrote to her the same evening.
Rendalen had joined them during this discussion, and now the events of the journey were related and all about Tora. Fru Rendalen was giving them her reading of Tora as she now knew her, and the others were deeply engrossed in it, when Karl Vangen interrupted them; he came in from church. The meeting between him and his adoptive mother was more than usually warm, she went into his room with him. She did not return.
The one whom Tora's misfortune had struck the hardest was Karl Vangen, but no one knew this except Fru Rendalen.
He had gone quietly on from day to day, the happiest man in the world.
Whenever he met Tora she was evidently pleased, though he never never ventured to construe this into a sign that she loved him--far from it; but _he_ loved her, and thought that if Fru Rendalen would ever help him, the pliable Tora might be brought to share in some of his interests. If she came to do that, perhaps she might perceive his great affection for her; perhaps she might then feel that he would be able to do something to make her happy too. Fru Rendalen had often enough heard him talk to Tora and about Tora, but had suspected nothing till the morning when she told him what had happened. She saw him change colour and remain silent instead of expressing sorrow or offering help; but even then she was not certain, beside which she was much absorbed in her new relations with Tomas. Still she had a dim suspicion of the truth. But when the money which she had reckoned on for the journey could not be obtained, and Karl took her into his own room and offered her his savings and a small sum which he had inherited--then, as he looked into her eyes, she understood it all. He could not keep silence any longer, he held out his arms---- "Yes, that is how it is, mother."
"My Dear Nora,
"I do not know what you can think of me for not writing, but your last letter so upset me on account of our dear Tora that I really did not know what to write. How at a loss, how helpless, one feels at such a time, dear Nora! And, let me add at once, how ashamed. To think that such a thing could happen to any one with whom we have associated! I shall never forget what my father said the first time he saw her. I was very angry at it then, we thought so highly of one another. Are you quite certain, dear Nora, that everything was exactly as Tora has said?
You know she was never very exact, and, especially in such a case, it seems to me that a person is almost obliged afterwards to put a different colour on it. Do you not think the same? I will not repeat what I have heard, it may be a mistake too; but you know yourself, dear Nora, that she never was particular. Do you remember that once or twice you had to check her when she was telling us stories. You see, she had been in France; she knew a great deal more than we others. When I recall what she has told me at different times, I feel that it amounted to a great deal. May not some of this have affected her disposition? Of course, I do not say this as a reproach, least of all could I do so now when she is unhappy, but perhaps this may explain a few things. I am terribly sorry for her, and you would do me a service if you could tell me any way in which I could be of use to her without offending or embarrassing her. I will not answer dear Tinka this time, give her my best love, and say that the expression in her last letter, 'Tora's greatest friend,' is not a true one, at least from my side. It might have appeared so at one time, I do not deny it; but that was quite and entirely Tora's fault. Not that she forced herself upon me, it would be wrong to say so, but it was impossible, when in her society, not to go too far. I was obliged to make more of it than I wished, and this to the last hour of the last day.
"Do you know, I had not been three days alone before I began to have a feeling of dislike for her. Perhaps that was bad of me.
"Her influence over me lasted beyond the time when we parted. I did not understand that at once, but I have a proof lying before me--the letter you kindly returned to me; that one in which hurriedly scribbled down something about my impressions of Sofiero. I shall keep it, that shall be my punishment. I have just read it through again. You unfortunately have read it also (a thing I shall never forgive myself for): could you conceive any letter of mine more unlike me?
"I don't know why, but I see Tora through the whole thing. I can't explain it. I have never been able to write to her since. Here, where everything is more formal, and where there is no room for sentimental confidence, it offends the taste even to be reminded of such a thing.
It would almost be like going out before one was _coiffee_ and without one's dress. Perhaps I am too severe, the blame for being so must fall on the tone of conversation at home. I am so often reminded of that unfortunate girl by some Germans here; they are very like her, though she was the worst I have ever met.
"Yet how clever she was! I never have a new dress, or study a pattern, or indeed see any new fashion which interests me, without remembering her. Could she not become a milliner? If I could do anything to help her in that direction, it would be a pleasure to me, otherwise what is she to do? I really am dreadfully sorry for her.
"I have lots to tell you, I see something fresh nearly every day; but this affair of Tora has put me in such a _triste_ state of mind that I do not feel inclined to begin anything more cheerful. Poor Tora! You must give her my love, but don't say anything about what I have written to you in confidence, it would wound her without doing good to any of us. Fate has raised a dividing wall between us, so there is no need.
Give my love to Tinka, Fru Rendalen, and all who ask after your affectionate, and, in other respects, very happy,
"Milla Engel."
VII
THE FIGHT ITSELF
CHAPTER I
IN BOTH CAMPS
After Milla's letter, Nora disappeared from the sitting-rooms--nay, for several days she was unable to go on with her work; she was quite overcome. First Tora in her way, now Milla in hers. It was too much for her. She had held the principal place in their mutual life, she had believed all they said, and made herself one with them.
Latterly she had endured mockery, not least from her father, ever since her presidentship had laid her open to ridicule; she had tried to bear this, but after Milla's letter she gave in. As we know, she had every now and then before this time felt her life shallow and superficial.
But after this! Over and over again she reviewed the thoughts and actions of her companions since she had been here. She was confronted everywhere by lofty aims, but lamentable weakness when it came to deeds; not least in herself. They had all been easily raised to enthusiasm, yet were unutterably volatile, their heads full of nonsense, vanity and jealousy. In many, was an evil desire which befooled them under a thousand disguises. They were disfigured by the instinct, inherited through a thousand years, to submit themselves to the wishes of the stronger.
She would no longer be the leader of the Society. She could hardly resolve to remain a member of it. It did no good, and she had more than enough to do for herself, for she saw in herself natural gifts, but no stability.
"Genius with disorder," as her father called her mother. Just then the relations between her parents were not good. Nora clung to the school, absolutely hid herself there.
Christmas came; she was free and could have gone home, but she begged to be allowed to stay. She was very lonely; Tinka was engrossed with Frederik Tygesen, who was at home for Christmas; the engagement was now almost openly acknowledged. Anna Rogne was studying philosophy with Rendalen, and was so learned and so happy that she did not at all suit her. Very often, when any one came in, Nora was sitting crying. She had a quick way of brushing away her tears; her hand moved across her eyes as though she were driving away a fly. Then she would smile cheerfully at whoever came--no matter who it was; the reason for her distress was evidently not in the house.
Nora down-hearted! Nora overcome! They all knew that that happened occasionally, but now it had continued so long. Of course she was asked about it, but she at once became so high and mighty that no one asked her a second time.
At last, just after Christmas, came the long-expected letter from Tora.
Rendalen invited all her friends in the school to hear it. The beginning of the letter at once explained what they wished to know; it reminded them of something that they recalled at once, but had not up to this time understood; how Tora had been affected the first time that she and Furst met, that morning up at the gymnasium, when she was excited and overdone; how he had walked slowly up, fixing his eyes upon hers and nailed her to the spot, till he stood by her side. The agitated style of the letter, the constant interpolations, re-writings, protestations, gave a striking image of Tora. If she had not always been careful, she was touchingly so now, perhaps just because she knew that, not without grounds, they might be doubtful about her in this particular. Anna Rogne read the letter aloud to them all; she knew it by heart, and delivered it in a rather precise, but even tone of voice; thus read, the letter touched them. Its many turns and additions came out oddly. The protestations shone out like sunlight through clouds--one laughed, and was moved at the same time.
During the reading, Rendalen sat looking at Nora. He had just heard that she would not continue to be the head of the "Society," and he felt that he must break through the restraint which he had put upon himself.
While the others were discussing the letter among themselves, he sat down near Nora, and talked long and eagerly with her--until some of the others noticed that she often passed her hand across her eyes. The conversation ceased; looks were turned towards them. Fru Rendalen proposed that they should have some music; she asked her son to play something. "With pleasure," he said, but remained sitting thoughtfully.
"What should you say to my first endeavouring to combat the depression which often overcomes a woman when her eyes are opened to her inheritance of frailty?"
Yes, they would all like to hear him.
He said he had been reminded that evening of how, more than a year ago, he had spoken at a meeting of the Society in a very desponding manner on heredity. This had really only arisen from a feeling of depression.
His opinion of heredity was simply this, that one inherited quality combats another. One need not be so desponding. In the course of time all families are so mixed together that any legacy of evil (which one must strive to reduce to impotence) has almost always beside it a legacy of good which may be strengthened by use. That is to say, never be guided by chance, but let the teacher first, and ourselves afterwards, be watchful betimes.
He was so imbued with the subject that he was able, on the spot, to give a number of historical examples. He added others to them, gathered from his own and others' experience. The question had occupied him from his boyhood. In his own family there was a predisposition to insanity.
Every case which he could trace showed plainly that only when the weakness which led to insanity had been allowed to increase, did this infirmity break out. When this weakness was opposed by the intermixture of fresh blood, by education and self-education, that person was saved for his work in life. Heredity was not a destiny, but a condition.
It was sometimes said that knowledge and surroundings were no help. But what did the letter tell us which had just been read? First, most distinctly, that Tora had an inherited weakness; next, that if Miss Hall had given her lecture four months sooner, Tora at any rate would have been saved, "So we may well say, 'Help one another,' by knowledge and fearless counsel. Woman has been condemned to isolation. Man has sought fellowship and knowledge. Only by fellowship will women teach each other to fight for their own cause.