On either side of the steps, each one the centre of a group, stood those two sisters of doubtful character who had kept the club and the hotel until they had been obliged to relinquish them in favour of Engel's housekeeper. They least of all had reason to spare Engel or his guests for the day, the magnates of the coast towns.
Nearest to these stood another knot of women who had not had so much time to find places. There were few parasols here, but bonnets and aprons, and some of the younger ones even bareheaded. There was whispering, tittering, and giggling!
No solemnity, no gravity, no authority, not the least what is usual in a provincial town. Even where the darker groups of men were collected, there was no seriousness or "decorum," as the Town Bailiff would have said, and indeed as he did say when, at a quarter before four, he joined the guests, in full uniform, and with his wife on his arm. The guests indulged in witticisms and laughter, the result of which was not impressive; all the people looked at them with amused glances as though they were comrades. The town was unrecognisable. When two boys contrived to clamber on to the chimney of one of the houses opposite the church, all clapped their hands and snouted. This had just occurred as the Town Bailiff arrived. Amid the guests immediately following him came the organist, very drunk. He was a young Swabian, who three or four years ago came to the town in the course of a musical tour, and there remained. The then organist had recently died--the organ was a marvellous one; beside which there was excellent sea-bathing. He was a soft, fantastic, thoroughly musical man, who as a rule was every one's favourite, and who had more to do than he could manage, but who on a holiday "_Wenn Konstantinople erobet warden ischt_," as he expressed himself, got drunk. This occurred but seldom, but when it was the case he did anything which took his fancy.
This culminated when one day a home missionary was speaking from the chancel steps on the subject of sin, and the organist, noticing that every one was yawning, began to play the organ till it roared! It was pretended that the missionary made such very long pauses that the organist had been misled by the longest of them.
To-day he had conceived the happy idea of going gaily to Consul Engel, and asking him for some money for the organ, and he received a cheque on the spot. So "_Konstantinople_" had "_erobet warden_" again, and champagne corks flew! Who liked might drink with him. He came up, beaming with happiness and swinging his arms about. Every one laughed, and he laughed with them. He arrived just after the Town Bailiff and his wife. They looked as stiff as though the organist had yoked them and was driving them into the church. Great commotion was now caused by an attempt to drive a carriage through the crowd. Up to this time every one had come on foot. There was no room for carriages here, they cried, and turned sullen; the police had to interfere. In the carriage sat a pretty lively lady of uncertain age, by the side of a somewhat stout gentleman with a remarkably shaped head and a supercilious expression.
Facing the lady sat an older man with a red face, heavy moustache and imperial, and wearing a number of orders; he talked incessantly, as though they were all three in a closed room where no one could see them. They did not belong to the town; no one knew them until the carriage-door was opened, and the man with the orders led the lady forward. Then the hotelkeeper's wife said that he was a Consul-General from Christiania; the lady was not his wife, but that of the gentleman who was walking beside them--Consul Garman, of the firm of Garman and Worse. Soon after these arrived two other strangers, Consuls Bernick and Riis. The first-named invariably attended funerals with a stick in his hand; the other always wore his order of St. Olaf when he went to a ball. Several important magnates followed; some with their wives, some without--millionaires in the herring, timber, or ice trade. The monotony of the black coats was broken by the full uniform of the Sheriff--he was without his wife, and in company with a gouty old General, a relation of Furst. Besides these, there were Government officials and merchants mingled together, most of them with their wives, who hung on their husbands' arms like well-filled costly baskets; the husbands were quite eclipsed. Absolute silence gradually spread upwards from the lower end of the market-place, like oil over troubled waters. The bridegroom was alighting from his carriage, accompanied by his brother-in-law, Consul Wingaard. From another carriage descended two naval officers and two civilians, one of whom was Anton Dosen; these four joined the others.
All the special man[oe]uvres which had brought about that Furst should to-day approach the Cross Church through the crowd, admired or envied, accompanied or shunned, had been carried out by himself, and up to the present time he had earned the honoured reception of a victor. Still he did not advance with a victor's step--a child could see that at the first glance. He walked forward in the deadliest fear. Tora had never shown herself, had sent neither message nor letter. Neither she nor any of her friends had once been near Consul Engel's house. It was evident that she had not come to talk Emilie over, or to frighten her. What had she come for? What did Rendalen's threat mean? There was danger until he was inside the church; then the sanctity of the building, and the respect due to the old clergyman, must protect him. But here----! His eyes wandered up to the wooded slope above "The Estate." It was an involuntary action. It was not there, but here, that she might appear.
She or others. She was not the only one.
His half-closed eyes searched about, his bronzed face was without movement--those strings which moved his lips must have broken! There was no smile now. His fair whiskers hung down and seemed to lengthen his face.
The gait of this dandy had an air of painful caution--each step might lead to disaster. If it did not fall on him, it might await her who would soon follow him. There were sparkling eyes all round and many sharp ones, but no one whom he feared. He was taller than the women; he could see for a good distance, and he looked from side to side--nothing!
He had just put his foot on the first step when the tall sailor stepped forward:
"Ane Marja sends you her compliments."
Those who stood nearer heard it; some who were further away saw the movement.
"Did he say something? What's he say?"
Sibilations whistled across; to those who were furthest away it sounded like es-s-s-s-s-s-s-s all round the church.
Furst stood still: his eyes contracted as though fine dust had been thrown into his face; his gloved hand sought for his handkerchief, from which scent was wafted; he blew his nose and walked on, his friends following him. Within it seemed dark after the bright sunshine outside, but in the darkness were eyes, women's eyes!
Here sat Tora's friends. He knew every one in the town by sight, and picked them out one by one. They sat quite in front, excited, restless, threatening. There must be something after all. The great church bell began to ring at that moment, and the bride's carriage was seen at the end of the market-place. What would happen now?
Nora, Tinka, and Anna Rogne were on Furst's left as he walked up to the chancel. He glanced involuntarily to the opposite side; the first seat was vacant. Every one in the chancel rose as the bridegroom appeared.
There was a stir outside, not merely because the bride's carriage had arrived followed by those of the bridesmaids and Fru Wingaard, but because the coachman in grey livery wanted to drive up to the church door, which seemed impossible. Those in front pressed back to make room, but those behind declined to be pushed against, and exerted their strength, till several people were forced up against the carriage windows. Shrieks, angry words, and orders ensued, and alarm inside the carriages. Engel put his head out of the window, but no one listened to him, and he got out of the carriage. The police were at hand, and eagerly cleared a way for the wealthy magnate, while the bride alighted, as did the bridesmaids; they arranged themselves and walked forward, not where the others had passed; the crowd made way for them in all directions.
Her red-gold hair crowned with myrtle, the bride resembled the most exquisite work of an English Academician. The lines of her face were regular and of an English type, the colouring soft, the skin very white; the shoulders rather sloping, beautiful--the figure that of a soft delicate young girl.
She walked forward with her head bent, not looking at any one, her hand resting lightly on her father's arm; just below the level of his order of St. Olaf could be seen her diamond ornament, though only by those just before or above them. An old-fashioned brooch, a valuable one, which was recognised as having been a favourite of her mother, secured the flowers in front of her dress. A puff of wind raised her veil just as they came up the steps; it streamed out into the face of the sailor, but did not touch it; a delicate perfume was spread in all directions.
How relieved Engel felt as he stood inside the door! That had been the worst journey he had ever made in his life. Still he had not hurried; unobtrusive, quiet, benign, he had walked forward; he kept his eye fixed on one point--was that the needle's eye which must be passed through?
His handsome regular features looked as though they had never been disturbed by any idea inconsistent with honourable habits, or the good counsel of elders and superiors--nay, as though he had never had knowledge of such things. His had always been a God-fearing house; three generations had endowed charities. The very perfume which now hung round them might well have come from Palestine.
And after all there had been no danger. "We are in church now." The organ pealed under the powerful touch of the drunken Swabian; its full accords blended with Engel's thoughts, and seemed to restore him to himself.
No delight can compare with that of an evenly balanced nature, which, having believed itself in danger, discovers that that danger has been a delusion. This feeling of delight does not spring violently into being, it does not throb, but spreads through the whole man with a soft perfect sense of enjoyment. It resembles the delight of recovery of a good digestion, the smiling view, the delightful odour of some coveted object to which he may now draw near. He raised his face, bearing its best expression, towards the pulpit, calmly receiving all the glances which were directed towards him. He suspected that he was envied, and that tickled him.
What a future lay before them! Just then the bride's hand trembled; he withdrew his eyes quickly from the pulpit. Milla was deadly white, and could not, or would not advance. What was it?
Nora, Tinka, Anna Rogne, and several others were sitting quite in front, just where they must pass. Could there be anything terrifying in that? Every face bore an expression of mingled excitement and mischievous delight, all, all of them, in whatever direction he looked; it infected him as well. What was it? Involuntarily his eyes sought the chancel--if they were but there! There they would be in peace. But all in the chancel were on their feet; they stood amazed, staring down into the body of the church, not to his side, but to the opposite one. At the same moment his daughter gave a sharp cry and staggered backwards, dragging him with her.
Into the pew furthest from them on the right, through the vestry, and therefore from across the chancel, came Pastor Vangen; after him, Tora Holm, with something in her arms; then Miss Hall, then Rendalen. In this order they were just seating themselves as the bridal procession entered the door.
Tora had a double black veil over her face and over what she held in her arms, and this had been securely fastened so that it was only when Miss Hall had helped her that she was able to turn with her face uncovered, and with her child in her arms, towards her who was now advancing.
A storm of anger, reprobation, threats seemed to rise to the very roof, the excitement mingling with the roll of the organ. Milla was almost dragged forward. She came into the chancel little more than a white silk dress among all the other dresses.
A rustle, a stir! Heads, hands, eyes, bouquets seemed to whirl before her, so that she could not extricate herself, nor find her own seat, her own bouquet, her own handkerchief. Every one crowded round with offers of help, with eau de Cologne, and general disturbance. The last to come was the big red-faced man with the large moustache and the decorations; he tried to force her own bouquet on her, of which she could not endure the scent. When at last she was free and could draw a breath, she burst into tears. She drew her veil forward. Milla pitied herself so: what a dreadful thing it was that they had done; she felt furious, perfectly furious.
Consul Engel received her first glance. It came on him, following all that he had already gone through, like the last dram which deprives a man of consciousness. He began to wonder with a strange delirious feeling why his trousers felt so thin. Was it really so?
The elegant Furst sat beside him, holding his hat first in one hand, then in the other, and crossing and uncrossing his legs. It was on account of _him_ that all this had happened, and the budding politician was not yet sufficiently accomplished to be able to sit still while he was flayed, cut up, and put in the pot.
Dosen, who was close behind him, pulled the ends of his fair moustache with his white-gloved hands--now left, now right--harder, and harder, and harder. He was marvellously industrious over it. The people in the body of the church saw this white hand moving about under his nose, and thought that he was playing some trick, or making signs to some one, but, they could not find out to whom. The grand folk felt the embarrassment of the situation to be most distressing, but, all the same, they wanted to get a look at the woman with the child--she was so devilish handsome, so foreign-looking. They strained their necks, they craned forward; Consul Bernick himself made his neck as long and distorted as that of a cockerel when it is learning to crow.
To the rest of these mishaps was added the Dean's non-appearance. The vergers went in and out, in and out, with all the solemnity of intense stupidity.
The organist's playing showed signs of impatience.
It seemed to him that it was rather long before Dean Green came and he would be able to begin the hymn. He had exhausted the pompous style long ago; he now turned to the sentimental, its direct opposite--from the clear notes of the shepherd's pipe to the most impossible chirping of a chicken. His fancy indubitably wandered among all the little ones who were to spring from this marriage; he chased them with his fingers saying hush, hush, to them in the treble.
At last Engel had recovered himself so far that he began to realise the difference between the delicate and the coarse, between well-bred and ill-bred individuals; to the latter he knew that nothing was so delightful as scandal, but this was something altogether unheard of. It needed a Kurt to have thought of this, to have created such a maddening scene. His handkerchief was wet already, his white gloves were almost grey. As he fanned himself and wiped away the perspiration, he glanced anxiously at Milla. She hated him! He prayed to God. Yes, Consul Emil Engel prayed fervently to God that their sins might not be visited upon this poor innocent girl! They had deceived her, truly, but with the best intentions in the world. God knew how true this was. But who could have anticipated that so mad a thing should have been attempted as to dishonour the sacred edifice.
Engel did not swear as a rule, he was too refined a man for that, but almost simultaneously with his heartfelt communion with God, he desired with his whole heart that the devil might take the lot of them.
He had recourse to his wet handkerchief again. At the same time the thought was in Milla's mind, "Shall I go?"
Engel saw it in her eyes, in the way she moved on her chair. Furst saw it also. Both felt it like a million electric shocks: but they could not give up their last hope that Milla was too well-bred to increase the scandal. Engel felt that, even if she remained, he should be, from this time forward, a broken, discredited man; Furst felt that if only Milla would go with him before the altar, a career would still be open to him.
But still the Dean did not come! All thoughts centred on this; it became intensely painful. All eyes were fixed on the vestry door. Was he ill, or feigning to be so, so as not to come? Where was the deacon, then? Make him come! Why did not Karl Vangen move? The women in the chancel who had not got over the first fright (there were some who had been obliged to grasp the seats of their chairs to prevent themselves from trembling) were now made really ill by this fresh strain; several began to cry. "Yes," thought Milla; "I am to be pitied, dreadfully to be pitied! Oh, if mother had lived!" And she cried bitterly. Every one had conspired against her, who had done nothing. Would old Green now let her sit there so miserably on the stool of repentance before all these horrid, horrid people!
She thus lost sight of the first and important question, and was so tossed about by the feeling of desolation that, when the Dean did at length appear, she felt it consolation, a reward from Heaven.
But if she had not, even for a moment, got sufficiently away from herself to feel why this had been done, those had, who sat below the chancel. Not only those who were in the secret, who were few in number, not only their sympathisers who were numerous; no, every woman felt that it would be shocking, if, after what had occurred, Milla could or would go on. Even it she had been dragged up there--why did she not rise, why did she not leave them? They expected her to do so from one moment to another, but Milla remained seated. Could such a thing be possible, after such a strong appeal to her conscience? Every good woman, who is unfettered, involuntarily takes the part of the weak, of the one who has been wronged. The minds of those in the church were agitated like the waves of the sea. The stir became greater and greater. Was it credible that she would go to the altar with the wretch? Shame on those around her who could countenance such a thing.
Every one stared at the altar. Was not old Green coming? He must have had scruples at the last moment about giving them the blessing of the Church. Karl Vangen would never have done so. He was with her who was betrayed and deceived. He was so simple-minded that he believed that the Church's place was there. The grateful glances which his broad face attracted during these few moments would have gilded the vaulted roofs of several churches, or thousands of hymn-books and Bibles. At length they saw by the stir in the chancel that old Green had come at last.
Really and truly!
Very slowly and feebly he came, very feeble indeed he looked. "A thorough ecclesiastical compromise," it was whispered about. Just as he reached the altar, the hymn began. All those in the chancel joined in it. In their zeal, their relief, their gratitude to Providence, they all sang; the bridegroom, Engel, the General and the Consul-General, Bernick, Dosen, Riis, the celebrities, the Sheriff, all sang of the first bride who was brought by God himself to the first bridegroom. Not one of them believed it, but they sang so that it was a sin that the organ overpowered them, for such singing of hymns ought to be heard.
Their wives' trebles chimed in; they were so startled that they could not find the hymn, but they all knew it by heart. The one who was the quickest to join in, and who sang the loudest in praise of marriage, was Fru Garman.
Except these and the clerk, no one in the whole church joined in the singing. The stir became so great and so general that a number could not remain sitting, they stood up; those behind them wanted to see, and stood up also. But Tora rose before anyone of them. What those around her had felt, and were feeling with all its violence, was as nothing to what she experienced, for when deeply moved she showed herself her mother's daughter. The journey here had worked her up to a state of excitement, which her constitution could hardly bear.
If for no other reason, still for her own sake, Milla must be prevented from marrying the wretch. For this it was necessary that Tora should show herself, she and her child; everything else might fail, but this would force Milla to pause--she knew her!
This could only be done if Tora had the will and the courage for it.
And she had, for her friends had the will and courage to be with her.
It did not merely concern herself, it concerned the school, Milla, a great cause; it concerned thousands!