Marie Grubbe by Jens Peter Jacobsen (black male authors txt) 📖

CHAPTER XIV

Marie Grubbe had never had money of her own, and the possession of a

large sum gave her a sense of powers and possibilities without limit.

Indeed, it seemed to her that a veritable magic wand had been placed

in her hands, and she longed like a child to wave it round and round

and bring all the treasures of the earth to her feet.

 

Her most immediate wish was to be far away from the towers of

Copenhagen and the meadows of Tjele, from Erik Grubbe and Aunt

Rigitze. She waved the wand once, and lo! she was carried by wheel

and keel over water and way from the land of Sjaslland to Lubeck

town. Her whole retinue consisted of the maid Lucie, whom she had

persuaded her aunt to let her have, and a trader’s coachman from

Aarhus, for the real outfitting for her trip was to be done at

Lubeck.

 

It was Sti Hogh who had put into her head the idea of travelling, and

in doing so, he had hinted that he might himself leave the country to

seek his fortune abroad and had offered his services as courier.

Summoned by a letter from Copenhagen, he arrived in Lubeck a

fortnight after Marie and at once began to make himself useful by

attending to the preparations necessary for so long a journey.

 

In her secret heart Marie had hoped to be a: benefactor to poor Sti

Hogh. She meant to use some of her wealth to lighten his expenses on

the trip and in France until it should appear whether some other

fountain would well in his behalf. But when poor Sti Hogh came, he

surprised her by being splendidly attired, excellently mounted,

attended by two magnificent grooms, and altogether looking as if his

purse by no means needed to be swelled by her gold.

 

More astonishing yet was the change in his state of mind. He seemed

lively, even merry. In the past he had always looked as if he were

marching with stately step in his own funeral procession, but now he

trod the floor with the air of a man who owned half the world and had

the other half coming to him. In the old days there had always been

something of the plucked fowl about him, but now he seemed like an

eagle, with spreading plumage and sharp eyes hinting of still sharper

claws.

 

Marie at first thought the change was due to his relief in casting

behind him past worries and his hope of winning a future worth while,

but when he had been with her several days and had not opened his lips

to one of the lovesick, dispirited words she knew so well, she began

to believe he had conquered his passion and now, in the sense of

proudly setting his heel on the head of the dragon love, felt free and

strong and master of his own fate. She grew quite curious to know

whether she had guessed aright and thought with a slight feeling of

pique that the more she saw of Sti Hogh, the less she knew him.

 

This impression was confirmed by a talk she had with Lucie. The two

were walking in the large hall which formed a part of every Lubeck

house, serving as entry and living-room, as playground for the

children and the scene of the chief household labors, besides being

used sometimes for dining room and storehouse. This particular hall

was intended chiefly for warm weather and was furnished only with a

long white-scoured deal table, some heavy wooden chairs, and an old

cupboard. At the farther end some boards had been put up for shelves,

and there cabbages lay in long rows over red mounds of carrots and

bristling bunches of horse-radish. The outer door was wide open and

showed the wet, glistening street, where the rain splashed in shining

rivulets.

 

Marie Grubbe and Lucie were both dressed to go out, the former in a

fur-bordered cloak of broadcloth, the latter in a cape of gray russet.

They were pacing the red brick floor with quick, firm little steps as

though trying to keep their feet warm while waiting for the rain to

stop.

 

“Pray, d’you think it’s a safe travelling companion you’ve got?”

asked Lucie.

 

“Sti Hogh? Safe enough, I suppose. Why not?”

 

“Faith, I hope he won’t lose himself on the way, that’s all.”

 

“Lose himself?”

 

“Ay, among the German maidens—or the Dutch, for the matter of that.

You know ‘tis said of him his heart is made of such fiery stuff it

bursts into flame at’ the least flutter of a petticoat.”

 

“Who’s taken you to fools’ market with such fables?”

 

“Merciful! Did you never hear that? Your own brother-in-law? Who’d

have thought that could be news to you! Why, I’d as lief have thought

to tell you the week had seven days.”

 

“Come, come, what ails you today? You run on as if you’d had Spanish

wine for breakfast.”

 

“One of us has, that’s plain. Pray have you never heard tell of

Ermegaard Lynow?”

 

“Never.”

 

“Then ask Sti Hogh if he should chance to know her. And name to him

Jydte Krag and Christence Rud and Edele Hansdaughter and Lene Poppings

if you like. He might happen to know some fables, as you call it,

about them all.”

 

Marie stopped and looked long and fixedly through the open door at the

rain. “Perhaps you know,” she said as she resumed her walk, “perhaps

you know some of these fables so that you can tell them.”

 

“Belike I do.”

 

“Concerning Ermegaard Lynow?”

 

“Concerning her in particular.”

 

“Well, let’s have it.”

 

“Why, it had to do with one of the Hoghs—Sti, I think his name

was—tall, red-haired, pale—”

 

“Thanks, but all that I know already.”

 

“And do you know about the poison too?”

 

“Nay, nothing.”

 

“Nor the letter?”

 

“What letter?”

 

“Faugh, ‘t is such an ugly story!”

 

“Out with it!”

 

“Why, this Hogh was a very good friend—this happened before he was

married—and he was the very best of friends with Ermegaard Lynow. She

had the longest hair of any lady—she could well-nigh walk on it, and

she was red and white and pretty as a doll, but he was harsh and

barbarous to her, they said, as if she’d been an unruly staghound and

not the gentle creature she was, and the more