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

sure o’ the

worst that can befall anyone.”

 

“Oh, they won’t let things come to such a pass,” said Soren, a little

crestfallen.

 

“Well, they’d both like to get rid o’ her, and her sisters and her

brothers-in-law are not the kind o’ folks who’d stand between if there

‘s a chance o’ getting her disinherited.”

 

“O jeminy, she’d help me.”

 

“You think so? She may ha’ all she can do helpin’ herself; she’s been

in trouble too often fer anyone to help her wi’ so much as a bucket o’

oats.”

 

“Hey-day,” said Soren making for the inner chamber, “a threatened man

may live long.”

 

From that day on Soren was pursued by hints of the gallows and the

block and the red-hot pincers wherever he went. The consequence was

that he tried to drive away fear and keep up his courage with brandy,

and as Marie often gave him money, he was never forced to stay sober.

After a while he grew indifferent to the threats, but he was much more

cautious than before, kept more to the other servants, and sought

Marie more rarely.

 

A little before Christmas Palle Dyre came home and remained there,

which put a stop to the meetings between Soren and Marie. In order to

make the other servants believe that all was over and so keep them

from telling tales to the master, Soren began to play sweethearts with

Anne Trinderup, and he deceived them all, even Marie, although he had

told her of his plan.

 

On the third day of Christmas, when most of the people were at church,

Soren was standing by the wing of the manor house playing with one of

the dogs when suddenly he heard Marie’s voice calling him, it seemed

to him under the ground.

 

He turned and saw Marie standing in the low trap-door leading to the

salt cellar. She was pale and had been weeping, and her eyes looked

wild and haunted under eyebrows that were drawn with pain.

 

“Soren,” she said, “what have I done, since you no longer love me?”

 

“But I do love you! Can’t you see I must have a care, fer they’re all

thinkin’ o’ nothin’ but how they can make trouble fer me an’ get me

killed. Don’t speak to me; let me go, ef ye don’t want to see me

dead!”

 

“Tell me no lies, Soren; I can see what is in your heart, and I wish

you no evil, not for a single hour, for I am not your equal in youth,

and you have always had a kindness for Anne, but it’s a sin to let me

see it, Soren; you shouldn’t do that. Don’t think I am begging you to

take me, for I know full well the danger ‘t would put you in and the

labor and wear and tear that would be needed if we were to become a

couple by ourselves, and ‘tis a thing hardly to be wished either for

you or me, though I can’t help it.”

 

“But I don’t want Anne now or ever, the country jade she is! I’m fond

o’ you an’ no one else in the world, let ‘em call you old and wicked

an’ what the devil they please.”

 

“I can’t believe you, Soren, much as I wish to.”

 

“You don’t believe me?”

 

“No, Soren, no. My only wish is that this might be my grave, the spot

where I stand. Would that I could close the door over me and sit down

to sleep forever in the darkness.”

 

“I’ll make you believe me!”

 

“Never, never! there is nothing in all the world you can do to make me

believe you, for there is no reason in it.”

 

“You make me daft wi’ your talk, and you’ll live to be sorry, for I

‘m goin’ to make you believe me, even ef they burn me alive or do me

to death fer it.”

 

Marie shook her head and looked at him sadly.

 

“Then it must be, come what may,” said Soren and ran away.

 

He stopped at the kitchen door, asked for Anne Trinderup, and was

told that she was in the garden. Then he went over to the menservants’

quarters, took a loaded old gun of the gamekeeper’s, and made for the

garden.

 

Anne was cutting kale when Soren caught sight of her. She had filled

her apron with the green stuff and was holding the fingers of one hand

up to her mouth to warm them with her breath. Slowly Soren stole up to

her, his eyes fixed on the edge of her dress, for he did not want to

see her face.

 

Suddenly Anne turned and saw Soren. His dark looks, the gun, and his

stealthy approach alarmed her, and she called to him: “Oh, don’t,

Soren, please don’t!” He lifted the gun, and Anne rushed off through

the snow with a wild, shrill scream.

 

The shot fell; Anne went on running, then put her hand to her cheek

and sank down with a cry of horror.

 

Soren threw down the gun and ran to the side of the house. He found

the trap-door closed. Then on to the front door, in and through all

the rooms till he found Marie.

 

“‘Tis all over!” he whispered, pale as a corpse.

 

“Are they after you, Soren?”

 

“No, I’ve shot her.”

 

“Anne? Oh, what will become of us! Run, Soren, run—take a horse and

get away, quick, quick! Take the gray one!”

 

Soren fled. A moment later he was galloping out of the gate. He was

scarcely halfway to Foulum when people came back from church. Palle

Dyre at once asked where Soren was going.

 

“There is someone lying out in the garden, moaning,” said Marie. She

trembled in every limb and could hardly stand on her feet.

 

Palle and one of the men carried Anne in. Her screams could be heard

far and wide, but the hurt was not really serious. The gun had only

been loaded with grapeshot, of which a few had gone through her cheek

and a few more had settled in her shoulder, but as she bled freely and

cried piteously, a coach was sent to Viborg for the barber-surgeon.

 

When she had gathered her wits together a little, Palle Dyre

questioned her about how it had happened and was told not only that

but the whole story of the affair between Soren and Marie.

 

As soon as he came out of the sick-room, all the servants crowded

around him and tried to tell him the same tale, for they were afraid

that if they did not, they might be punished. Palle refused to listen

to them, saying it was all gossip and stupid slander. The fact was

the whole thing was extremely inconvenient to him: divorce, journeys

to court, lawsuit, and various expenditures—he preferred to avoid

them. No doubt the story could be hushed up and smoothed over and all

be as before. Marie’s unfaithfulness did not in itself affect him

much; in fact, he thought it might be turned to advantage by giving

him more power over her and possibly also over Erik Grubbe, who would

surely be anxious to keep the marriage unbroken, even though it had

been violated.

 

When he had talked with Erik Grubbe, however, he hardly knew what to

think, for he could not make out the old man. He seemed furious and

had instantly sent off four mounted men with orders to take Soren dead

or alive, which was certainly not a good way of keeping matters dark,

for many other things might come up in a trial for attempted murder.

 

In the evening of the following day, three of the men returned. They

had caught Soren at Dallerup, where the gray horse had fallen under

him, and had brought him to Skanderborg, where he was now held for

trial. The fourth man had lost his way and did not return until a day

later.

 

In the middle of January Palle Dyre and Marie moved to Norbaek manor.

He thought the servants would more easily forget when their mistress

was out of their sight, but in the latter part of February they were

again reminded of the affair when a clerk came from Skanderborg to ask

whether Soren had been seen in the neighborhood, for he had broken out

of the arrest. The clerk came too early, for not until a fortnight

later did Soren venture to visit Norbaek one night and to rap on

Marie’s chamber window. His first question when Marie opened it was

whether Anne was dead, and it seemed to relieve his mind of a heavy

burden when he heard that she had quite recovered. He lived in a

deserted house on Gassum heath and often came again to get money and

food. The servants, as well as Palle Dyre, knew that he was in the

habit of visiting the house, but Palle took no notice, and the

servants did not trouble themselves in the matter, when they saw the

master was indifferent.

 

At haymaking time, the master and mistress moved back to Tjele, where

Soren did not dare to show himself. His absence, added to her father’s

taunts and petty persecution, irritated and angered Marie until she

gave her feelings vent by scolding Erik Grubbe, in private two or

three times, as if he had been her foot-boy. The result was that, in

the middle of August Erik Grubbe sent a letter of complaint to the

King. After recounting at great length all her misdeeds, which were a

sin against God, a scandal before men, and an offence to all

womanhood, he ended the epistle saying:

 

Whereas she hath thus grievously disobeyed and misconducted herself, I

am under the necessity of disinheriting her, and I do humbly beseech

Your Royal Majesty that You will graciously be pleased to ratify and

confirm this my action and that Your Royal Majesty will furthermore be

pleased to issue Your most gracious command to Governor Mogens Scheel

that he may make inquiry concerning her aforesaid behavior toward me

and toward her husband and that because of her wickedness she be

confined at Borringholm, the expense to be borne by me, in order that

the wrath and visitation of God may be upon her as a disobedient

creature, a warning unto others, and her own soul possibly unto

salvation. Had I not been hard pressed, I should not have made so bold

as to come before You with this supplication, but I live in the most

humble hope of Your Royal Majesty’s most gracious answer,

acknowledgment, and aid, which God shall surely reward. I live and die

 

Your Royal Majesty’s

 

Most humble and most devoted true hereditary subject

 

ERIK. GRUBBE. Tjele, August 14, 1690.

 

The King desired a statement in the matter from the Honorable Palle

Dyre, and this was to the effect that Marie did not conduct herself

toward him as befitted an honest wife, wherefore he petitioned the

King to have the marriage annulled without process of law. This was

not granted, and the couple were divorced by a decree of the court on

March twenty-third, sixteen hundred and ninety-one. Erik Grubbe’s

supplication that he might lock her up and disinherit her was also

refused, and he had to content himself with keeping her a captive at

Tjele, strictly guarded by peasants while the trial lasted, and indeed

it must be admitted that he was the last person who had any right to

cast at her the stone of righteous retribution.

 

As soon as judgment had been pronounced, Marie left Tjele with a poor

bundle of clothes in her hand. She met Soren on