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NORSEMAN'S PILGRIMAGE.
BY
HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN,
NEW YORK:
SHELDON & COMPANY.
1875.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by
SHELDON & COMPANY,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
NKWBURGH STEREOTYPE Co.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PACK
In Search of a Margaret 7
CHAPTER II.
Retrospect 15
CHAPTER III.
A Day at Wartburg 38
CHAPTER IV.
From Wartburg to Leipsic 56
CHAPTER V.
In Rosenthal 76
CHAPTER VI.
Brother Jonathan 's Ball 100
CHAPTER VII.
Ruth's Journal 124
2041?
4 Contents.
CHAPTER VIII.
FAGS
The Catastrophe J 33
CHAPTER IX.
To the Rescue .'"' I 5 I
CHAPTER X.
The Clock Strikes l6 7
CHAPTER XL
The Cathedral Tower l8 7
CHAPTER XII.
The Land of the Vikings 212
CHAPTER XIII.
Ruth's Arrival 2 37
CHAPTER XIV.
The Glacier Expedition . . . .262
CHAPTER XV.
Conclusion 291
A NORSEMAN'S PILGRIMAGE.
CHAPTER I.
In Search of a Margaret.
LAF VARBERG had been reading " Faust "
since the early dawn. He knew it was not
exactly the right thing to do on a Sunday, but
Germany had had rather a demoralizing effect
upon him, and during his six months' stay in
Leipsic the original rigor of his notions about
the sanctity of the Sabbath had perceptibly
relaxed. It was about ten o'clock in the fore-
noon. The sun shone brightly, but to Olaf
Varberg's eyes it wore a look of perplexity,
and he could not get rid of the idea that it
was staring directly at him, as much as to say
that it was surprised to see him. He leisurely
sauntered down the promenade An der Pleisse.
The crisp snow crackled under his feet (a very
8 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
unusual thing, by the way, for Leipsic) and the
tall trees of the avenue now and then shook
little whimsical showers of hoar-frost down
over the hats of the Sunday-dressed idlers.
In the middle of the street, people had gathered
in groups of fours and fives, and stood gazing
through lorgnettes and opera glasses at a bal-
loon which was just rising over the house-tops.
They seemed to be thoroughly in earnest ; their
faces wore an air of profound meditation, and
they occasionally removed their glasses in order
to discuss the phenomenon with their neighbors
in a manner which might have led you to sup-
pose that it was a matter of the gravest scien-
tific import. Students with skyblue or scarlet
caps, and with deep scars in their faces, lounged
up and down the promenade, leisurely smoking
their Sunday cigar, and staring impudently at
the passing maidens. But Varberg saw nothing
of all this. The animated scenes of the street
moved before his eyes like an unmeaning pa-
geantry. His lungs seemed still to breathe the
mediaeval atmosphere of the great tragedy, and
with a very pardonable substitution' of " her" for
" him," he kept repeating to himself this stanza :
In Search of a Margaret. 9
My bosom yearns
For her alone,
Ah, dared I clasp her,
And hold, and own!*
The verse hummed and buzzed in his ears ;
it exerted an almost painful fascination over him,
not unlike the feeling he had had when, on the
way across the Atlantic, the propeller of the
steamboat, with a nightmarish regularity, had
persisted in drumming Richard Rushmore,
Richard Rushmore, the name of one of the
passengers on board. He had been afraid of
that man ever afterward.
Varberg had for years had a passionate
yearning for Germany ; it had ever been a land
of promise to him the home of art, roman-
ticism, and poetry. " A fair-haired German
maiden " had always been his ideal of womanly
loveliness and perfection ; and now he had been
nearly three months in Germany and had not
yet found anything which even approached that
much-cherished ideal. To be sure, he didn't
know many German ladies; but those whom
he did know were insufferably dull. Now he
must be daring, or take the chance of losing his
* Taylor's translation.
1*
io A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
opportunity ; he must keep his eyes open, then
take a bold step, as Faust did at the church
door, and for the rest trust to fortune. Still,
^Varberg had no intention of giving his love
romance a tragic denouement ; he was well satis-
fled to have it end, in the old conventional way,
with a happy marriage. " The age of Margarets
can certainly not be past," said he to himself,
" and that beautiful simplicity which is a peculiar
trait of the Germans is a thing which can hardly
be overrated in this blast age of ours."
Amid such meditations Varberg had reached
the Opera Platz, and was about to change his
course toward Rosenthal, when suddenly he
observed a young lady crossing the street and
advancing toward him. She was tastefully and
fashionably dressed, was tall and well formed,
but her features were of a clearer, more decided
cut than one usually finds in Germany. Varberg
came to a sudden stop, and looked at her with
an expression as if he were inclined to doubt the
evidence of his senses. She dropped her eyes
and turned her face away as she passed him.
Under other circumstances he would never have
thought of pursuing a lady; but in the uncer-
In Search of a Margaret. 1 1
tain glamour of romance which to-day had pos-
sessed his mind, he had an absurd sense of his
own irresponsibility, and, little heeding whatever
scruples might still have been lurking in the
depth of his heart, he deliberately turned on his
heel and followed close after her down the snow-
sparkling avenue. And was she then so strik-
ingly beautiful ? Yes ; there dwelt in her fea-
tures a subtle, indefinable charm, which upon
Varberg, at least, made the impression of beauty.
He could hardly have told, an hour later, whether
her nose was straight or curved, but neverthe-
less the total impression remained indelibly fixed
in his memory.
The bells of St. Thomas began to chime,
and the young girl hastened down the street,
directing her steps toward the church door.
Varberg, without questioning the propriety of
what he was doing, also doubled his speed,
and entered the venerable edifice ; with charac-
teristic masculine obtuseness he even imagined
himself unobserved, and began to revolve in his
mind how he should in the most delicate manner
attract her attention, without shocking her sensi-
bility or disturbing her devotions. The grand
12 A. Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
( orchestra was just performing in St. Thomas
that day, and the church was consequently
crowded. The Leipsickers usually leave when
the music is finished, and only a few women
and children remain to listen to the sermon.
As the crowd in the aisle began to disperse,
Varberg looked about him in the hope of dis-
covering his fair unknown ; but for awhile his
search was vain. A sense of desperate reck-
lessness came over him. " She shall not escape
me," he murmured fiercely, and with great
strides approached the door at the opposite
end of the transept.
Then suddenly he caught a glimpse of a fur-
trimmed bonnet, which he thought he recognized,
and saw a slender figure almost hid in the sha-
dow of a huge column. It was she ; she pressed
herself more tightly up against the stone as he
drew near, but still she did not appear to observe
him ; her eyes were steadfastly fixed on the
hymn book. His resolution was quickly formed ;
he slackened his speed, and, as if quite by ac-
cident, dropped down into the seat on the other
side of the pillar. The congregation began to
chant in a sort of feeble, irregular way, and
In Search of a Margaret. 13
Varberg felt an irresistible desire to beat the
measure with his foot. The fact was, he had
no sooner sat down than conscientious scruples
woke within him; and as men are apt to do
when finding themselves in an absurd situation,
he tried to forget one absurdity by venting his
energies on another. He did not observe that
the people in the neighboring pews were all
gazing at him, neither did he see the shocked
expression in their pious countenances. " Er ist
Auslander" (he is a foreigner), he heard some-
body whispering behind him, and looking up he
met the eye of an old gray-headed beadle, who
had just entered the pew, and had stopped in
front of him :
"Mein Herr," said the man, "this is the
women's side. You are disturbing the worship,
and I must request you to leave the church."
Varberg awoke as from a dream, jumped up
from his seat, and the blood rushed to his head
and throbbed violently in his temples. He sud-
denly realized where he was. Throwing a glance
at the other side of the pillar, he saw the unknown
lady covering her face with her handkerchief and
shaking with suppressed laughter.
14 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
" You must come at once," said the beadle,
as the other hesitated to obey the order.
The situation was evidently bad enough ;
and Varberg had sense enough left to know that
resistance would make it worse. So, summoning
all the calmness that was still at his disposal, he
quietly picked up his hat, and majestically
marched out of the church. But no sooner had he
reached the street than his folly stood before him
in all its terrible magnitude. Like a madman he
rushed down the avenue, and barely escaped
being challenged by a couple of students, whom
he ran against without asking their pardon. Hav-
ing gained the house where he lived, he rang the
bell furiously, not remembering that he carried
the key in his pocket. The meek little landlady
stared wonderingly at him as he slammed the
door behind him and breathlessly hurried into
his room. There he found " Faust " lying open
upon the table, where he had left it in the morn-
ing. He seized the book, and in a fit of indigna-
tion hurled it against the wall, so that the leaves
flew about his ears.
" The devil take all the German Margarets,"
he cried. " It was the first time I set out in
search of an adventure, and it shall be the last."
Retrospect* 15
CHAPTER IL
Retrospect.
"T7OUR months had passed, and the spring
* had come. To Varberg these had been long
and weary months ; and although he had plunged
deeply into German literature and philosophy,
and made excellent use of his time, he still was
painfully aware of the emptiness of his existence,
and heartily yearned for something to break its
monotony. A hundred times he bad resolved
forever to banish the Margaret adventure from
his thought, and a hundred times he had per-
suaded himself that he had actually succeeded.
Nevertheless he bad persistently haunted the
churches and the promenades on Sundays and
week days, and always with a half confessed desire
to catch another glimpse of the fair lady whose
first impression of him, he suspected, must have
been anything but favorable. He had a vague
idea that merely seeing her a second time would
1 6 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
necessarily correct this impression ; he was
convinced that his wishes went no further, and
that the fascination which she had exercised
over him at their first meeting had been nothing
but the whim of a morbidly overwrought fancy.
It was all due to " Faust," he thought, and he
had carefully shunned the book forever after-
ward. But now spring had come, and nature
was awakening to a stronger and more conscious
life. And Varberg too felt his blood running
more swiftly in his veins ; bolder fancies flitted
through his brain, and a vague restlessness dif-
fused itself through all his being. It was the
old Norse blood which was stirring, and like his
Viking fathers he yearned for great deeds, and
planned wide excursions over the land and over
the sea. His first choice fell upon Wartburg.
Olaf Varberg was, as has already been
hinted, by birth a Norwegian. His childhood
had been spent on the fjords of Norway, where
the grand solemnity of nature had tended to
foster a certain brooding disposition of his mind.
Every hill, every stone, and every tree was a
monument of past heroism, or at least to his
wakeful sense suggested some untold record of
Retrospect. 17
the Norseman's forgotten glory. Not a hundred
steps from his home stood King Bele's venerable
tomb, and on this very strand, where so often
he had sat pensively gazing down into the blue
deep, it was that Frithjof landed in the summer
nights, and hastened to those forbidden meet-
ings with his beloved hi Balder 's grove; and
not very far from the house there was a huge
birch, which certainly must have been centuries
old. It grew upon a green hillock which the
boy fancied looked like a tomb. Here, under
this tree, he had spent perhaps the happiest
moments of his life. In the long, light summer
evenings he would sit there for hours, listening
to the strange, soft melodies of the wind as it
breathed through the full-leafed crown.
He felt sure that it was a Scald who was
buried hert; for in the songs of the wind he
had seemed to recognize the same strain that
had rung in his ears so often, while reading the
Scaldic lays in the old Sagas. Then strange
emotions would thrill through his breast; he
felt that he was himself a Scald, and that he was
destined to revive the expiring song and the
half-forgotten traditions of the great old time.
1 8 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
When he was twelve years old he had himself
written a long poem which he had entitled
" The Saga of the Scald." He had only ven-
tured to read it to his grandmother, but she had
cried over it for a whole day, and that he felt to
be a great reward. His next effort was a tragedy
in which the hero was killed in the first act, and
was a ghost in the remaining four. His grand-
father, in whose house he had been brought up,
did not look with so favorable an eye upon his
poetic labors, and even did everything in his
power to discourage them.
The old Mr. Varberg had had but one son,
Olaf's father. But this son had been a wild and
unruly spirit, and during his lifetime had been
a source of infinite vexation and grief to the
worthy old man. The one desire of his mind
had been to become an artist ; and when his
father had refused to furnish him the means for
going abroad, he had sold his furniture and his
law-books, and had started out in the world as
a regular adventurer. During his stay in France
he had caught the spirit of the revolution, and
had at last returned home full of enthusiasm for
liberty and the rights of men. Now the old Mr,
Retrospect. 1 9
Varberg had always been a stanch conservative,
and hated the revolution with all his soul. He
was thoroughly convinced that Norway was the
freest and happiest land on the earth, and that
the existing state of things left nothing to be
desired ; the son, on the contrary, was never
weary of pointing out a thousand instances of
injustice and abuse, and his heart yearned to
sacrifice life and happiness for the cherished
cause of human liberty. Both were strong and
determined men, and equally unwilling to yield ;
and one may easily imagine what must have
been the relation of the two under such cir-
cumstances.
It is not necessary here to recount the long
and manly struggles and the dire failures of the
younger Varberg in his efforts to plant the flag
of the revolution in the Norse soil. Suffice it to
say that one day the sweet face of a Norse maiden
sunk deeply into his heart, and that in his mar-
riage with her he found the happiness which he
had vainly sought in his unselfish devotion to
the cause of our common humanity. He again
took up the study of law, was zealous in his
supervision of the extensive estate which his
2O A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
father hoped soon to give over into his hands,
and promised fair to become the pattern of a
husband, and an order-loving citizen. The old
man's joy knew no bounds ; but he was careful
not to show either surprise or delight ; he rather
seemed to regard the change as a matter of
course, and even hinted that he had foreseen it
from the very beginning. But little did he know
of the combat which it had cost the son thus to
abandon one by one the cherished hopes of his
youth, and still less did he suspect the ferment
which was even now stirring at the bottom of
that strong and generous soul. The relation,
however, between the two never became a cor-
dial one ; they talked mostly on indifferent sub-
jects, and the hopes and desires which lay near-
est to the hearts of both they seldom broached
to each other.
Then an event occurred which rudely tore
the veil from the old man's eyes, and again re-
vealed to him the great gulf which separated
him from his son. After a marriage of five years
the latter's wife died, leaving behind her two
children, Olaf the son, and a daughter Brynhild.
It was the love of his wife which had bound het
Retrospect. 2 1
husband to his old home, and had reconciled his
large and light-loving soul to a life in a narrow-
minded and bigoted society. Now the old rest-
lessness awoke within him; his early longings
began to stir in his bosom, and suddenly he
packed his trunk and again started out in search
of the lost ideals of his youth. But he was des-
tined to experience fresh disappointments. The
blind reaction which in Europe had succeeded
the enthusiasm of the revolution disheartened
and disgusted him, and he was just on the point
of bidding farewell to all that his heart held dear,
when suddenly the thought struck him that
there was still one land remaining which once
had received the gospel of liberty with willing
ears. And he threw one last sad glance at the
old world, and embarked for America.
His children in the meanwhile had remained
behind in Norway, and they thrived and grew
strong under the ever-watchful care of their
anxious grand-parents. The old Mr. Varberg,
who prided himself on his name and his blood,
took an intense satisfaction in seeing the family
features and even its hereditary faults repeated
in his grandson. He observed that Olaf had a
22 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
frank and a generous mind, and this observation
was a source of ever fresh delight to him, not
because frankness and generosity were morally
commendable qualities, but rather because all
the Varbergs had been frank and generous. Olaf
also had a large nose, which is not generally re-
garded as a mark of beauty ; but the grandfather
also delighted in this feature, because he believed
that there was a peculiar virtue in the family nose.
The only thing which displeased him in
Olaf's character was his tendency to solitary
brooding, and his love of poetry. And he feared
these traits the more, not only because they had,
as he thought, led his son astray, but because in
his youth he had been conscious of similar things
lurking in some remote corner of his own mind.
With him an early marriage and continued pros-
perity had quelled the unruly longings ; but
what they might lead to, his son's sad career
sufficiently proved. The only artistic enjoyment
which the elder Varberg allowed himself to in-
dulge in was music; and he had succeeded in
convincing himself that this art was in no way
akin to poetry and revolution. He was always
wont to class these two terms together.
Retrospect. 23
He had himself a most sensitive ear, and
played the violin and violoncello to perfection.
Every Wednesday evening he used to gather all
the musical dilfltanti of the neighborhood in his
house, and play with them Beethoven's quartets
and Haydn's trios until midnight. Olaf and
Brynhild were soon needed for the piano parts,
and he willingly paid them a quarter of a dollar
an hour for practising. Among the boy's earliest
recollections were these musical soirfrs, and the
strange faces his grandfather made when he
played the violoncello.
Since it had become definitely known that
the younger Varberg had gone to America, his
name was seldom heard in his old home. Only
his mother would occasionally refer to something
which he had wo'n, or something which he had
been fond of in his student days, and would
then invariably speak of him only as he, with a
peculiar emphasis.
" That was one of his fancies, too, poor boy,"
she would say ; " he always liked me best in my
old moire antique ; and when that was at last
worn out, he would persist in calling all those
dresses of mine which he liked moire antiques"
24 A Norseman" 1 * Pilgrimage.
And she would heave a sigh of resignation,,
and dismiss the subject.
On the days when Olaf received letters from
his father, a profound silence always reigned at
the dinner-table, until at last the old gentleman
would lay down knife and fork and ask, " Is he
well ? " And Olaf would answer in the same
solemn tone, " He is well ; " whereto the grand-
mother would add an " Amen," " God be praised,"
or some similar devout phrase. Little did the old
people suspect what an influence these letters
were to have upon the boy's future life. There
was a grand sweep and a fervor in these lines
which fell like flames into his mind, kindling it
to nobler resolves, and wakening to life the good
germs which still lay slumbering in its soil. The
image of this absent father, with his broad pen-
sive forehead, his thick light beard, and the dark
blue eyes with that strange flash in them, still
dimly lived in his memory, and it often appeared
to him that there was but the helmet and the
mantle lacking to make it the perfect likeness of
a hero from the Saga's golden times.
Then one day it was in the year 1862
there came a letter with American stamps on it,
Retrospect. 25
which suddenly threw the family into the great-
est consternation. It informed Olaf that his fa-
ther had enlisted as a private in the war, and that
he had made arrangements with a reliable friend,
who, in case of his death, would write to Norway
and deliver his affairs over into the proper hands.
" I am happier," he wrote, " than I have ever
been before. For I have at last found a cause
worth dying for." And in the year 1863 came
the letter announcing his death ; he was killed
on the field in the battle of Gettysburg. A slip
of paper bearing the date of the day before the
engagement, and addressed to his son, had been
found on his breast. It read as follows :
MY DEAR BOY : When this reaches you, the hand which
writes it will be cold and dead. My life has been fall of error,
sorrow, and disappointment, and still I venture to call myself a
happy man. For my career has been an unceasing pursuit of
that which I have loved above all other things, truth and liberty.
And my joy in this moment is the thought that I have a son who
will find in clearness that which I groped for in the twilight a
son who will finish the work which I have left undone. I am
convinced that America is the land of the future, and in spite of
injustice, abuse, and corruption, there is health and strength
enough in this nation to lift the whole world ; I mean to raise it
to a higher view of itself, and of the destiny of mankind. There-
fore my last prayer to you is, that yon should, as soon as you
have finished your college course, embark for New York, and
spend one year here, travelling about the country, and malring
26 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage.
yourself acquainted with its people and its institutions. If you
write to my friend Dr. C , in Boston, he will furnish you with
money. I have left five thousand dollars for you in his hands.
I feel as confident that you will fulfil this my last wish as if I had
your spoken promise. If at the end of a year you prefer to re-
turn to Norway, you will at least return a wiser man than you
left ; if you decide to remain, God will also find a work for you
to do here. I rely upon His guidance. Here on the broad
arena of life you are nearer to the world's great heart, and hear
with joy its mighty pulsations ; the horizon of your mind widens,
the grand possibilities of your nature develop faster, and you
become a larger and a stronger man.
I have a presentiment that my life is drawing to its close. But
if, as God grant, you grow up to be a noble and liberty-lov-
ing man, I shall live in you and in your children. Farewell !
God bless you.
Your loving
FATHER.
Olaf did not show this letter to his grand-
parents. It is needless to say that it made a
deep impression upon him ; he hid it in his bosom,
and carried it there ever afterward. A few
months later he entered college, and soon became
the leader of the democratic faction among the
students. His eloquence and his winning man-
ner, as well as the high standing of his family,
made him welcome everywhere, and he gained
access to the best society of the capital. But
amid all the noise and gayety of these years the
solemn voice of his dead father seemed to call
Retrospect. 27
to him from afar, and to remind him of the great
responsibility which rested upon him. In the
summer vacations he returned home, and spent
the long bright days rowing about on the fjord,
dreaming of the past, and maturing his plans for
the future. Fate had placed him in a strange po-
sition, and he often violently accused himself
and felt as if he were a traitor ; for he could not
confide to his grandparents, whom he owed so
much, that which was stirring within him ; and
to abandon his resolution would be treason to
his father's memory. And when restlessness
and unhappiness oppressed him, he poured forth
his soul in song, and his songs touched the hearts
and gained him no small reputation among his
fellow students.
Then at last came the terrible day, when,
after having graduated with distinction, he
returned home, pulled from his bosom the fatal
letter, and unburdened his heart. His grand-
mother wept and sobbed ; then took medicine
and went to bed; called him cruel and ungrate-
ful in one moment, and in the next her own dear,
blessed child. But his resolution was formed,
and he remained firm. His grandfather's grief
28 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
was not so noisy ; but it was deep and genuine,
and Olaf once came very near yielding ; for it
was painful to see the old man sitting there
so pale and distracted in his chair, and then,
as soon as any one entered the room, waking
up suddenly and make a desperate effort to
appear cheerful and unconcerned. One thing,
however, Olaf was induced to promise, and that
was to remain at home during the winter, and
to defer his journey until spring. The household
soon again lapsed into its usual routine, and
the subject which had lately agitated it seemed
to have dropped out of every one's memory.
But what is hidden is not forgotten, says a
Norwegian proverb ; and Olaf did not fail to
detect a secret uneasiness which manifested
itself in an over-anxious care for his comfort,
and in the somewhat strained efforts on the part
of the family to amuse and distract him ; and
one of these efforts, although indeed it had
for its object a more serious thing than amuse-
ment, is perhaps worthy of being recorded.
One of the most zealous participants in Mr.
Varberg's muscial soirees was the old Colonel
Haraldson. He was, next to Mr. Varberg, the
Retrospect. 29
wealthiest man in the parish, and had an only
daughter, Thora, to whom Olaf had in his boy-
hood addressed numerous sonnets and serenades.
Miss Thora was a pretty, fair-haired Norse dam-
sel, and had on her part shown no disinclination
to become the object of the young man's admira-
tion. During his college years she had been
rather more shy and reserved in her manner to-
ward him, which his grandmother regarded as a
very favorable sign. And now, when it was
needful at any price to keep her boy from run-
ning away from her, she the old lady deter-
mined to take advantage of this early romance,
and with his sister's aid she planned a little cam-
paign against him.
Thora had always been Brynhild's bosom
friend, and there could consequently, to out-
siders, be nothing remarkable in her coming
almost daily to the parties and musicals at the
Varberg mansion. Olaf, who was wholly unsus-
picious, readily ran into the snare, and was easily
beguiled into sleigh-rides and excursions by land
and water, on which the two young ladies invari-
ably accompanied him. At the parties, which at
this season were very frequent among the officials
30 A. Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
and landed proprietors of the parish, he was
always chosen the director of the evening, and
at his sister's request he never refused to " open
the ball" with the Colonel's daughter. Thus
the winter passed, and if Olaf had not been too
absorbed in his plans for the journey, he could not
have failed to observe that Thora's eyes shone
with a softer and tenderer light whenever they
met his, and that a serene, maidenly joy beamed
from her countenance whenever his arm encir-
cled her in the dance. But indeed Olaf had too
much to think of, and he perceived nothing.
The great unknown world lay before him in the
shimmering light of a dream, in which the ob-
jects appeared larger and of grander proportions,
until even his own person began to assume the
dimensions of a hero, and the voyage he was
about to undertake became a daring cruise, like
those of the Norse Vikings in the romantic days
of old ; and in such a mood renunciation is easy.
One morning in March Olaf woke up late,
after having spent the greater part of the night
dancing at the Colonel's. He was not a little
astonished to find his grandfather seated at his
bedside, and looking at him with an expression
Retrospect. 31
of almost motherly tenderness in his features.
He had evidently been sitting there for a long
while. " Well, my boy," said the old man, " you
have slept late this morning. Youth has need
of sleep." Olaf yawned, and murmured some-
thing in reply.
" I have come," continued the other, " to tell
you how gratified I am to know that you have
finally made up your mind in regard to the mat-
ter in which we are all so much interested."
Olaf opened his eyes wide and stared in
amazement at his grandfather. Could it be pos-
sible that the old man would give his consent to
the journey, and let him depart in peace ?
" Your grandmother has told me all about it,
and indeed it has made me feel at least ten years
younger. Thora is an excellent, sensible girl,
and she belongs to one of the best and oldest
families in the country. You know that I am
willing to give up the house to you at any time
you may wish ; or if you should prefer a house
of your own "
Olaf, with an utterly bewildered air, raised
himself on his elbows and tried to collect his
senses. A vague sensation as if a great misfor-
32 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
tune had befallen him, shot through his brain-
Was it possible that he had proposed to Thora
without knowing it? He indeed remembered
that some such thought had haunted him yes-
terday during the waltz ; and had she now come
and presented herself to his grandparents as their
daughter-in-law ?
Old Mr. Varberg in the meanwhile became
impatient, and began to pace up and down the
floor.
" Well, my boy," he exclaimed, "you don't
seem to be quite awake yet, or can it be possible
that you are not pleased ? "
" Indeed, grandfather, I should think she
might have waited until I got up and could
have come for her," cried Olaf, answering his
own fear rather than his grandfather's question.
" And to tell the truth," he added in a voice of
comic despair, " I don't understand a word of
what you are saying. I haven't made up my
mind about anything, except that I am going
to America ; and if you will give your consent
to that, I shall be very much obliged to you."
" My dear child," retorted the old man rather
vehemently, " either you are dreaming or I am
Retrospect. 33
or or your grandmother. I must utterly have
misunderstood her."
And so saying he rushed out of the room.
It would be tempting to rehearse the young
Viking's debate with himself while he dressed
that morning. The first vision that stole into
his fancy was that of Thora in her airy, sylph-
like ball-costume ; he saw the tender glance in
her eyes, saw the sweet temptation of her lips,
and the golden cross around her neck, which
glittered and rose and fell with the movement
of her bosom. In the next moment he half per-
suaded himself that he had actually whispered
some tender word in her ear, as she leaned on
his arm in the waltz ; that he had proposed
to her on the staircase and kissed her in a
corner, just as they carried away the ice cream ;
and finally that she had promised to call in the
morning, but would tell nobody what had hap-
pened except Brynhild. And now Brynhild
had evidently, after her manner, taken the
rest of the family into her confidence.
While diverting himself with these and
other possibilities, he finished his toilet and
went to the window to raise the curtains. It
34 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
was about noon, and the sun shone brightly
into the room. The sea dashed against the
pier, and down on the strand the waves brawled
in loud-voiced chorus. The Viking longings
again awoke, and Thora's beauty and loveliness
looked pale as the foam upon the beach. It
was all a dream, and as he reviewed the events
of the last months he saw the whole plot, and
he owned that his grandmother had played her
cards skilfully. The old heroism asserted its
rights within him, and the pleasing fancies of
a moment ago were now but delusions and deceit.
And still (shall I confess it?) in some corner of
his heart there lurked a vague regret that it had
not all been true and real.
" Good God," he cried, as he slammed the
door after him and walked down to breakfast
" Good God, what a brute I am ! "
This consciousness, however, did not in the
least influence his actions ; that same day the
battle was fought, and the end of it was that his
grandmother had to quit the field, and his
grandfather, seeing that resistance was vain, like-
wise yielded.
In the beginning of April, Olaf bade farewell
Retrospect. 35
to his native valley. Thora refused to see him
when he came to call upon her ; but the evening
before he sailed she probably relented, and she
met him " by accident," as he was taking his
walk ; and if rumor be true, she cried over him
and kissed him good-by.
How a man of Olaf s fantastic spirit, and
with his latent romantic tendencies, would fare in
a land like America, is not difficult to conjecture.
Most people at first did not know what to make
of him, but still were kind to him, because they
found him entertaining and liked to exhibit him
as a curiosity. The fault, however, was his no
less than theirs. He made no effort to throw off
or even to step out of his narrow national shell,
and they did not meet him half-way and thereby
make the approach easier. And in his dreary
solitude Olaf sought refuge from the world in
his old talent, that of song. He often wrote
night after night, until the dawn surprised him ;
the memories of the fjord and the valley of his
childhood returned to him in the silence of the
night ; the loors * echoed between the moun-
* A loor is a long wooden horn, wound with birch bark,
which the peasants use to call the cattle home in the evening.
36 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
tains, the Neck played in the cataracts, and the
clear cattle-bells made the air alive with music.
The unambitious story which had been thus
commenced only to ease an overburdened mind,
gradually grew under his hands, until the thought
struck him that it might perhaps find a publisher.
And a publisher was found.
Varberg spent many a delightful hour in con-
jectures as to the probable fate of his work, and
in constructing ingenious theories regarding its
influence upon the future of American literature.
The possibility never occurred to him that it
might fall dead from the press, and leave no more
trace behind it than the bubble that bursts on
the sea. Still, whatever its fate may have been
in the great world, upon Varberg himself it did
produce a most marked effect. It taught him
to look upon himself as a man of letters ; it re-
vived all the early dreams of his childhood, con-
centrated his energies, and clearly defined the
aim and object of his life.
And strange to say, this book also changed
his relation to the land of his adoption ; the
praise of those whose opinion he valued was
grateful to him, and the readiness with which
Retrospect. 37
they recognized the possibilities of his nature,
and accepted the promise of his youth and talent,
touched his heart. He became in a short time
an enthusiastic American ; his father had, a few
months before his death, assumed American
citizenship, and Olaf was agreeably surprised to
find that, according to the laws of this country,
he had himself for some time been enjoying the
same honor without being aware of it. There-
fore, when at the end of five years his grand-
father wrote and implored him to pay a visit to
his old home, if only for a few months, he was
inclined to look upon this journey as a kind of
literary pilgrimage, and consequently willingly
assented. At Christmas time he sailed for Ham-
burg, but as communication with Norway at
that tune of the year was difficult, and more-
over he preferred to see his native land in its
summer glory, he immediately proceeded to
Leipsic, where he intended to spend a few months
at the University ; and it is here where we have
the pleasure of making his acquaintance.
38 A Norseman s Pilgrimage.
CHAPTER III.
A Day at Wartburg.
IT was in rather an elegiac mood that Mr.
Varberg left Leipsic for Weimar and Eise-
nach. As the so-called express train slowly
wound its way up through the lovely Thurin-
gian valley, he had abundant opportunities to
watch the soft, vague beauty of a German sum-
mer day. Between Leipsic and Weimar the
country can hardly be called beautiful, but a
June day is lovely everywhere ; and as the
generous sky lent its changeful tints of rose
and purple to the wide plains and the stiff, sol-
dier-like planted forests, which look like Prus-
sian regiments on parade, their picturesque bar-
renness assumed an air of tender regret, like a
plain Cinderella that mourns the lowliness of her
estate. And Varberg was just in a mood to
appreciate a tender suggestion ; for in some
hidden recess of his heart the half-confessed
A Day at Wartburg. 39
yearnings were still breathing their faint melo-
dies in tones as vague and as sweet to his ear as
those of a wind-tuned ^Eolian harp. He dared'
not think it, but nevertheless he cherished the
suspicion against himself that he was fleeing
from Leipsic because its very air was filled with
the presence of the unknown Margaret. " Love
is a disease," says Tourgue"neff. " And a conta-
gious one," added Varberg in his thought.
" It is like the cholera ; it is in the air we breathe,
in the water we drink, and imparts itself with
equal ease through any and all of our senses."
Varberg spent three days in Weimar ; visited
the Museum, the Grand Ducal Library, the Pal-
ace, etc. Long he lingered in Schiller's rooms,
where, to his astonishment he found a large por-
trait of Abraham Lincoln ; and through a strata-
gem he even gained admission to that forbidden
sanctuary hallowed by the memory of " Faust's "
great author. It is needless to recount here
his exploration of the ruined castle of Rudolfs-
burg. Goseck, Schonburg, the Cathedral of
Erfurt and the Thuringian "valley are familiar
to every traveller. On the evening of the
fourth day he reached Eisenach. It was already
4O A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
dark, and having eng? ^ed a couple of rooms in
" The Grand Duke of Weimar," he started for
the Old Town, and strolled aimlessly about for
an hour, lost in romantic speculations.
The following morning he mounted the cliff
on the brow of which the old castle of Wartburg
is situated ; spent a couple of hours in the grand
Siingersaal and in Luther's cell, and finally toward
evening started out in search of the famous
Venusberg. According to the legend, the old
Roman goddess, after having been banished
from the world by Christ, has sought refuge in
this mountain, and here her sweet voice may
still be heard through the forest silence when
she sings her pagan songs, and lures Christian
knights to destruction.
The red sun hung low over the western
mountain ridges ; a soft purple mist hovered
over the tops of the forest, and a slumberous
perfume, as of a host of invisible flowers, was
wafted upward on the breeze. Varberg stood
before a large, thickly wooded hill, at the base
of which a labyrinth of narrow pathways wound
in and out through gloomy coves and arbors.
A chorus of unseen waters filled his ears with
A Day at Wartburg. 41
its faint, delicious rushing, and its subdued rip-
ple calmed his troubled soul like the croon-
ing of a distant lullaby. Something told him
that this must be the Venusberg; he threw him
self down on the ground, and began to gaze
up into the sky, which flowed on like a broad
blue sea between airy islands of cloud. The
great linden trees rustled with their leaves, and
a faint tremor ran through the air, like a vague,
expectant whisper. And the longer he listened
the more strongly his mind became possessed
of an irrational desire to see, if but for one mo-
ment, the phantom of the ancient legend embod-
ied in living flesh and blood. It was a desire
altogether independent of belief a mere regret-
ful wish that all these delightful mysteries might
once more be real as in times of old. Then
could he trust his senses ? there was a creaking
in the copse hard by, and he heard the sound
of light, hurried footsteps.
He quickly raised himself on his elbows, and
and discovered the outlines of a maidenly figure
shimmering through the leaves. The boughs
were bent aside, and a beautiful young face ap-
peared for a moment, and with an exclamation
42 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
of fright, again vanished. Utterly bewildered,
Varberg sprang to his feet ; he ran his hand over
his eyes, and vainly tried to collect his thoughts.
That face was only too familiar to him ; it was
the very face which for months past had been
haunting his fancy ; it was the face of his Mar-
garet. Looking toward the copse where he had
seen her vanish, he discovered a red and white
shawl, which in her tright she had let fall. He
picked it up, and began to ascend the hill. The
blood throbbed in his temples, and he hardly
felt the touch of the earth he was treading.
Having gained a point where he had a free view
of the forest below, he sat down on a stone, and
with his eye followed the course of the inter-
twining footpaths. Presently he saw something
white which fluttered between the trunks of two
huge beeches, a few hundred feet away. He
arose and hastily made his way to the spot. It
was again the mysterious maiden. She had
either fallen, or from exhaustion let herself drop
on the ground. Her whole frame trembled, and
she panted violently.
" Pardon me," began he.
She started with a faint cry at the sound of
A Day at WarOturg. 43
his voice, then quickly collected herself, and
made an effort to rise.
" I hope you will forgive me," continued he,
" if I have involuntarily been the cause of your
fright. A hundred times I beg your pardon.
You left your shawl down on the hillside. I
picked it up. Here it is."
He handed her the shawl, and half mechani-
cally she stretched out her hand to receive it.
" Thank you," she whispered.
" If I can be of any service to you," said he
after a pause, " I hope you wOl not hesitate to
let me know."
There was something so heart}' and honest
in the way he spoke, that her fear gradually
vanished, and as his eye met hers he saw in it a
rapid gleam of recognition, to which he uncon-
sciously responded.
" I know it was very foolish in me to be fright-
ened," she said, with a feeble attempt to smile.
" Bat I have lost my way, and this is the Venus-
berg, you know, and it is all so strange, so
strange.'"
" I suppose you wish to return to Eisenach ? "
" Yes ; I started for the castle this morning,
44 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
with my cousin. She had no curiosity to see the
Venusberg, and so I went alone. I am to meet
her again in Eisenach this evening. You know,"
she added apologetically, " that American ladies
have the privilege of doing things which Euro-
peans call strange ; and when they are abroad
they are somehow thrown off their responsibility,
and they often do things which would hardly
occur to them if they were at home."
Varberg had crossed his arms over his breast,
and stood leaning up against the trunk of a tree.
"Aha," he thought, "then my fair Margaret is
an American. An American Margaret ! What
an absurdity! " And he was not sure but that
in his heart of hearts he cherished a vague
resentment against her for her unwillingness to
identify herself with the romantic being his
fancy had made her. Her cheeks were still
flushed, and there was a glimmer of uneasiness
in her dark eyes ; her mouth and chin were
exquisitely sculptured, her nose slightly Roman,
and her hair of a dark brown hue, which lacked
but the fraction of a tinge of being black. The
magnificent turn of her shoulders, the fulness of
her bust, and the grand poise of her head gave
A Day at Wartburg. 45
her an air of self-confidence and repose, and even
in the midst of her agitation, she preserved a
certain statuesqueness of manner and bearing.
Somehow, the suddenness and mystery of their
meeting put them more readily at ease with
each other than if they had met in the conven-
tional way in a crowded drawing-room ; and
having by her look been assured of her confi-
dence in him, Varberg sat down in the heather
at her feet and began to talk with her about the
history and the legends of the place. She
answered at first a little timidly ; then, uncon-
sciously yielding to the fascination of the place,
she grew more communicative, and before an
hour had passed they found themselves talking
together as if they had known each other for
years. Still, there was a vague look of solici-
tude, as if she were afraid of having done some-
thing wrong, when finally she rose to bid him
farewell.
" I shall have to continue my wanderings,'
said she, " if I am to reach the city before dark
Perhaps you would kindly start me on the right
road."
" I am myself going to Eisenach," answered
46 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
he, " and if you would trust yourself to my guid-
ance, I should deem it a favor."
" When I think of it," said she hesitatingly,
" I fear I have no alternative. I have not the
faintest idea of where I am."
The sun had in the meanwhile sunk behind
the borders of the forest, and the golden crescent
of the moon sailed calmly through a limpid ocean
of blue sky. The air was so soft and warm, the
evening breeze so gently caressing, and the
whisper of the leaves so deliciously vague
and soothing, that mere existence seemed a
luxury. The air was rilled with the fragrance
of fresh sprouts and flowers ; the dim shadows
of the trees quivered mysteriously in the moon-
light, and the clear flute-notes of the nightin-
gale enlivened the gloom of the beech copse.
" It is on a night like this that the elf
maidens tread the dance,"' remarked Varberg,
as he helped his companion down the side of a
moss-grown rock.
" Elf maidens ? What are elf maidens ? "
" They are the ghosts of dead flowers."
"The ghost of a flower! I never heard of
such a thing."
A Day at Wartburg. 47
" That is the consequencce of your American
education."
"That is very possible. But I am willing to
be instructed. You seem to be a perfect ency-
clopaedia of mythical lore. Tell me why the elf
maidens dance, and why they dance just on a
night like this."
The road was now becoming smoother, and
while they walked along under the moonlit dome
of the forest, he told her the legends of gnomes,
elves, and nixies that inhabited the mountains,
groves, and rivers of the old world.
" And don't you think they could be induced
to emigrate to America ? " she asked with a
merry laugh. "We need something of the
kind, especially about Boston and Cambridge,
where the transcendental tea meetings are in
danger of reducing us all into mere abstract
entities or nonentities, and I don't know what it
is all called."
" We get so many less desirable elements
from Europe," he replied gravely. " It would
be well if we could also import some of her noble
poetry and romance."
" Yes, indeed , I perfectly agree with you.
48 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
Only think of it ! To have Mr. Sphinx of Con-
cord digging in his garden, and suddenly bring-
ing to light a century-old gnome, who sternly
calls him to account for disturbing the sanctity
of his subterranean home, and prophesies that,
as a penality, his race shall be extinct in the third
generation ; and Mr. Jockey, of the Lane Street
Church, bathing in the Charles River, to wash off
the dust of a horse-race, being clasped in the cold
embrace of a lovely mermaid. And to complete
the picture, I should like to see the Rev. Mr.
Buddha taking an evening walk (if he is addicted
to that sort of thing), and being abruptly con-
fronted by a group of airy elf maidens, who wind
their white arms about him and force him to
dance a moonlight jig with them to the music of
harebells and lilies o' the valley. Ah, I think I
see the surprise of the reverend gentleman," she
added, laughing heartily. " I would give a good
deal for the chance of looking on."
Varberg, although he was slightly shocked
at her lack of reverence for the old traditions,
could, not help joining in her gayety; and he
owned that he would himself enjoy seeing the
great transcendentalists in similar situations.
A Day at Warlburg. 49
" I could very well imagine Lowell catching
glimpses of elves and fairies under his tall elms
in Cambridge," he remarked. "In fact, I have
no doubt that he often does."
" Yes ; there is something of the old world
about Lowell." she replied. " Since I read those
wonderful opening pages of his ' Cathedral,' and
that charming essay, ' My Garden Acquaintance,' I
do believe him capable of seeing things which
are hidden from the sight of us ordinary mortals.
And the experience of to-day, this moonlight
ramble under the shadow of ancient Wartburg,
and your mythical tales, have affected me so
strangely."
There was to him a glamour of unreality about
the incidents of this day, and he could hardly,
even at this moment, persuade himself that he
was treading on solid earth. It was a peculiarity
of his mind that it wandered off, on the slight-
est provocation, into all sorts of dreamy vagaries,
and now it was this very maiden, whom his fancy
had clothed with all the attributes of romance,
who sternly rent the veil, and by her realistic
talk forced him to accept her in her true charac-
ter. She was evidently not deficient in fancy,
3
50 A Norseman s Pilgrimage.
but she was a true product of American soil, and
she represented those very qualities which he
especially disapproved of in Americans their re-
alistic humor and their utter irreverence for
tradition.
They had reached the place where the rail-
road bridge overarches the road, and Varberg
was just indulging in a mental denunciation of
railroads, when the girl again broke his reverie :
" How charmingly impersonal our talk has
been," she exclaimed. "This is the second time
we meet I mean we have spent several hours
in each other's company, and you have not yet
told me your name."
" My name is Olaf Varberg."
" Qlaf! What a delightfully barbarous name !
I beg your pardon ; I only intended to say that
it was a very unusual name."
" It is a Norwegian name. I am by birth a
Norwegian and by adoption an American."
" My name is Ruth Copley ; and I need not
tell you that I was born in Boston, since you
must already have inferred that from my talk.
I have spent about a year in Leipsic, studying
music at the Conservatory."
A Day at WarOmrg. 51
This called fora similar confidence on his
part; and before they had entered the streets
of Eisenach, they were both acquainted with a
good many incidents of each other's lives. The
sag-roofed, turf-thatched cottages in the out-
skirts of the town, with their queer little window
panes, gazed upon them with a ghastly stare
from out the moonlit stillness, like that of an eye
which remains open in sleep. The footsteps of
the two wanderers echoed sharply between the
walls of the stone-paved courts, and their black
shadows travelled silently and swiftly at their
sides.
"Oh, what a horrid place!" said Ruth,
unconsciously pressing herself more tightly up
to her companion.
" Do you know the legend of the Willies?"
asked he.
" Not N. P.," she replied with a forced smile.
" I don't know any other Willis."
u It is an Austrian legend. The Willies are
dead brides maidens who have died between
the betrothal and the wedding ; and on a sum-
mer night like this, when the city is silent "
" How terrible ! " and she shuddered violently.
52 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
He paused and looked inquiringly into her
face.
" I thought you did not believe in ghosts and
legends," an evil demon whispered in his ear,
and he was ungenerous enough to utter the
words.
" Ah, that is cruel," she exclaimed. "I, ad-
mit I do prefer to see the new moon over my
right shoulder ; but ghosts no, I do not believe
in them. And now you shall finish your legend,
or I shall not stir from the spot. It was on a
summer night like this, you said "
" Miss Copley, pardon me. I had no idea "
" Yes ; when you have finished your legend,"
she interrupted him. And she stood tall and
calm, with the light shawl flung toga-like about
her shoulders, while the pallid moonlight, as it
were, lifted and etherealized her divine form.
Varberg's first impulse was to throw himself
at her feet and madly declare his love for her.
Then suddenly it struck him that this would
make a capital scene in a story, and the heroic
spirit immediately departed.
" Well, since you demand it," retorted he, in
a somewhat injured tone (' and who would have
A Day at Wartburg. 53
imagined that she could be so obstinate,' he
added in his own mind), " these ghostly brides
glide at midnight through the empty streets, and
if a young man comes in their way, they wind
their lily arms about him, and onward they float,
with wilder and ever wilder movements, and the
unhappy wanderer is forced to follow. Then
their phantom-like beauty lures his senses; he
begins to feel the spell of the dance ; he returns
their caresses, and embraces death."
" Girls always remain faithful to their charac-
ter," she observed, after a minute's silence. " A
phantom flirt ! What a curious idea ! "
They both lapsed into silence. The legend
of the dead brides evidently occupied Miss
Copley's fancy more than she would own ; for
as they stood under the vault of the wall which
separates the New Town from the old, she was
visibly startled at the sound of his voice, and
barely comprehended what he was saying.
"In what hotel are you stopping, Miss
Copley?"
"What hotel Ah, the Grand Duke of
Weimar."
" Then we are happily housemates."
54 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
In the parlor of the hotel they found the
cousin, Miss Bailey, who embraced and kissed
Ruth, and declared that she had supposed she
had been dead a million times. Miss Bailey
was small of stature, and was as fair as her
cousin was dark ; her plump round face, her
pouting lips, and her frank blue eyes had some-
thing amusingly innocent about them, almost
babylike. There was a certain childlike vehe-
mence in her manner as in her speech, provoked,
as Varberg fancied, or rather exaggerated, by
the fact that she seemed herself to be conscious
of it. At the supper table her guileless eyes,
half unknowingly, appealed to him in a way
which implied no small degree of confidence,
and when his were rather slow to respond, she
shrank back with a puzzled frown, and held her
peace for the next ten minutes. Then, grad-
ually divining her character, he did her penance
in his heart, and again the innocent blue eyes
beamed forth their ready forgiveness. When
the supper was finished, he bade the ladies
good-night, and retired to his own room, pulled
off his coat and flung himself into an easy chair.
A strange torpor had come over him ; a hundred
A Day at Wartburg. 55
thoughts whirled about in his brain, and floated
in a nebulous procession before his eyes.
" Do I really love her," he murmured to
himself, " or is it merely imagination ? I have
imagined myself in love with at least twenty
women, but it usually passed off in the course
of a fortnight."
He went to the window, thrust it open, and
leaned out over the sill. His eyes instinctively
wandered upward, and in the window right
above him he caught a glimpse of a maidenly
form in a light negligee ; her long, dark hair was
loosened, and hung in rich profusion down over
her shoulders, and her face was turned toward
the starlit sky. He must have made a noise with
the window, or in some way betrayed himself,
for she hastily withdrew, and did not reappear.
" Good gracious ! " thought Varberg to him-
self; " who would ever have suspected her of a
moonlight reverie ? "
This discovery, however, made him very
happy for the moment, and he concluded that
after such a day's experience it was in no way
humiliating to pay the flesh its due, and go
to bed.
56 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
CHAPTER IV.
From Wartburg to Lcipsic.
~\ 7ARBERG rose late the next morning, and as
* he went down to breakfast he heard Miss
Copley inquiring of the clerk about the depart-
ure of the next train. He had just time to
devour a couple of eggs, and to scald his mouth
with the coffee, but he had in return the satis-
faction of relieving the ladies of their bundles,
and of conducting them to the not very comfort-
able railroad car. In fact the best thing about
the German railroads is their safety and the mag-
nificent beards of the officials ; but in the point
of comfort they are but a slight improvement
on the old-fashioned stage-coaches. Miss Bailey
began to talk very fast to the conductor in Eng-
lish, at which the Teuton smiled complacently,
and turned the lock in her face. Miss Copley,
with a kind of humorous indulgence to the cus-
toms of the land, made herself comfortable as
From Wartburg to Leipsic. 57
best she could, and before long was engaged in
an airy little chat with her new friend. " How
did you enjoy Weimar ? " she asked as the train
moved on. " I was there a few months ago.
But it made me almost vow that I should never
go sight-seeing again."
"Why so?"
" I don't wish to spoil your story. Give me
first your impressions, and I shall give you mine
afterwards."
He briefly recounted to her his experience in
Weimar, and especially dwelt on the forlorn
appearance of Schiller's rooms.
" To think that the great poet should die in
that poor unpainted bed," he said. " And the
mask of his face, taken after his death, lies there
on the pillow with the calm lines of suffering
still legible in its features. I almost shivered to
see it.' 7
"You didn't experience a holy shudder, did
you ? "
" I don't know if I should give it just that
name."
"Well, I am glad you didn't. I went to
Weimar with a' cousin who has now returned
58 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
to America. He suffered with a holy shudder
in Schiller's house, although I am confident that
he had never read a word of what Schiller has
written."
" How do you know? You appear to be a
confirmed skeptic."
" I will give you my reasons. If any one is
grandiloquent it is in my nature to question the
genuineness of his emotions. As for my cousin,
I soon found an occasion to put him to the test.
He was in rapture at the idea of sitting at the
desk on which 'Wallenstein ' had been written.
I began to talk about ' Wallenstein/ and called
his daughter Catharina, although I was well aware
that her name was Thekla. Fred immediately
swallowed the bait, and commenced to declaim
about this Catharina. ' What a superb creature
she is! What wonderful strength of passion,'
etc. all generalities which might in fact apply
to any heroine of a drama."
He couldn't help laughing at the novelty of
the experiment, and still he was not altogether
pleased. She evidently observed this, and has-
tened to add an explanation.
" I am always disappointed with myself when-
Front Wartburg to Leipsic. 59
ever I visit the scene of a great historical event
or the place where a great m an has lived and
died. I never succeed in associating the event
or the man with the place. Somehow or other
my sentiments are always off duty, and I remain
provokingly cold. I believe that I could have
cried with Mark Twain at the grave of Adam ;
but as for Schiller and the more modern bene-
factors of the race, I have no tears to waste
on them."
Varberg sat regarding her face attentively
while she spoke. He secretly admitted the truth
of what she said, and honored her sincerity, al-
though her remarks did seem to imply a doubt
as to his own candor. He would probably have
undertaken to defend himself, if it had not just
then occurred to him that he had been unpardon-
ably rude fn excluding the less attractive cousin
from the conversation. He hastened to repair
the wrong. " And what do you think, Miss
Bailey ? " he said, turning to the latter.
" I think that this landscape is perfectly beau-
tiful," answered Miss Bailey, in her peculiarly
emphatic manner. And soon they were all en-
gaged in a lively discussion of the comparative
60 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
merits of a German and an American summer.
Miss Copley grew very animated in the defence
of her native land, while Varberg and Miss Bailey,
whose home recollections could not have been
of a very cheerful character, upheld the superi-
ority of Europe.
The landscape through which they were just
travelling did seem to add an argument in favor
of the Teutons. On both sides of the road the
vine-clad hills shone with the fresh tints of sum-
mer ; the sunlight fell in brilliant profusion upon
the glimmering rocks, and soft patches of shadow
rested with the lightness of a noonday reverie
upon the green banks of the Saale. About mid-
way between the cities Naumburg and Weissen-
fels they observed the picturesque ruins of the
old castles Rudolfsburg and Saaleck, whose
shattered watch-towers stand like hoary Titans
guarding the entrance to the valley.
" What untcld tragedies, what idyls and ro-
mances have been enacted within those walls,"
said Varberg, pointing to the ruin.
" I wonder what house in New England that
is twenty years old has not been the stage of
From Wartburg to Leipsic. 61
similar tragdies and romances," answered Miss
Ruth.
"Yes; if you would call a drunken shoe-
maker, who ruins his family, a romantic charac-
ter, or a Wall Street speculator, who kills him-
self when he has lost his last stake."
" I can hardly comprehend," retorted she,
with some little show of patriotic zeal, " why a
drunken baron should be any more romantic
than a drunken shoemaker; and you will no
doubt admit that drunkenness was even more
prevalent among your feudal heroes than among
the Massachusetts shoemakers."
" I once knew a man out in Indiana," re-
marked Miss Bailey, " who killed himself drink-
ing, and then killed all his family too."
" I am glad he was sensible enough to kill
himself first," said her cousin dryly.
11 Well, Ruth, 1 know you understand what I
mean," cried Miss Bailey in a high-pitched stac-
cato. " I somehow always get hold of the story
by the wrong end, but if you only wouldn't be
so particular "
" Never mind, Dearie," interrupted the other.
" You know you are the most charming person
62 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
to tease; and," added she. in a humorously
tender tone, " you wouldn't begrudge me that
pleasure, Dearie, would you ? "
The train stopped at Weissenfels, and the
melodious clocks of the station announced with
six measured strokes the arrival. Half a dozen
gorgeously uniformed officials began to run
back and forth between the cars and the tele-
graph offices, stopping every minute or two to
exchange a military salute. A young man with
a fine sword at his side, a broad scarlet collar on
his coat, and spectacles on his nose, strutted up
and down t on the pavement in front of the
window of our travellers.
" Of what rank would you take that man to
be ? " said Varberg to Miss Bailey.
" I should suppose he was a colonel, or some-
thing of the sort," answered the lady.
" He is a clerk in the railroad office."
" How do you know ? "
" I know it by the uniform. I travelled with
a German professor from Kiel to Hanover, and
had him instruct me in regard to many features
of Prussian rule.""
" I don't think the young man would do for
From Wartburg to Leipsic. 63
a ticket agent on the Boston and Albany road,"
observed Miss Ruth. " He has evidently suffi-
cient conceit, but I doubt if he has the faculty
of snubbing the public with that grand air which
is so peculiar to our railroad men."
At Corbetha they changed cars, and the train
now hastened on through a fertile, rather monot-
onous plain, where the stiff, tall poplars and the
wide-spreading blades of the windmills keep up
a silent contest for the sole proprietorship of the
horizon. Friendly little villages cluster with
their turf-thatched roofs about the oak-sheltered
Gothic spire, and then disperse with a kind of
youthful waywardness, strangely out of keeping
with their general sombreness of aspect. In
some instances the churches, with their square
towers and their huge black roofs, seem to blend
into a friendly harmony with their lowly sur-
roundings ; but at times they lord it over them,
and the humble whitewashed cottages look as
if they were crouching in the dust at the feet
of their magnificent neighbors. As Ruth re-
marked, it reminded her of a poor family that
had inherited a silver table service, but couldn't
with their best will keep up the style which such
64 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
an article required, nor could they make up their
minds to part with it ; and consequently every-
thing else in the house looked poorer than it
really was, only because the silver overshadowed
it .with its splendor.
" What would you do yourself in such a case,
Miss Copley?" asked Varberg " I mean if you
were a member of such a family."
" I would go and sell the table service, and
make myself comfortable with the money,"
answered she.
" And what would you do, Miss Bailey ?"
" I would give it to some poor person.''
" Who would be worse off with it than
you had been yourself," cried Ruth, laughing.
" Yes, I am sure that would be wise. But what
would you do with it, Mr. Varberg?"
" I should keep it," said Olaf gravely.
Early in the afternoon the train reached
Leipsic, and Olaf Varberg parted from his friends,
after having helped them into a carriage, and
having received a cordial invitation to call. As
he rode home to his lodgings in the new part of
the city, he reviewed in his mind the strange
events of these two days. Mingled feelings of
From Wartburg to Leipsic. 65
enchantment and displeasure were struggling
in his bosom. No sooner was Ruth out of sight
than he tried mercilessly to analyze her, in
the hope of accounting for the fascination which
her mere presence had exercised over him, or
perhaps rather to prove to himself that his ad-
miration was altogether foolish and irrationaL
" She would make an admirable character for
a story," he thought to himself; "some truly
capital traits. But she has no two things in
common with me ; she ridicules the things which
I love, and has no more appreciation of the ro-
mantic than a bat. The idea of my falling in
love with such a woman " ; and he laughed to
himself at the absurdity of the thing. " No, it
is a mere literary interest I take in her a mere
aesthetic regard."
** A mere aesthetic regard," he repeated as he
entered his neatly furnished parlor. The phrase
appeared striking to him, and he kept murmur-
ing it, half absently, while he promenaded up and
down the floor. And the longer he walked the
more satisfied he grew that it was merely in
his capacity of author that he loved Ruth, and
66 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
that Olaf Varberg the man felt no particular
interest in her.
"And then, had I better commence the
story at once?'' he asked himself; which ques-
tion led to a brief dispute between Varberg the
author and Varberg the man in regard to what
course the latter ought to pursue toward the
object of the former's love. It was finally agreed
that Varberg the man should humor the wishes
of his literary brother, and accept Miss Copley's
invitation to continue the acquaintance.
Having settled this important business, our
Norseman made a rather elaborate toilet, and
repaired to the hotel where he was in the habit
of taking his dinner. On the way he met his
friend, Baron von Weisskopf, who embraced
him in German fashion and kissed his cheeks,
much to the disgust of the American part of
his nature.
" Mein lieber Doctor," cried the Baron (all
his German friends called him doctor), " I
have sought you in all imaginable places for
the last week, but have been unable to find you.
I thought you might possibly be both dead and
buried."
Front Wartburg to Leipsic. 67
" Weeds do not perish so easily," replied
Varberg.
"Ah, you are too modest, my excellent
friend," cried Weisskopf gaily. " But by the
way, where are you going ? "
" I am going to my hotel, and should be
happy to have you come and dine with me."
" With the greatest pleasure."
Arm in arm they wandered down the
promenade, while the Baron related the last
week's news from the student world, consisting
chiefly of duels that had just taken place, and
duels that were yet in prospect.
Baron Max von Weisskopf was a man of
about six feet, stoutly built, and of a magnificient
physique. His features were rather large and
handsome, but they were marred by half a dozen
scars which his full blonde beard but partly con-
cealed. His brown hair was cut close to his
head, and his eyes were protruding and had a
glassy look. He had the neck of a bull, and
the voice of a lion ; his laugh was loud, and
sounded like the clashing of two brazen pans.
He was Varberg's senior by several years, but
had taken a great fancy to him on their first
68 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
meeting at a students' festival. As for the
Norseman, he had never entertained any cordial
regard for his noisy friend, but his literary zeal
had induced him to continue the friendly rela-
tion. Weisskopf was an original character, he
thought, and was especially useful in initiating
him into the mysteries of German student life.
As consenior of one of the largest chores*
and a renowned swordsman, the Baron had, of
course, free access everywhere, and it cost him
but a word to gain for his friend the same privi-
leges. His twenty-eight duels had covered him
with honor and with " noble scars," which latter
he took a special pride in displaying, whenever
the Rhine wine had made him more than usually
animated.
In the hotel a very abundant dinner was
ordered, and Weisskopf ate and drank like a
Hercules. Varberg was not in a mood to talk,
and so he contented himself with keeping the
Baron's glass constantly filled, and the Baron did
his best to keep him steadily busy. When the
* Chores and Biirschenschaften are the names of two kinds
of students' societies, or rather organizations, at the German
universities.
From Wartburg to Leipsic. 69
meal was at an end it was already late in the
afternoon, and as they had nothing else to do
they decided to pay a visit to Auerbach's " Kel-
ler." Through the entrance on Grimmaische
Strasse they descended into the famous old
vault, and Weisskopf ordered a couple of Johan-
nisbergers, stole a kiss from a pretty waiting-
maid who appeared in the door for a moment,
and then conducted his friend into those queer
old apartments, hallowed by a thousand memo-
ries dear to the German heart. They took their
seats at one of the small tables, and glanced
over the journals, until the waiter brought the
long-necked bottles in a cooler. A kind of
musty, mediaeval smell filled the atmosphere of
the vault, and the light fell in, like a dim, dusty
current, through that narrow slit of window
which was not covered by the pavement of the
street. Varberg lighted a cigar, and handed his
case to his companion.
" Well, lieber Doctor," said the latter, filling
the glasses, " what do you think of our German
ladies ? "
'* I like our American ones better," replied
Varbeig, to whose mind Ruth was for the
70 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
time being the representative of American
young ladyhood. Moreover he had quite for-
gotten his late enthusiasm for the Teuton
maidens as long as he had imagined her a roman-
tic Margaret.
" But you have hardly had an opportunity
to judge yet," remarked the Baron. " Allow me
some time or other to introduce you to my friend
the actress, Fraulein B , and I will wager six
Johannisbergers that within a week you will be
converted."
Weisskopf stretched out his hand across the
table, and Varberg shook it silently.
"When I was in Italy a couple of years ago,"
continued the Teuton, whose flushed face was
beginning to show the effect of the wine, "I was
as full of prejudices as you are. But one day I
took it into my head to learn the language of
the country, and for that purpose I picked up
an acquaintance with a young native woman, a
truly magnificent creature, who had big black
eyes as big as that " (and the speaker put his
thumbs and his first fingers together, and
showed an opening about the size of a tea-cup).
" Truly, I don't exaggerate. She had a voice
From Wartburg to Leipsic. 71
like a nightingale, and a mouth well, you can
imagine the mouth truly superb. One evening
we met on the strand in the bay of Naples ; I
laid my hand about her waist, I kissed her lips,
etc., and before we knew it, we were engaged."
" Do you mean to say," exclaimed Varberg,
" that you proposed to her for the purpose of
learning Italian? "
" Well, call it what you please," said the
Baron, laughing heartily. " I certainly did learn
the most exquisitely tender phrases which the
Italian or any other language is capable of.
And the amusing part of it was that I shocked
two ladies whom I had never seen before by
unconsciously addressing them with the most
endearing names. In fact I discovered that I
had, so to speak, skimmed the cream of the lan-
guage, and that my vocabulary consisted merely
of those delicately flushed words and phrases
which sounded so ravishingly on Marietta's lips,
and which, when I addressed them to her in
return, she listened to with a delight as if she
heard them for the first time in her life."
" I suppose you would advise me on the
same principle to make love to some German
72 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
maiden, as the most profitable mode of pursu-
ing my philological studies."
" By all means, dear friend," and again the
Baron laughed immoderately. " I shall be most
happy to further your noble aim ; and in return
I shall expect of you that you introduce me to
some of your American beauties here in the
city, that I may have an opportunity of perfect-
ing myself in English."
Varberg took it all for a pleasant joke, and
laughed in a way which might have been inter-
preted as assent or as refusal. He pledged his
friend in a sparkling glass, and tried to change
the subject. But Weisskopf was not to be
prevailed upon.
"At the next Seminar* I shall know
whether you have followed my advice," roared
he. " Ah, what a delicious situation ! To have
you grave and proper American suddenly sur-
prise our worthy Professor with some perfumed
phrase of tenderest endearment."
Love stories, says Goethe, have this in
* Seminal is a half-private meeting of students and profes-
sors, and is usually devoted to the discussion of some particular
linguistic or scientific topic.
From Wartburg to Leipsic. 73
common with ghost-stories : when one has told
his experience the listeners are invariably in-
fected with a similar desire to relate theirs.
Weisskopf had roamed about considerably, and
wherever he came it was as natural for him to
engage himself as to hire his board and lodgings.
With an amiable nonchalance he flitted from
adventure to adventure, and touched upon
numerous incidents, not always of a strictly
moral character, with an airy cheerfulness which
went far to remove Varberg's scruples, and at
last made him look upon himself as an unpar-
donable prude for ever having disapproved of
him. Thus the end of it was that Olaf, from a
half-confessed desire to establish himself in his
friend's respect, began to relate his early ro-
mance with the Colonel's daughter in Norway,
but as he progressed he became more disagreea-
bly aware of its poverty in comparison with the
Baron's glowing descriptions, and in order to
make up for its lack of incident he uncon-
sciously raised Thora to the dignity of a sort
of Northern sea-princess, while he himself as-
sumed the character of an heroic, self-sacrific-
ing lover. Indeed, that part of his life seemed so
4
74 -A Norsemen? s Pilgrimage.
infinitely remote, as if he had read of it a long
time ago in some Oriental fairy tale ; he treated
himself altogether impersonally, -and vaguely
believed that Thora was all that his fancy made
her. About Wartburg and Ruth he said not
a word.
" But my dearest Doctor," cried Weisskopf,
as the other had finished, " what an egregious
ass you must have been I mean, of course, in
your younger years to let such a chance slip
through your fingers ! "
Varberg felt the force of the remark, and
could think of nothing to offer as an excuse. He
did seem to have acted stupidly, and he felt as
guilty as if he had committed a dishonorable act.
Strange to say, it is often more humiliating to
be outdone by our friends in folly than to be
excelled by them in wisdom. The evening was
already far advanced, and at Olafs suggestion
they rose to go. The waiter came to collect the
money ; Weisskopf pulled out his purse, and
with a half-provoked air began to hunt for some
thaler bills which he didn't find.
" Ah, lieber Doctor," he exclaimed, " I forgot
to supply my purse as I passed my banker to-
From Wartburg to Leipsic. 75
day. You will no doubt help me out of my
embarrassment."
Varberg immediately handed him a ten-
thaler note, and Weisskopf paid the waiter, and
as a matter of course put the remaining amount
into his own pocket-book. But he did it with
an air which made Varberg dimly feel as if he
ought to be grateful to him for condescending to
accept the favor.
They separated on the Augustus-Platz, and
Varberg took a carriage and drove home.
Without lighting the gas, he flung himself into
the corner of the sofa, and a train of confused
thoughts whirled through his head. He thought
of Ruth, and he thought of Weisskopf, and the
one appeared to him like the good angel, and
the other as the evil demon of his life. A blush
of shame stole to his face, as he compared the
noble aspirations of the morning with the imbe-
cile boasts of the night.
" / introduce him to Ruth ! " he cried.
" Nay, rather shall our swords clash and my
bloody corpse shall bar him the entrance."
Olaf Varberg was fond of tall phrases, espe-
cially when talking with himself.
76 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
CHAPTER V.
In Rosenthal.
T N one of the most fashionable streets of
Leipsic there is a tall and gloomily comfort-
able mansion which has become a kind of tradi-
tional resort for Americans. Our people do not
take kindly to tradition when at home, but for
this very reason they like to flirt with it abroad,
and are even willing to put up with a good deal
of personal discomfort for the mere pleasure of
being able to write to their friends beyond the
sea, " From my windows I look out upon the
mouldering arches of a ruined Capuchin con-
vent" ; or, " I write this sitting on a spot which
is said to be haunted by the august shade of the
Emperor Barbarossa." And the honest people
of Germany, who have discovered this weakness
in their visitors, are not unlikely to manufacture
legends for the occasion in order thereby to
invest their humble abodes with that romantic
In RosenihaL 77
charm which seldom fails to act as a bait to
travellers: and it is needless to add that they
enhance their prices accordingly. Between
Gottingen and the Harz there is hardly a forest
or a mountain which does not lay claim to some
association with Barbarossa's ghost, and in
Eisenach every other house has been the scene
of some remarkable incident in the lives of Lu-
ther, the Minnesingers, or Sebastian Bach. In
Leipsic, square marble tablets with the inscrip-
tion, "Hier ward geboren," etc.. or, "Hier
starb," adorn the houses where great men have
lived, or died, and Varberg had, naturally
enough, made the round of these houses before
he condescended to resort to the new and unhis-
torical part of the city. Unfortunately they
were all occupied, and for want of anything
better he had selected a mansion which had
been hit by a cannon ball in the last battle of
Leipsic, and which from that day bore the
inscription, " Behute Gott dieses Haus." (God
protect this house.)
Ruth had been more fortunate in the choice
of her dwelling. As already observed, it was
situated in one of the most fashionable streets,
78 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
and was a kind of cross between the old and
the new city. On one side it bordered on
the lazily-flowing Pleisse, which had once, if the
story be true, flowed red with the mingled blood
of brave French and German hearts ; a round-
arched vault, pleasantly suggestive of cloisters
and mediaeval life, led from the street into a
paved court, three sides of which were enclosed
by high walls, while the fourth left the view free
toward a half rural oasis, with low-roofed cot-
tages and little green garden patches.
Ruth had been living here for about a year,
with her aunt and cousin, at the time when
Varberg made* her acquaintance. She was the
only daughter of a "retired Boston merchant, and
had never been out of Massachusetts until she
went abroad. At the age of five she had lost
her mother, and her father, who was a hard-
working man and had but little time to de-
vote to his child, had given her in charge of a
widowed aunt, Mrs.- Elder, the mother of the
cousin Fred whose enthusiasm for Schiller Ruth
had so pitilessly ridiculed. Old Mr. Copley had
since the death of his wife almost shunned the
society of ladies, and consequently his daughter
In Rosenthal. 79
had, from her earliest childhood, been thrown
largely into the company of men who had always
flattered her and humored her wishes. Her
aunt, who was a weak and gentle woman, soon be-
came aware of the intellectual superiority of her
ward, and her conduct toward her showed the
latter that she tacitly recognized this superiority.
Thus Ruth early acquired a certain independ-
ence of manner and a fearlessness in expressing
her opinions which by the less charitable of
her own sex were interpreted as wilfulness and
hauteur. Nevertheless, as she grew up to young
ladyhood, she was eagerly sought in society, and
those whom she deigned to admk into her con-
fidence felt honored by her^friendship, and be-
came ardently attached to her. There was
something in her manner which put an end to
all criticism ; whatever she did, the fact that it
was she who did it, sanctioned it and made it
proper.
It was about a week since the young ladies
had returned from Wartburg. Ruth was sitting
at the piano playing snatches of various airs, and
now and then giving an impatient toss of her
8o A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
head, as she opened and again threw away one
piece of music after the other.
" Schumann was a nursery hero," she said,
turning about on the stool. " I can't imagine
how Clara Shumann could take it into her head
to marry him. If I had been she, I would rather
have married old W ."
W was an old Leipsic music teacher, of
whom it is said that he forswore composing be-
cause Clara Schumann refused his love.
" And why do you play him then, my dear ? "
said Mrs. Elder, who was seated on the sofa
doing some sort of worsted work.
" I have to do a great many things which
I disapprove of, aunt," replied Ruth, wheeling
again round to the piano. " There is a strange
sort of fascination about him which I can't resist,
although his capriciousness provokes me the
more for every measure I play."
" Ah, there he is coming," ejaculated Miss
Bailey, who had in the meanwhile been looking
out of the window.
" Who is coming, Dearie?" asked the aunt
" Oir Wartburg friend."
Miss Bailey's real name was Sarah ; but once
In Rosenthal. Si
when she had been veiy sick, and had not been
expected to live, the family had got into the
habit of calling her Dearie, and this name she
had ever since retained. When Ruth wanted to
tease her she called her Sallie, which name, for
some reason or other, was exceedingly repugnant
to its owner; in fact Ruth, who was not loth to
employ stratagem for the accomplishment of her
wishes, could induce her cousin to do anything
in the world for her by the promise that she
would never more call her Sallie.
No sooner had Miss Bailey announced that
the Wartburg friend was coming than Ruth rose
from the piano, and began to busy herself about
the room, clearing away books and work-baskets
from the table, and putting things into order.
There was a knock at the door. Mrs. Elder
responded with a gentle " Come in," and Var-
beig entered. He greeted the ladies, and was
introduced to Mrs. Elder.
" Why, you speak English ! " exclaimed she.
" I understood that you were a German, or
something of that sort."
Ruth sent her aunt a quick, disapproving
4*
82 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
glance, and Mrs. Elder determined that she
would say nothing more.
" No, I am not a German," replied Varberg,
as he suffered himself to be led to a seat. " I
have no wish to change my nationality."
" We feared that you had quite forgotten us,
Mr. Varberg," said Ruth. "You have not been
in haste to find out where we lived."
Olaf murmured some kind of commonplace
excuse, and the conversation was turned on some
fresh topic.
" I am glad you are not a German," remarked
Mrs. Elder, who had in the meanwhile forgot-
ten her resolution. " The Germans are very un-
intelligent people. They eat with their knives,
and the gentlemen always supply themselves first
at the table, and leave the ladies to take care of
themselves."
" I should hardly ascribe that to lack of .in-
telligence," replied Varberg. " I think I should
rather call it rudeness, or lack of good breeding."
" I should call it simply immoral," said Ruth,
with a humorous sparkle in her eye, which left
the listener in doubt whether she was jesting or
really in earnest.
In Rosenthal. 83
" The term is a matter of indifference to me,"
answered he, " if the fact still remains. But I
must say that I have not invariably found the
Germans impolite."
" My chief objection to the Teuton males,"
observed Ruth laughing, " is that they eat sour-
krout and strong cheese and smoke bad tobacco.
And the ladies I disapprove of because they
look dowdyish."
Varberg was once more about to undertake
the defence of the Teutons, when it occurred to
him that the weather was beautiful, and that the
time would be most favorable for a walk through
Rosenthal. He ventured to make a proposition
to that effect, and the ladies willingly assented.
While they withdrew to the next room to put on
their things he again addressed himself to Mrs.
Elder, and had an opportunity of becoming bet-
ter acquainted with that estimable matron. Mrs.
Elder was a plump old lady, with a kind, be-
nevolent face of an enviably clear complexion ;
her white hair fell smoothly over her low fore-
head, and her mild blue eyes and her soft voice
gave one the impression of a patient, forbearing
indolence. There was not the remotest sugges-
84 -A Norsematis Pilgrimage.
tion of anything aggressive about Mrs. Elder's
whole person ; she reemed to be gentleness and
forbearance personified. As soon as she had
learned a few facts relating to the visitor's early
life, she began to tell him what a prodigy Ruth
had been from the time she was old enough to
talk; and Varberg listened eagerly, and was
quite ready to believe that his heroine possessed
even far greater excellences than the old lady
would have thought of claiming for her.
" I remember once when she was four years
old," said Mrs. Elder, " her mother and I were
sitting in the parlor, and we were talking about
some person who was in the habit of coming to
the house quite frequently. I was about to say
something not exactly favorable about this per-
son, but my sister-in-law pointed to Ruth, who
was sitting in a corner playing with her dolls,
and said, ' Little pitchers have ears.' ' Yes, and
legs too,' replied Ruth, picked up her dolls, and
marched out of the room. Now, don't you think
that was a remarkable answer for a child four
years old ? "
Varberg did own that the repartee was excel-
lent, and the aunt proceeded to give fresh in-
In RosenthaL 85
stances of her niece's precocity, and the young
man continued to listen with the same unflagging
interest and devotion. At length the ladies re-
turned, but Miss Bailey suddenly declared that
she had a headache, and that she could not go.
Ruth said it was only imagination, and sprinkled
her with eau-de-cologne, but Miss Bailey was
not to be prevailed upon. So Ruth and Var-
berg started alone.
It had rained early in the day ; the air was
pure and summer-like, and the soil still exhaled
that damp earthy smell which after a shower
always affects one's senses so agreeably. Ruth
was in excellent humor, and made her half sar-
castic little remarks upon everybody that passed.
But as they entered Rosenthal, the park of
Leipsic, the promenaders became too numerous,
and she was not a little puzzled to make a judi-
cious choice among so many tempting subjects
for her satire.
Rosenthal must have been named on the
lucus a nan luccndo principle, for it is neither a
valley (Thai) nor are there roses in it. It is on
the contrary a large and perfectly level plain, the
outskirts of which' are overgrown with maple
86 A. Norseman's Pilgrimage.
and beech forest, while the middle part seems
hardly yet to have been reclaimed from its
natural state of moor and pasture land. But the
principal feature of the park, speaking from a
German point of view, is the large and excellent
restaurant, with its rudely frescoed pavilions, its
fragrant coffee, and its old-world look of cheer
and comfort. Our wanderers, however, did not
on this occasion yield to the temptation of
the restaurant, but wended their way onward
beneath the shady crowns of the full-leafed
beeches. Ruth assumed to-day, as ever, a patron-
izing attitude toward the natives ; and Varberg,
who seldom of his own accord discovered the
humorous side of anything abstract or concrete
was soon allured into a heartier participation
in her merriment, and even astonished himself
by little speeches which a month ago he would
have condemned as flippant and irreverent, had
they been uttered by anybody but himself. As
they entered a little side path, at the end of
which a green arbor invited to rest, Ruth discov-
ered a voluminous Leipsicker who, with half-open
eyes and a fat, lazy expression in his counte-
nance, lay outstretched on a bench at the road-
In Rosenthal. 87
side; half a dozen ruddy-cheeked and sleepy-
looking children, who appeared to be all of about
the same age, played in a sort of meek fashion
about him on the grass, while occasional grunts
broke from the worthy parent's throat, indicating
his parental watchfulness and supervision.
" Behold a typical Saxon," said Varberg.
" I should rather say a typical Leipsicker,"
remarked Ruth.
" How would you define, or what place in the
animal kingdom would you assign to the native
Leipsicker? "
" If I had to write an essay about him, I
think I should have to commence in this way :
The native Leipsicker is an amphibium. His
blood is lukewarm, and he breathes by means
of lungs, but a close observer will detect an
indication of gills on the nether side of the
jaws. His favorite element is lager beer ; but
but on a warm day the male may be seen sun-
ning himself on the banks of Rosenthal, etc."
There is always mystery enough about a
forest arbor to gently attune two hearts into
mutual sympathy. Varberg had enjoyed her
merry sarcasms ; he had laughed at the drollness
88 A Norseman s Pilgrimage.
of her criticisms, and he had even succeeded
beyond his expectation in entering into her
mood. Nevertheless this was not his way of
looking upon life ; she saw only the grotesque
and ludicrous, while his chief pleasure was to
note the quaint and the picturesque, to detect
the fleeting shades and miances of color, and to
catch characteristic glimpses of the land and the
people r.mong whom he was living. Unhappily
they were both a little exclusive, and their point
of view one-sided. Had Olaf possessed her
quick sense of humor, or had she been gifted
with his keen sight for the picturesque, they
would both have been more ideal companions,
and would perhaps have reaped greater profit
from their German sojourn than they did. As
it was, their views and purposes came into
constant collision, and there was a Wartburg or
a forest arbor, or some equally romantic neigh-
borhood needed to breathe upon some hidden
chord in her bosom so as to make it "vibrate in
conscious sympathy with him. There was to
him a delicious sense of security in being thus
shut out from all the obtrusive world, and being,
if but for moment, alone in this secluded forest
In Rosenthal. 89
haunt with one so young and so wondrously fair.
A stray glint of sunshine fell through the leaves
and hung trembling above her head, and he now
noticed for the first time that she had on her hat
a small bird of paradise which, with open bill,
seemed to pursue a glittering little bug, attached
to a straw at half an inch's distance.
" She certainly has fancy," he thought, " and
what is more, she has the courage to trust in the
verdict of her own taste. 3 '
"Tell me, Mr. Varberg," said Ruth abruptly,
piercing a maple leaf and balancing it on the end
of he r parasol ; " how did you ever conceive the
idea of writing a book? "
" I was not aware that I had ever claimed in
your presence the character of an author."
" Oh, yes, you have," and she looked up
archly. " It is of no use to try to disguise
yourself before me. I had read your book some
time before I saw you, and I discovered at Wart-
burg who you were, even before you gave me
your name."
" You astonish me, Miss Copley. However,
in regard to your question, it is very difficult to
say when or how 'any one conceives the idea of
9<D A Norseman s Pilgrimage.
writing a book. I wrote my first book when I
was ten years old ; only it was never printed.
Since then I have assumed to myself the charac-
ter of an author, and even if my tales and poems
were never printed, and no one else was willing
to recognize me in my assumed capacity, it would
still be as natural to me to write as it would be
to eat and to sleep, and I should until the day
of my death look upon myself as an author."
" How strange," she murmured absently, and
then suddenly straightening herself up, she added
in a livelier tone, " Have you the patience to
listen to a little secret of mine which I feel in-
clined to confide to you ? "
" I am all attention."
" Very well then. You would hardly believe
it, but I too once wrote a story. I wrote it, not
because I felt it an inward necessity to write, but
because I thought it would be nice to see some-
thing of my own in print. And then, you know,
most people think, when they have read a novel,
that they might just as well have written it them-
selves ; and with young girls at least I know it
is a very natural impulse to test their capacity
/;/ Rosenthal. 91
at once, and to try in some way or other to im-
itate what they read."
" And may I ask what was the fate of your
book?"
" Wait a little. I have not got to that point
yet. I plotted the story, and I thought at the
time that it was quite as good as a hundred I
had read. But when I commenced to write it,
innumerable difficulties presented themselves;
and what especially puzzled me was that my
characters would invariably get talking on some
profound topic which I myself knew nothing
about. And then, you see, I would always come
to a sudden stop. At last I gave it up in de-
spair, and owned that I was not born an author-
ess. But since that time I have had a sincere
respect for those who possessed the gift which
was denied me."
" I can hardly take the compliment to myself,
Miss Copley," replied Varberg, " since my incipi-
ent authorship has as yet proved nothing. It
may be all assumption on my part, but," he
added after a pause, " it will at least take a life-
time to convince me of it."
" I shall not'flatter you," she said laughing;
92 A N orsemari s Pilgrimage.
" although I have a tempting opportunity to do
so." And both arose and turned into a narrow
path leading to an oak which has lately been
planted in commemoration of the German vic-
tories over France. Ruth began to talk about
America, and mentioned some friends of hers in
Boston whose acquaintance she hoped Varberg
would make when he should return to the city
of the Puritans. Varberg also mentioned some
friend of his, and wondered that she had never
heard of him.
" He is a very good in fact, an excellent
young man," he said.
" Oh, I am sure I should dislike him,"
answered she emphatically. " I always dislike
excellent young men."
" I am afraid I don't understand you."
" No ; I am afraid you do not. When any-
body tells me that a young man is good or ex-
cellent, I always infer that he is stupid. For if
he wasn't, people would think of something else
to say about him. And stupid men I have no
patience with."
"And do you apply the same test to ladies ?"
" Well, it isn't so unpardonable in ladies to
In Rosen thai. 93
be stupid. In fact, they are in a way shut out
from the great interests of mankind. They
move in an old, steady-going routine, and if
they have no great aims or aspirations to spur
them on, they can hardly escape being dull and
commonplace. And you have, no doubt, your-
self noticed how uncharitable men are toward
those very women who have the courage to rise
a little above what is called their proper sphere
of life. What a man demands of a woman is
innocence and stupidity."
Varberg tacitly admitted the justice of her
accusation, and she suspected from his silence
that he agreed with her.
" To authors," he said after a pause, " these
women whom you call dull and commonplace
are often as interesting as those who rise above
their sphere."
" How so, pray ? You speak in riddles."
"I am afraid I shall give you a wrong im-
pression if I attempt to explain what I mean.
However, since I have said A. I must say B also.*
As a reporter or a newspaper correspondent is
apt to look upon the v/orld as a conglomerate of
* A Norwegian proverb.
94 -d. Norseman's Pilgrimage.
items, so an author is in danger of regarding it
as a confused heap of plots, which it is for him
to discover, to disentangle, and to arrange into
a symmetrical work of art. If he sees joy or
suffering, happy or unhappy events, he may
merely estimate their literary value, and wonder
how they would look in print ; and the most
dangerous part of it is that, like a dissecting
surgeon, he may soon lose his sympathy and
fellow-feeling for his brethren. He rejoices in a
fine burst of despair, keenly relishes a deep and
exalted grief, and derives an intense enjoyment
from every pure and vigorous expression of emo-
tion which may come in his way."
He would have continued his harangue, but
here his fair companion stopped, as if in surprise,
and looked him wistfully in the eye.
" What horrid people authors must be ! " she
exclaimed. " I take back every word I have
said about my loyalty and respect for them."
" Wait until I have finished. Mind, I don't
say that authors are as I have described them.
I have merely said that they are in danger of
becoming so. Thus, as long as your common-
place ladies are capable of a pure, human emo-
In Rosenthal. 95
tion, they are objects of interest to an author.
He often imagines himself standing upon a high
pedestal, like a Simon Stylites, and he sees the
noisy whirl of life eddying about his pillar, but
he is not moved. Life becomes a pageantry
to him in a more specific sense. Pure, typical
features delight him, and men and women
assume in their relation to him merely the char-
acter of good or bad figures for a story. But
remember, this is merely an imaginary picture.
If authors were not human enough to fall in
love, it would be a real one. But unhappily,
from their exalted station, they are very likely
to discover some maidenly face, typical or not ;
a wild longing seizes them ; they madly plunge
down into the whirlpool in pursuit of this
maiden, and if they find her, are henceforth
content to read nothing but the tender mystery
of her heart, and to see nothing but that little
domestic idyl which soon nestles about them."
" Your picture is certainly a striking one. I
never looked upon it in that way before. But
vou say ' unhappily ' ; do you then think that it
is a misfortune to be capable of love ? "
" I do not know," he murmured sadly. Their
g6 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
eyes met in a quick glance. " I only wish that
I was myself less capable of it."
A deep blush stole over her cheeks, and she
unconsciously hastened her steps. In a few min-
utes they reached the memorial oak, which was
hedged in by an open iron fence. The small en-
closure within was laid out into flower beds, in
which grew pansies, lilies, and tulips in many-
colored profusion.
" What a beautiful pansy ! " Ruth exclaimed,
pointing with her hand through the iron bars.
" I never saw a larger one."
No sooner had she uttered the words than he
bounded over the fence, picked the flower, and
handed it to her.
" But, Mr. Varberg, what are you doing ? "
she cried in a frightened voice. " Don't you
know that it is forbidden to pick those flowers?
If the police saw you, they would arrest you."
"What do I care for the police?" said he,
as he stood again at her side. " Not all the
police in the German empire could prevent me
from taking a flower if if you wanted it," he
added in a precipitous flutter. She took the
pansy, and they moved on. A strange reckless-
In Rosenthal. 97
ness had come over him ; in one moment he felt
hot and flushed, and in the next he shivered.
He was afraid of speaking lest he should betray
his agitation.
" Do not hold the flower in your left hand,
Miss Copley," he said at last, when the silence
became too oppressive. " It will wither. You
are aware that there is an old superstition
about it, and you know I claim to be super-
stitious."
" It will die and become a ghost," answered
Ruth musingly, and looking at the flower. " You
remember what you told me about the elf maid-
ens. And the flower-ghost will haunt you and
tread an airy dance about you in the moonlight.
All, you see I have profited by your instruction.
It is strange," she added after a pause, <l all
your legendary beings show a predilection for
men. One seldom hears of their molesting
women."
He was not in the mood for legends to-day,
and the topic was soon dropped. On their
way back to the city they met the Baron von
Weisskopf, and as he had the rudeness to stop
and talk to Varberg, the latter had hardly any
98 A Norse-mail's Pilgrimage.
choice but to introduce him ; but he did it with a
fierce scowl on his brow and in an indifferent voice,
which must have puzzled his friend exceedingly.
" Aha," said the Baron to himself, as he
turned to the restaurant's pavilion to order his
coffee with Curasao, " he is studying the American
tongue for the present. That accounts for it."
" What a magnificent neck he had ! " observed
Ruth to her companion.
" Yes, his neck is his most prominent feature,"
answered Varberg.
Under the old archway of the house where
she lived they parted.
" You will come and see us very often now,
won't you ?" said she, as she reached him her
hand and vanished through the door.
With an airily uncertain tread, and the ab-
surdest fancies hovering through his brain, Var-
berg reached his own dwelling. Now he hummed
a snatch of a song, now he thrust his hands into
his pocket, and began to march distractedly up
and down the floor ; now again he wondered
what he had thought about the minute before,
paused suddenly in his walk, and placed his finger
meditatively on his nose.
In Rosenthal. 99
Good heavens ! " cried he aloud. " What
can be the matter with me ? I never felt so in
my life before."
In order to find something to occupy his
thought, he opened his writing desk and began
to glance over some old letters and poems. And
from out of the old verses his former self seemed
to stare upon him like an indignant ghost, up-
braiding him for having disturbed its peace. It
appeared a perfect mystery to Varberg that he
had ever been as those poems showed him to
have been, and still he distinctly remembered the
occasion ; it was only a few months since they
had been written.
" What wretched stuff! " he exclaimed at last.
And he went to the window, tore the poems to
small pieces, and scattered the fragments on the
wind. Like a swarm of frightened butterflies they
rose and fell in the air, whirled giddily around
and flew out over the roofs of the city. Olaf even
wondered if one of them might not reach Ruth's
window, and he was about to construct a little
romance out of it, when it struck him that it was
a very trite and threadbare sentiment.
loo A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
CHAPTER VI.
Brother Jonathan s Ball.
"F^v URING the following four weeks there was
*-^ hardly a day in which Ruth and Varberg
did not meet. If he stayed away for a couple of
days, she accused him of being unneighborly, and
he was too conscientious to plead business or ac-
cidental obstacles, when all the time he felt that
no business in the world would have had the
power to call him away from her side. But the
truth was, he was living in a state of perpetual
struggle with himself; his life seemed but one
long-continued contradiction. And at certain
periods, fresh scruples would beset him, and
strange misgivings would fill his heart. Was it
merely an aesthetic regard he felt for Ruth ? Was
it merely the artist in him who admired and loved
her? and was it only as the possible heroine of
a future story that he felt his heart warming to-
ward her and his thoughts circling about her in
Brother Jonathans Ball. 101
unending and ever-narrowing spheres ? And sup-
pose that his attitude toward her was merely
that of a disinterested observer: was it then the
part of an upright and honorable man to steal thus
occultly, under the cover of friendship, into a
young girl's heart, only to explore its hidden
workings, and then expose it ruthlessly to the
stare of an unsympathetic multitude ? He might
try to persuade himself as much as he pleased,
that he did it for the benefit of art, which stands
high above all the petty interests of the individ-
ual ; the better part of his nature would still re-
bel against this kind of proceeding; and the
result was that Varberg the man and Varberg
the artist declared each other war, and never
wearied of heaping upon each other the fiercest
accusations. Varberg the artist however, gained
an advantage which he persistently clung to ;
it was absurd, he said, to think that Ruth
should return the tender regard which he pro-
fessed to cherish for her. It was on her part
simply a friendship a mere Platonic relation.
Probably the thought of love had never entered
her head. Thus persuaded, our Norseman would
again, in a tenderly melancholy mood, wend his
IO2 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
way toward the house with the archway, and as
he entered the bright and cosy little parlor, and
his eyes again eagerly drank the ever-fresh delight
of her presence, he seemed to himself a famished
wanderer who falls down exhausted at the border
of the oasis, content to feel, if not to taste, the
gifts of its bounty. He would often sit for
hours wondering at the perfection of outline in
her bust and countenance, and admiring the grace
and elastic harmony of their curves ; there was
something Juno-like in them, he thought. She
was evidently not of Germanic origin ; there was
a classic repose in the poise of her head, and
there was merely a more single and primitive
costume needed to reveal in her the plastic grace
of the Periclean age. But with all this you would
detect in her glance, in the ensemble of her face,
and perhaps in the very features which Varberg
liked to call Greek, something which instantly
excluded the possibility of an old-world birth ;
perhaps it was a certain unconsciousness of re-
straint, a wholesome (or as Varberg styled it,
shocking) disrespect for tradition. At all events,
her whole being breathed the ethereal loveliness
of American womanhood.
Brother Jonathans Ball. 103
There was something ineffably delicious in
these silent reveries a luxury of being, a dolce
far nienfe, which was rendered the sweeter by
the consciousness that it was shared by her. In
such moments these lines of Keats would float
dimly through his mind :
Dark nor light
The region ; nor bright nor sombre wholly,
But mingled up ; a gleaming melancholy ;
A dusky empire and its diadems ;
One faint eternal eventide of gems.
Keats had been his first love among poets ; it
was while turning over the leaves of his solitary
volume that he had caught the first glimpse of
the golden ore of the English tongue, and delv-
ing deeper, he had been startled at the revela-
tion of all its unceasing wonder and delight. In
Keats he had also found a line which for its
association with Ruth had become infinitely dear
to him:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn.
To be sure he had never seen Ruth in tears,
nor did he imagine that she was " sick for home,"
but nevertheless the chasteness, the sculptur-
IO4 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
esque purity of the verse could not but suggest
her. Ruth's cheeks were like the fresh-fallen
snow, not in tint, but because they looked as if
they had never been touched, and her lips were
as if they had never been kissed.
Ruth had soon discovered that her friend was
a dilettante in music, and after some hesitation
he had consented to come and play duets with
her once a week. For a time he was quite en-
thusiastic in his devotion to the noble art, and
even practised faithfully, but his fingers had lost
their suppleness, and he could no longer perform
those feats of manual dexterity which Liszt's
and Van Billow's arrangements require. By vir-
tue of patient labor, however, and a good deal
of forbearance on her part, he brought it so far
that he could play the bass with tolerable ac-
curacy (and he was artist enough to do it un-
obtrusively) while she managed the treble part
with consummate skill. If he lost his place, she
swiftly pointed to it with her finger ; if he was
a measure behind, she at once noticed it, and
adapted herself to him ; and if he missed a flat
or a sharp, her finger was in an instant on the
right key, and all the time her own part was
Brother Jonathan's Ball. 105
rendered to perfection. Varberg enjoyed these
musical evenings well enough, but he confessed
to himself that he felt just a trifle humiliated at
being corrected even by her, and that it was a
relief to him when she gave him furlough and
allowed him lazily to listen to her own improvi-
sations.
Varberg had, without any special effort of
his own, soon established himself in Mrs. Elder's
favor. The old lady, although she would per-
sist in Anglicizing his name into Warbeck and
even Warble, seemed to entertain a very cordial
regard for him. In her opinion it was a sad
mistake that all the world had not been made to
speak English ; and it always remained a mys-
tery to her how people could communicate with
each other in any other tongue. Against the
German she moreover cherished a kind of per-
sonal resentment ; she did not dare say so, but
nevertheless it remained a source of fresh wonder
to her how even children could express them-
selves with fluency in such a harsh and bar-
barous language. It was amusing to see the
puzzled frown on her face when the servant
maid came ia and addressed some greeting or
5*
IO6 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
question to her ; and Ruth asserted that when
she had nothing else to do she usually went
shopping with her aunt, for the mere sport of
seeing the latter's indignant stare at being con-
fronted with the Teuton clerks, and her un-
abated surprise at finding the German the
language of every store they entered. And on
such occasions Mrs. Elder, when she had recov-
ered from her first shock, would never cease to
marvel at the vastness of her niece's attainments,
although her indiscriminate linguistic taste
awarded a similar verdict of intellectual superi-
ority to Miss Bailey, whose German was only
remarkable for its reckless defiance of gender
and syntax.
It was in the last days of June that a
wealthy American residing in Leipsic gathered
the tlite of the English-speaking population at
his house, for what was informally called "a
social hop." The secret was let out some days
before the invitations came, and the pupils of
the Conservatory were all in a flutter, and
puzzled themselves with endless conjectures as
to who were to be among the favored few. It
was also rumored that some aristocratic German
Brother Jonathans Ball. 107
friends were to be there. Ruth, Varberg, and
Miss Bailey each received a dainty little note
requesting the honor of their presence, and
they very naturally agreed to go together ; Var-
berg of course reserved for himself the pleasure
of procuring a carriage, and the ladies were in
return to consider themselves as being under his
special charge. At the appointed time he made
his appearance in the usual unpicturesque attire
of this century's cavaliers, and Mrs. Elder re-
ported that the ladies would soon be ready ; but
as Varberg had sufficient experience in such
matters to know that " soon " meant at least an
hour, he made himself comfortable in the sofa
corner, and resolved to be patient. Mrs. Elder
first asked him whether people ate meat in his
country (she had a dim impression that they
fed on tallow candles), and having been satis-
fied on this point, gave an account of Dearie's
experience as a pupil in a Leipsic school.
" It was a most excellent school," said the
old lady. "They had Brussels carpets on the
floors in the school-rooms and you know
carpets are not a common luxury in this country
and they had servants who waited upon the
io8 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
scholars and reached them their books and
everything they wanted. But then the teacher
asked Dearie what the capital of the United
States was called, and Dearie said that it was
Washington. 'Why, don't you know better?'
said the teacher. ' It is New York.' Dearie of
course couldn't stand that, and she came home
crying, and since then she hasn't been there."
Varberg expressed his approval of Dearie's
action, and Mrs. Elder again gave vent to her
curiosity about the mode of life among the Nor-
wegians, whom, in spite of his assertion to the
contrary, she would persist in confounding with
the Laplanders. Did they have railroads in
Norway ? didn't the ladies there wear sheepskin
dresses for evening parties ? and didn't the gen-
tlemen in polite society kick the rafter in the
ceiling when entering a room ? If she had
intended to banter him, Varberg would have
received her questions as pleasantry, and an-
swered accordingly ; but the distressing part of
it was that she evidently spoke in good faith,
and even cited authorities for her opinions when-
ever he ventured to contradict her. She knew
she had read it somewhere, she said.
Brother Jonathans Ball. 109
In the meanwhile a richly perfumed breeze
(which made the lamp flutter) and an ethereal
silken rustle announced Ruth's arrival, and Var-
berg suddenly grew very unpatriotic, and re-
fused to listen to Mrs. Elder's discourse about
Norway. But Dearie was not yet ready, and
Mrs. Elder was too much warmed up to drop the
subject at so critical a moment. The young man
grew more and more uneasy, then vexed, and
at last came very near being impolite ; but Ruth
came to his rescue.
" I am very sorry to have kept you waiting
so long, Mr. Varberg," said she.
" Never mind, dear," interposed Mrs. Elder.
"We have had a very pleasant time indeed.
Mr. Warbeck has been telling me about his
country."
"Ah!" exclaimed Ruth with animation.
" Do not let me interrupt you. I shall sit here
quietly and listen. I am as much interested
as aunt."
There was once more a great rustle of silk
and freshly-ironed skirts while she gathered up
her dress and let herself drop down on the
piano stooL She crossed her hands in her lap,
no A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
threw her head back, " Well, now you may
begin. I am all attention."
Now Olaf had ever been proud of his coun-
try ; but at this moment he hated it, because it
seemed to remove him from her ; he hated Mrs.
Elder for reminding him of their dissimilarity,
and he even hated that part of his own life
which he had not shared with Ruth.
Never had Miss Bailey appeared lovelier in
his eyes ; and never had she been more wel-
come. He instinctively made the reflection that
a ball attire does make even the plainest look
attractive. Little did he heed the numerous
injunctions from Mrs. Elder, about coming home
in time, taking care that the ladies didn't drink
ice-water when they were warm, etc. In an
agreeably festive mood they descended the
stairs, and in another minute the carriage door
was slammed to, and they rolled away.
On the way Olaf engaged Ruth for the first
waltz and the German and Miss Bailey for two
quadrilles. As the former stepped from the
carriage she had to put her hands on his shoul-
ders and to make a little leap on to the sidewalk ;
and Miss Bailey did the same. In the hall on
BrotJier Jonathans Ball. in
the second floor they parted, and the ladies went
to the dressing-room ; and it was nearly half an
hour before they returned. He in the mean-
while split his gloves from sheer distraction, and
had to send a servant out to buy a fresh pair.
Fortunately he reappeared within a few minutes.
At length, when Varberg's patience was nearly
gone, he felt a light pressure on his arm it
was Ruth.
We would fain gratify the reader with a de-
scription of what Ruth had on, but Varberg's
journal, to which we are indebted for the plot of
the present story, contains only the following
passage which we prefer to quote in the original :
" She was dressed in some sort of corn-colored
stuff trimmed with black. She looked lovely as
a fresh-opened rosebud. I don't think it was
moire antique, nor was it calico."
The host and his daughter received the guests
at the door. The former was a tall and thin man,
with a Brother-Jonathan face and beard, and a
huge diamond pin in his shirt-bosom : the daugh-
ter was a pretty, fair-haired damsel, with an in-
significant little face, and as Varberg maliciously
remarked, she had, somehow or other, the air of
112 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
having been bred in the oil regions. She evidently
had taken this position at her father's side as a
souffleur, for whenever a guest appeared she whis-
pered his or her name, and the father made a
feeble attempt at imitating it, but usually with
indifferent success.
As Varberg, with Ruth on his arm, prom-
enaded down the length of the large, well-lighted
room, he heard some one exclaiming, as if quite
involuntarily, " Donnerwetter? Wie wunder-
schon ! " He turned his head indignantly, and
to his astonishment saw his friend the Baron.
Ruth dropped her eyes and blushed slightly.
" I wonder how he happened to come here,"
whispered she.
" He wishes for an opportunity to study Eng-
lish," replied Varberg with a dry laugh.
The musicians began to tune their instru-
ments. The violins scraped and twanged with
raising and falling inflection ; the clarionets ran
through some introductory trills ; and the bass
made' a few asthmatic efforts of uncertain descrip-
tion ; but suddenly, as by one common impulse,
the tones rushed together into a warm embrace,
wound their soft spirit arms around each other,
Brother Jonathans Ball. 113
and waved and rocked and floated onward on
the delicious billowing rhythm of a Strauss waltz.
One couple after another danced out on the floor.
Varberg laid his arm about Ruth's waist ; the ex-
hilarating music seemed to have entered into his
feet, and with the same softly rhythmical tread
they whirled away now up, now down the room,
now swiftly spinning around, now with a slow,
deliberate step in short, with all the delightful
caprices of well-practised dancers.
"Are you tired?" he whispered. "Then
only let me know."
"Never," answered she eagerly. "I never
tire of a good waltz."
At length, as the music ceased, he led her, all
aglow with pleasure, to the corner where Dearie
was sitting. Dearie had been dancing with a
Conservatory friend of hers, but he was from New
York, and she from Indiana, and consequently
they couldn't agree on any one kind of step. She
was all out of patience with him, and had at last
proposed to abandon the attempt. All this she
told her cousin and her partner in a provoked
voice and in her own emphatic way, until Varberg,
who on account of her relation to Ruth had a kind
H4 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
of an elder-brotherly feeling toward her, claimed
her partnership for the appointed quadrille. In
an instant the Baron von Weisskopf skipped
across the floor like a goat, and made a deep
bow to Ruth ; she arose, took his arm, and
walked into a smaller room, where it appeared
that a select set were dancing. Dearie was less
interesting than usual this evening, and she re-
fused to listen to Olafs conversation. She
merely asked incessantly, "Who is this?" and
"Who is that?" and when he was unable to
satisfy her curiosity she pouted and shook her
ringlets impatiently. Later in the evening a still
greater misfortune befell him. As the company
was called out to supper he happened to be danc-
ing a galop with the host's daughter, whose re-
sources of conversation were deplorably scanty.
"Are you fond of dancing?" she said, as
they sat down to the table. He gave some
commonplace answer, and tried to introduce
some fresh topic ; and as he was in the midst of
some glowing description, he heard his partner
whispering to the servant
| " Pass the sauce for the turkey to the next
table." And a minute later, in an undertone
Brother Jonathans Ball. 115
" Be sure that there is enough of the chicken
salad. Don't bring in the large cake before I
tell you."
This was truly discouraging; she had not
heard a word of what he had been saying ; and
as she observed his dismay, she hastened to
repair the wrong, turned a smiling face on him,
and asked cheerily:
" You are very fond of music, aren't you ? "
He stammered a faint " Yes," and from sheer
vexation ate more than his fill of the chicken
salad, and by the time the cake came was unable
to swallow another bit. Ruth and the Baron,
who were sitting up at the other end of the table,
laughed and joked and seemed with every min-
ute to advance in each other's favor.
It was a great relief to Varberg when the
supper at length came to a close. He rose with
such vehemence from the table that he came
near upsetting his chair; then stepped on the
dress of his little fair-haired damsel, begged
her pardon, and hastily withdrew to a remote
corner of the room. The music again scraped
and twanged, and presently struck up a deli-
ciously tuneful "waltz, with that soft drowsi-
n6 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
ness in it which is so appropriate for an after-
supper dance. Varberg stood mutely listening
to its alluring murmur, and made sarcastic reflec-
tions upon every one who came within the reach
of his eye. At last he came to the conclusion
that he really disapproved of the whole company.
There Weisskopf and Ruth whirled past him ;
and he noticed with a certain satisfaction that
the Baron kicked out too much in the waltz,
and that in fact his whole figure looked very un-
graceful. However, Ruth smiled on him, and
that was enough to make Varberg hate him.
The music stopped rather abruptly, the dancers
dispersed by couples through the adjoining
rooms, and our Norseman looked at his watch
and tried to steel his heart against all future vexa-
tions. Then, as he again raised his head, he saw
Ruth hastening toward him all panting and
aglow with heat and pleasure, and he keenly
noted a certain vehemence in her motions and
the superb singleness and purity in the combined
lines of her neck and hair. He was secretly in-
dignant at her for what he called " her flirtation
with that German prize-fighter," but his wrath
evaporated like the dew-drops in the sun, and
Brother Jonathans Ball. 117
he could only smile stupidly and distractedly
pull at his watch-chain. With an almost sisterly
frankness she addressed him, folded her hands
confidingly over his arm, and looked up into his
face with an air of mingled curiosity and tender-
ness. And all the lime her silk gown kept up
its vague rustle in his ear.
** Why do you stand here with that grand
philosophical air, as if you felt above all these
petty enjoyments which the rest of us are indulg-
ing in ? "
"Ah, Miss Ruth, to tell the truth, everybody
is stupid here to-night except you."
"Ah!" she exclaimed with a merry laugh.
" Don't you believe that you can impose upon
me in that way. No doubt you told Miss H ,
whom you took to the table, the same story."
u It was just Miss H 1 was complaining
of." And he gave her a grimly humorous de-
scription of his experience at the table. Ruth
laughed again, but tried to excuse Miss H .
"You can't expect everybody to be at home
on the subject which happens to interest you.
You ought to talk nonsense, and I can assure
you, you will spend a charming evening. Now
n8 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
do just try it for once," she added coaxingly.
" Just to please me. Come here ; I will intro-
duce you to a friend of mine in the Con-
versatory."
Before Varberg knew it, he found himself bow-
ing before a yellow-haired little body with merry
eyes, dressed in a low-necked blue silk gown,
and with a large gold locket which rose and fell
with the motion of her bosom. Ruth made
some droll remark about the vast accomplish-
ments of her friend, and said that she was con-
vinced that she and Varberg would take kindly
to each other. And away she went ; decided in
the twinkle of an eye a contest between two gen-
tlemen each of whom insisted that she had prom-
ised the dance to him ; and in the next moment
Varberg saw her managing her trail in the lan-
cers with the dignity of a queen.
The little yellow-haired lady proved more
intelligent than Varberg had anticipated ; her
airy little remarks were like detached rose-
leaves, so gently flushed and so delicate. He
could not remember a word of their conversation
the next morning : all he knew was that they
had been mutually pleased with each other.
Brother Jonathans Ball. 119
It was an hour after midnight, and the
German was about to begin. Varberg bowed to
his fair partner, and hastily betook himself to the
next room, where he supposed RutL .vouFd be
waiting for him ; when he had reached the door,
however, he was met by Weisskopf, who took
him aside into a corner, laid his arm half pat-
ronizingly about his neck, and whispered in his
ear, " Miss Copley says she has promised the
German to you, but I am persuaded that she
would willingly dance it with me if you would
release her."
Varberg colored to the edge to his hair, and
involuntarily clenched his fists. " Is Miss Copley
aware that you make me this proposition ? *'
he asked with feigned coolness. Weisskopf
shrugged his shoulders and assumed a mysteri-
ous air.
" Explain yourself," demanded Olaf aloud.
" If Miss Copley knows anything about what you
have said to me, you may tell her that she is
bound by no obligation to me. If she is ignorant
of it, then I can only say that I am astonished at
your boldness, not to say impudence."
" We shall have a word with each other before
I2O A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
leaving this house," replied the Baron, shrugged
his shoulders again, and went. Varberg well
knew that this was about equal to a challenge ;
but as he had the near pleasure of a dance with
Ruth before him, he forcibly banished the gloomy
thought and troubled himself, no more about it.
He found his dark-haired queen sitting on a chair
near the wall, her hands crossed in her lap and a
pensive expression in her eyes ; the moment she
saw him her face brightened, and she arose and
took his arm.
" I am glad you came," said she. " I don't
like to be alone."
He was strangely oppressed at first, but no
sooner had he wound his arm about her silken
waist, and felt the tender luxury of her touch,
her breath, and her voice as it were airily encir-
cling him, than his senses were roused as from a
trance ; new and hitherto unknown sensations
thrilled through his nerves like a tremulous rap-
ture, and his heart beat to the ever-hastening
measure of present and conscious bliss. Ruth
chatted gaily and with a delightful abandon which
was the more charming for the confidence it im-
plied. She seemed not to have the remotest sus-
BrotJur Jonathan's Ball. 121
picion that she had herself been the cause of his
displeasure. The fourth figure of the dance had
just been finished and the fifth was about to be-
gin. A gentleman, who held in his hand a wand
with half a dozen variously colored streamers
attached to it. bowed to Ruth, and a young lady
held out a similar wand to Varberg. He chose
an orange ribbon, and followed the train of
gentlemen who had already made their choice.
As they reached the middle of the floor, where
the ladies were waiting, he noticed with pleasure
that he had selected Ruth's color, but in the
same moment some one quickly pulled the rib-
bon from his grasp, and presently he saw it in
Weisskopf s hand. The ire rose within him ; he
stepped up to Ruth, whispered a word in her ear,
and danced away with her.
"Blitz Donnerwetter," he heard some one
exclaiming, and Ruth blushed slightly; but he
heeded nothing.
Toward morning the party broke up, and as
he was helping the ladies into the carriage, a
German servant lifted his hat to him and delivered
him a letter, the seal of which he instantly re-
6
122 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
cognized. He quietly put it into his pocket, and
ordered the coachman to drive.
" I may seem very inquisitive," said Ruth in
an anxious voice, as he took his seat in the car-
riage ; " but you will pardon me. What was that
letter about ? "
" I have not opened it yet," answered Var-
berg coolly.
Dearie was so exhausted that she could hardly
keep her eyes open, and as soon as they came
home she retired to her room. Ruth lit the
lamp, and insisted upon his staying until he had
got something to eat. And as they were seated
together on the sofa, with a bottle of ale and a
box of crackers before them, she anxiously re-
peated her question.
" Even at the risk of appearing rude," she said
" I must beg of you to let me know what there
is in that letter. I have my reasons for asking,
and I shall never forgive you if you leave me in
ignorance."
After some further coaxing, he pulled the
fatal note from his pocket and gave it to her.
Her hand trembled as she broke the seal, and in
a low, excited voice she read as follows :
BrotJier Jonathan's Ball. 123
SIR : I demand satisfaction for the instills yon have heaped
upon me this evening. Unless within three days you ask my
pardon in writing, you will meet me Friday afternoon at five
o'clock, at Cafe Fr , and you will there name me your
second, and we shall further agree upon weapons, time, and
place.
With true respect (Mit wahrcr Hochachtung),
BARON MAX VON WEISSKOPF.
The letter dropped into her lap and she
stared at him with a blank, frightened gaze.
" You will ask his pardon, won't you ? " she said
at last beseechingly.
" Never," answered he fiercely.
" Not for my sake ? " And she bent over
toward him and seized his arm.
" Not for all the world."
" But it is merely a matter of form."
" Makes no difference."
She flung herself over into the corner of the
sofa, covered her face with her hands, and burst
into tears.
" Miss Ruth," cried he, while his emotion
came near choking him. " I shall go mad if you
don't stop crying. What is my life worth ? There
is not the thing in all the world which I wouldn't
do for you." And as if frightened at his own
words, he tore the door open and rushed out.
124 -^ Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
CHAPTER VII.
Ruth's Journal.
RUTH had promised her friends to keep a
journal during her stay abroad, and then
read it to them on her return. She began it
much against her will, but after her acquaintance
with Varberg her life seemed so much richer, and
even the commonest events gained fresh import ;
and with every week her journal swelled in bulk.
We make the following extracts :
June 3, 1 8 . Until yesterday I had really
not been aware that I was in Europe. Now I
begin to understand what Europe means ; and
strange to say, I owe it all to him to my
mysterious pursuer whom the beadle in St.
Thomas's had to show out of the church. If
any other man had done such a thing, I think
I should have been angry with him ; but the
situation was really too comical, and his grand
air and the imperturbable mien with which
RutKs JovrnaL 125
he marched down the aisle gained him my
heartiest admiration. I knew I should meet
him again, and stfll, I confess, I was frightened
when I did meet him. His character is so
perfectly in keeping with the spirit of mediaeval
times as I have imagined it, that it seems a pity
that the modernized dress should refuse to cany
out the illusion. And when I came so suddenly
upon him in the forest under the Venusberg, I,
certainty without knowing it, repaid him in his
own coin ; he pursued me three months ago into
St. Thomas's ; I unconsciously or let me say
deliberately, only to make the parallel perfect
followed his footsteps to this altar of nature, as I
know he would have expressed it, and disturbed
his devotion. May he and Lady Venus forgive
me. But if I hadn't come, I have no doubt
he would have shared the fete of Tannhauser.
Jttxf 4, 18 . This morning I was waked up
by the sound of music. I peeped through the
curtain ; I saw a whole orchestra of horn and
stringed instruments stationed right under my
window. They played Luther's hymn, " Ein'
feste Burg ist unser Gott," and it was rendered
with an artistic precision which I should have
3*
126 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
thought creditable in Thomas's orchestra. And
these are but strolling street musicians ! Ah
wie wunderschon ! It is Germany all over. Mr.
Varberg did not call to-day, and I confess that I
feel just a little bit disappointed.
June 7, 1 8 . He doesn't seem to be in a
hurry about renewing the acquaintance. I shall
treat him very stiffly when he does come. No,
I won't either, for then I should betray that I
have been thinking of him, and I wouldn't have
him know that for anything.
June 9, 1 8 . He did call to-day, and we
had a delightful walk through Rosenthal. I like
him more, the more I see of him. There is a
peculiar warmth and intensity in all that he says ;
his answers and even his most trifling remarks
frequently startle me, and still they seem so
natural that I wonder I didn't think of saying
the very same thing myself.
Jnne 11, 18 . We went to church together
this morning. The minister laid down the law
heavily, and described with a charming minute-
ness the tortures of the damned in hell. I feel
confident that such a sermon could never have
been preached in Boston at least not in this
RutKs Journal. 127
century. Mr. Varberg was all devotion, and sat
there as sober and as imperturbable as a rock. I
was rather amused at the zeal of the old parson ;
and when he spoke about the seething tar, I
couldn't help smiling ; and still I was not realty
so irreverent as I seemed. As we left the church
I asked Mr. Varberg if he believed in hefl. He
answered that he did, although hardly in the
sense which this old preacher attached to it. I
asked him in what sense then. Now I only
wish I could repeat his answer just as he gave
it, but I am afraid I can't. The meaning, how-
ever, was that God was all love, and would not
condemn any man to eternal punishment. The
man's life here developed a spiritual organism
within him, which, if he had been wicked, would
find its proper sphere beyond the grave in the
society of the wicked, or what we call helL
Heaven would be wretchedness to him, and
he would voluntarily seek the fellowship of
those who shared his tastes and sympathies.
Thus hell, although by no means happy, would
afford, relatively speaking, the greatest happiness
of which such men were capable. " Then," I
answered thoughtlessly (and I am truly shocked
128 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
at the irreverence of the remark), " I don't see
why the devils in hell should not be quite as
comfortable as the angels in heaven."
He looked at me half reproachfully, gave a
brief polite answer, and changed the subject.
Now I should like to know why I always
perforce must behave irreverently, not to say
frivolously, in Mr. Varberg's presence. He evi-
dently believes that there is not the thing in
heaven or on earth which I have any respect for.
And the fact that he believes this to be my char-
acter, in some mysterious way compels me to
enter into the role which he kindly chooses to
assign to me. I shouldn't wonder if it was sheer
delicacy on my part, a fear of hurting his feel-
ings by convincing him that he has been mistaken
in his opinion of me.
June 13, 1 8 . We walked up through the
fields along the river this afternoon, and there I
saw for the first time in my life a stork. He stood
pensively on one leg, just as in Hans Christian
Andersen's stories. Mr. Varberg disapproved of
the man who rode into town in a cart drawn by
his wife and a big black dog. He sat coolly
smoking on a sack of hay. I saw the color
RutJis Journal. 129
mounting to V.'s cheeks, and his behavior was
so magnificent I can find no other word for it
that I could not but feel grateful to him with all
my heart. In his usual quiet manner he went
to a tree, cut a huge whip, stripped off the
leaves, and with the politest bow presented it
to the man in the cart. The poor Teuton
stared at him in stupid wonder, and his face was
so pitiful to behold that I almost felt inclined
to take his part. He tumbled out of his cart
with a suddenness as if the whip had been
applied to his own back, and walked off mur-
muring something between his teeth. Now who
would have thought Mr. V. capable of such
a joke? What especially amused me was the
supreme coolness and dignity which he pre-
served during the whole performance. If I do
or say anything ludicrous in his presence, I am
always conscious of a vague sense of guilt ; I
know that he disapproves of me. Nevertheless
it was very becoming to him.
June 1 6, 1 8 . O, if I only knew how I
appear in his eyes; If I could only imagine
what he thinks of me ! I feel at times as if that
cairn blue eye of.his was reading the most secret
130 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
thoughts of my heart. I often think of what he
said about authors. They have no business to
have personal relations with their fellow mortals ;
they are not bound by the same obligations as
other men. This was at least what I gathered
from what he said to me that afternoon in
Rosenthal. Now if it could be possible that
it was merely this sort of literary interest he
takes in me, I should at all events have to
admit that he gave me fair warning. Oh, no,
it can never be possible ; it would be unwor-
thy of him ; he is incapable of doing anything
so ungenerous. To steal into a young girl's
heart only to decipher it, and coolly take his
notes, while she suspected nothing ! What am
I saying ? What has Mr. Varberg got to do with
my heart? What does it matter to me whether
he has a favorable or an unfavorable opinion of
me? He is going away in three weeks, and I
shall probably never see him again.
June 20, 1 8 . I have often said to myself
that it is a matter of indifference to me what he
thinks of me. I wish it was ; but it isn't. I
blame myself daily for appearing to him as it
were in a false disguise. I am afraid of betray-
RutKs Journal. 131
ing what I think and feel, and therefore, against
my will, I play the sceptic, and the consequence
is that he believes me heartless and frivolous.
And still there is a strange fascination about an
assumed role. I think girls almost always have
an instinct to conceal their real nature, and if
for no other reason, then for the mere excitement
of it. I know it is deceitful and wrong, but I
can't help it.
June 23, 1 8 . I got angry with Mr. Var-
berg to-day, although I know it was very foolish
of me. He said that what he especially liked
about America was that there these delightful
intellectual friendships could exist between men
and women without leading necessarily to a more
intimate relation. Here in Europe society
frowned upon them, and no European woman
was capable of appreciating such a mere intel-
lectual devotion. I disliked the sentiment very
much, and I came very near saying so ; but I
conquered myself and stammered a faint " Yes,"
and felt in my heart a detestable hypocrite.
Why does he say such things to me ? I wonder.
jfunf 26, 1 8 . Turning over the leaves of
my journal, I find that it is all full of Mr. Var-
132 A Norseman 's Pilgrimage.
berg. I didn't know that I had written so much
about him. How can I read this to my friends
it Boston when I return home ? When they say
to me, " Well, Ruth, read to us what you have
seen in Europe," how mortifying to me, if I have
to sit down and read to them about a young
man by the name of Olaf Varberg. I like the
name Olaf, although I don't know if I pronounce
it right. It is so quaint.
June 27, 1 8 . I feel so strangely to day. I
don't know what is the matter with me. Dearie
tried to ridicule him, and said he looked as sol-
emn as a deacon ; then she insisted that he
curled his hair and his moustache, and I am
sure there isn't a word of truth in it. I- told
Dearie so too, but Dearie was in a contrary
mood, and aggravated me beyond endurance,
and somehow or other I couldn't manage her as
well as usual. O dear! I wish he wouldn't
come here any more. I can't bear to be teased
about him ; but I can't bear to have him stay
away either.
Catastropfic. 133
CHAPTER VIII.
The Catastrophe.
T T was the day after the ball. Ruth was sit-
* ting at the window in the parlor, pensively
resting her chin upon her folded hands. Her
cheeks were very pale, and her long, dark lashes
hid the anxious glance of the eyes.
" It was very foolish in me to cry last night,"
she thought, " and if he comes to-day, I shall do
my best to bewilder him. What could he think
of me?"
Nevertheless her heart was heavy, although
she was loath to admit it, even to herself; she
was rather provoked at herself for taking such a
lively interest in his doings. All the night the
thought of Varberg had haunted her ; she had
seen him lying half dead on the green grass, the
light quenched in his eye, the paleness of death
upon his cheeks and his parted lips, and the gore
darkening his blonde locks. And she imagined
134 ^ Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
herself bending down over him, folding his hands
upon his breast, and kissing his cold forehead,
. while her tears fell hot and fast upon his face.
Now, if Varberg had actually been dead, she might
have done all this ; at all events, she would sin-
cerely have mourned him ; but unhappily he was
yet alive, and she was angry with him. It seemed
especially hard to forgive him that he had been
witness to that involuntary outburst of emotion
on her part nay, that he had, although through
no fault of his own, been the occasion of it.
" If he chooses to kill himself, or have some-
body else kill him, what does that matter to
me ? " she asked herself repeatedly, and she
came to the cheerful conclusion that Varberg's
life or death concerned her no more than the
man in the moon.
Then there was a knock at the door, and a
quick flush shot over Ruth's cheeks. Varberg
entered ; she advanced to the middle of the floor
and shook hands with him. He seemed more
than usually grave and reserved ; and she no-
ticed the newness of all he had on, even to the
silk hat and the gloves ; he impressed her as a
man who was going to his own funeral. Vari-
The Catastrophe. 155
ous indifferent topics of conversation were taken
up and again dropped. The words froze as they
fefl from the lips, and each seemed to be pursuing
his own track of thought unaided and unaccom-
panied by the other.
" You are so strange to-day, Mr. Varberg,"
said Ruth at last.
" I confess I feel a little oppressed ; I came
here to you to be cheered."
"How shall I cheer you then? What do
you propose to do ? "
" Anything you like."
"Well, then let us abuse our friends," said
she with a kind of joyous vehemence. " I know
of nothing that is more apt to cheer me."
" I don't know that we have any friends in
common," replied Varberg with a feint smile.
" And for each to abuse his own, when his good
points would hardly be appreciated by the other,
would be very unprofitable work."
"Certainly we have friends in common;
there is, for instance, Weisskopf, the Baron."
"Well, what "do you think of him? " And
the gloom again gathered on Varberg's brow.
"Perhaps 'you don't know that he called
136 A. Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
here this morning and asked for you. He had
been at your rooms, but did not find you. I in-
vited him in, and like all Germans he smokes
detestable tobacco. I have been airing the room
for several hours since he left. Indeed, he sat
puffing away like a young steam-engine."
" But that hardly expresses your opinion of
him. If you wish to cultivate his acquaintance,
you have to accept him as a Teuton, or not at all."
" Mr. Varberg," cried Ruth laughing, " I
haven't accepted him in any sense whatever.
He is to me simply a phenomenon ; and as such
I enjoy him, and dismiss him when I find him no
more entertaining."
" Is that the way you do with all your
friends ? "
" Certainly. But some of my friends I hope
will continue to entertain me as long as I live.
You can't blame me for speaking in this way.
You have taught it me yourself. To you, if I
may trust your own words, men are merely psy-
chological phenomena, and I with the rest. Now
I am beginning to profit by your teachings."
Varberg made no answer ; but his eye rested
half reproachfully on Ruth, and he silently cursed
The CatastropJie. 137
the fate that had made her so fair. There was a
feverish uneasiness in her gayety that pained
and distressed him. "What can have wrought
this change in her ? " he questioned himself ; and
then added with a sigh, " Femina semper muta-
bile et varium" It was a comforting thought
that it was merely the experience of the whole
world which was repeating itself in him. Ruth
in the meanwhile, piqued at his silence, went on
in the same strain.
" Weisskopf," she said, " is an exceedingly
entertaining phenomenon. But there is some-
thing of the adventurer about him, which, how-
ever, makes him no less interesting as a phenome-
non. I regret to say that I always distrust him ;
and especially when he talks about his own gal-
lant deeds, I am aware that he does not always
expect to be pinned down to a literal inter-
pretation. Then he has a way of paying one the
most ridiculous compliments with a Jiauteur and
a magnificence which border on the sublime.
My own opinions, if I have the impudence to
have any, he treats with a gentle forbearance
which would irritate me beyond endurance, if I
didn't find the situation novel enough to be in-
138 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage.
teresting. My serious remarks he listens to with
an indulgent smile, and then leaves them unan-
swered or dismisses them with a jest, as if they
were too insignificant to merit his attention.
And the end of it invariably is that I am some-
how or other compelled to assume the role which
he pleases to give me, and I feel like an irrespon-
sible child, and even talk and act like one. But
Mr. Varberg, you are not listening to me," she
cried, after a moment's pause. "Whither are
your thoughts wandering? Is it the fair-haired
maidens of Norway you are dreaming about ? "
" You do me injustice, Miss Copley," an-
swered he, rising from the sofa. " But I have
no doubt the fresh air would do us both good,
after the exertions of yesterday. Would you
not favor me with your company?"
" Certainly," she answered, and walked to-
ward the door. " In the meanwhile, while I
put on my hat, you may amuse yourself with
the ' Leipziger Tageblatt.' Here it is. There
is a picture in it of a Russian Internationalist,
who has run away from St. Petersburg with a
large amount of money, and the description as
well as the picture, as my aunt remarked this
The Catastrophe. 139
morning, bears a strong resemblance to you. So
you bad better be on your guard, or you might
be sent to Siberia."
And she laughed a loud, unnatural laugh, and
ran out of the room. He took up the paper,
and found there a portrait which really did not
look unlike him. What especially startled him
was the notice that the criminal had a slight scar
over his right eye, which was another point of re-
semblance. Ruth returned. He laid the paper
away, and thought no more of it. On the stair-
case they met Mrs. Elder and Dearie, who had
been out shopping ; they stopped for a moment,
exchanged the usual greetings, and parted.
It was late in the afternoon, and the broad
gravel paths of Rosenthal were almost empty.
Here and there a couple of students lay idly
smoking on the grass, and in some thick-leafed
copse a loose -coated journeyman lingered in
amorous luxury with the mistress of his heart.
The air was rich and warm, and a luminous,
misty gauze spread a faint glamour through the
atmosphere. Swarms of gnats hovered in an
airy dance under the sunny linden crowns, and
the murmurous music of their wings impercepti-
140 A. Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
bly blended with the summer stillness; and now
and then a large black insect buzzed with
" heedless hum " across the path, and lost itself
in the gloom of a neighboring thicket. It was
difficult to think of the new world, with its busy
life and its noisy bustle, on a day like this ; indeed,
it seemed hard to persuade one's self that Wall
Street and Broadway were not all a dream, a
grotesque invention of a capricious fancy.
These were at least Varberg's reflections, and
even Ruth's mind was gently attuned ; she
forgot the resentment she had lately harbored
against her friend, and began to talk in her old
easy, confidential way.
" Now, Mr. Varberg," said she, " you know
me too well to be angry with me, if I return
once more to this fatal subject. But tell me
truly and honestly whether you think that a
man's honor can be saved by his having his ear
or his nose cut off, or his face disfigured by an
unsightly scar ? "
"An honest question deserves an honest
answer,' 1 replied he. " In the abstract, I disap-
prove of duelling as decidedly as you do. But
a time-honored custom, which has been handed
The Catastrophe. 141
down to us by our forefathers, we cannot afford
to ignore."
"Aha," ejaculated she; "then it is your
romantic notions of chivalry that interfere with
your better judgment ! And truly, if it were for
the honor of some beloved maiden that you
drew your sword, I should myself find some
excuse for it. But, after all, losing your life for
your lady love, or rescuing her from death and
then marrying her, is a very old-fashioned sort
of thing, and as a theme of fiction it has been so
well worn out by our novelists and romancers
that at last nobody really believes in it. If I
should want to sacrifice my life, I should invent
some other way which nobody had ever tried
before."
" And how do you know that it is not for
the sake of some beloved maiden that I propose
to fight ? "
She turned her head abruptly, and a deep
blush mounted to her cheeks.
" If you were a German," she began, with
her face still averted, " I should not attempt to
contradict you. But you are an American
142 ^ Norseman's Pilgrimage.
citizen, and are not bound to conform to the
customs of the Germans."
" True ; but when you are in Rome you do
as the Romans do."
The evening wore on, and without heeding
whither their steps carried them, they hastened
forward. The last red glow of the sunset lay
like a band of flame along the horizon, and the
moon, as if by surprise, burst forth full and clear
from behind its vapory citadel ; it spread its
lustre over the dim blue sky, and the thin
clouds were fringed with a pale, ghostly gold.
Now and then some lonely quail raised its shrill
cry from the distant meadows, the crickets
chirped drowsily in the grass, and a warm sum-
mer wind breathed with a faint rushing through
the crowns of the beeches and linden trees.
"I wonder where we are?" said Ruth, lay-
ing her hand upon his arm. " It seems all so
strange and unfamiliar."
" I don't think I have ever been here before,"
answered Varberg, while he gently drew her arm
through his. " But nevertheless this whole land-
scape appears to me so remotely familiar, that I
cannot but think that I must have seen it some-
The Catastrophe. 143
where, perhaps in a dream or in a vision. And
if I had seen you here for the first time, I should
have recognized you at once, for you are as much
a part of the landscape as the linden trees and
the chirp of the crickets."
" Ah, you flatter me,'' she replied musingly,
" although," she added with a smile, " the com-
parison with the crickets ought not to make me
vain. But if you will listen to my chirp, I
think it is high time that we think of finding
our way home."
Ruth and Varberg had both a talent for
losing their way. When in each other's com-
pany they forgot everything except their own
happiness. Now they wandered about through
the broad moonlit avenues, in the vague hope of
sometime reaching the city. The vast calm of
the night, the placid massiveness of the shadows
and the fragile woof of cloud, which spread like
a fairy frostwork over the sky, chimed together
into a world-wide, silent chant, a voiceless mel-
ody of wonder. And although he felt the still-
ness sinking into his heart and diffusing its
blessed sense of peace through his whole being,
he was still conscious of one wakeful, dimly-
144 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
defined desire, which came and went, and ever
evaded the grasp of his thought. It was as if
he expected a miracle to be wrought somehow,
without his own agency; and whenever he
looked up into Ruth's eyes, and saw her fair
young face smitten into marble by the rays of
the moon, he believed that the miracle was near,
and the blood throbbed more swiftly 'through
his pulses. At length they saw the roofs of the
city shimmering between the leaves, and the
fatal confession hovered upon his lips ; but just
at that moment they heard harsh laughter close
by, and caught sight of two men, one of whom
stood leaning against the trunk of a tree, while
the other lay outstretched upon the grass. The
more able-bodied of the two helped his compan-
ion to his feet, and they both reeled out into the
road.
" Come, let us go back and take another
way," said Ruth, drawing her veil down over
her face.
"You are not afraid of two miserable drunk-
ards, I hope ? " answered Varberg, and walked on.
The men steered straight against them.
" Ah, mein Liebchen," said the one, and
The Catastrophe. 145
Varberg in an instant recognized Weisskopfs
voice, although it was unnaturally hoarse and
drowsy. "Don't make yourself so precious;"
and he stretched out his arm to pull away the
veil from Ruth's face.
" Step aside," cried Varberg, " or 111 strike
you down on the spot."
tt Strike me down on the spot ah ? " droned
the Baron in the same drunken tone. " You are
in a fighting mood, are you? "
Ruth stood pale and erect, but she trembled
over her whole body. Weisskopf made another
stretch toward her, but before he had time to
reach her Varberg sprang forward, seized him by
the throat, threw him down on the ground, and
put his knees on his chest.
" Now, you impudent wretch," said he in a
hoarse whisper, ** if you dare stir, I shall strike
you dead."
The Baron's companion in the meanwhile
stood howling " Police," at the top of his voice,
and while the victim still lay groaning in the pow-
erful grip of his assailant's fist, Varberg felt him-
self suddenly seized by the shoulders and vio-
lently flung over to the other side of the road.
7
146 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
He had hardly time to recover from his surprise,
when he was again grabbed by the neck, and
found himself struggling in the arms of two
burly Teutons in policemen's uniforms. Weiss-
kopf, who had been considerably sobered by the
sudden encounter, rose to his feet, and explained
to the policemen that he had been unexpectedly
assaulted, and he was just recounting the details
of the affair when Ruth stepped close up to him,
lifted her veil, and gazed him in the eye. He
tumbled backward, as if hit by an invisible
hand, and staggered away between the trees ;
his companion followed. Varberg vainly at-
tempted to conciliate the officers of the law;
and Ruth, her voice choked with emotion,
prayed them to let him depart in peace. But
the Teutons, in their official zeal, were deaf to
all remonstrances, and hustled their victim about
as if he had been the most atrocious criminal in
the world.
" Yes, yes, we know all about it," roared one
of them. " We have long been on the track of
you ; and we knew we should find you at last.
You will have a chance of explaining all that
to-morrow."
The Catastrophe. 147
" But I protest. I am an American citizen."
" You can protest to-morrow."
"Then allow me at least," said Varberg
calmly, " to procure a carriage for this lady. She
has, at all events, nothing to do with this.
Moreover, you need not tear me to pieces. I
shall follow you of my own accord."
After a brief consultation they decided to
grant this request, and without more ado they
conducted Ruth down to the corner of Frank-
furter Strasse, where a carriage was found.
" My dear Miss Ruth," said Varberg, as they
were about to part, " don't let this disturb you.
To-morrow it will all be cleared up, and I shall
come at once to see you."
" Ah, Mr. Varberg," answered she, while a
tear glittered in her eye, " all these indignities
you have to suffer on my account. O dear,
what shall I do?"
The policemen slammed the door to, and
hurried him off. An hour later he sat on a hard
wooden bench, in a narrow prison cell, and phi-
losophized on the vanity of human happiness.
A damp, musty smell of masonry pervaded the
air, and in spite of the warmth he shivered.
148 A Norscmarfs Pilgrimage.
The moonlight streamed in through the small
iron-barred window, high up on the wall, and a
narrow strip of pale blue sky, dimmed by the
dingy glass, gazed in upon him, and mocked
him with its vague suggestion of freedom. A
month earlier, when visiting Wartburg, he had
imagined himself in the romantic capacity of a
prisoner ; now the dreary reality stared him in
face, and the romance had utterly vanished.
The jailer brought him a quarter section of a
black bread and a jug of water, but he refused to
touch either. He heard the rattling of chains
somewhere at the other end of the corridor; the
door of his cell was locked and barred on the
outside, and the retiring steps of the jailer
re-echoed with an uncomfortable regularity and
sharpness under the stone vaults.
It was after midnight when at last he threw
himself down on his straw mattress, and toward
morning he fell asleep. He dreamed that he was
at Wartburg, and that he was sitting under a
huge poplar at the foot of the Venusberg. The
leaves of the poplar clanked with strange me-
tallic voices, which fell upon his ear like the
subdued tinkling of a vast chorus of infinitely
The Catastrophe. 149
small bells. Hard by stood a couple of fragrant,
maidenly birches, which breathed forth an anx-
ious hush, and rustled faintly and soothingly,
but under the birch copse grew clusters of
ghostly flowers, which, eagerly raised their fragile
cups of crimson, ruby, and amethyst toward
the silent moon, and gathered its rays, until
they were filled to the brim; and then they
bent their heads droopingly to the earth, and
Vanished like a spark that is quenched. All
of a sudden, while Varberg sat gazing upon
this wondrous spectacle, the hill was rent in
twain, and there sat Lady Venus on her gold-
en throne, and beckoned to him with a joy-
ous smile on her countenance. A delicious
shudder ran through his frame ; he arose, and
stood for a moment wavering. Lady Venus
arose, too, and descended from her throne, and
now he saw that it was Ruth. He rushed for-
ward to throw himself at her feet, but out of
the ground there came an old man with a gray
moustache, and that was the faithful Eckart,
but it was also Olafs own grandfather, whom he
had left behind him in Norway.
150 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
" Flee, youth, flee," cried the old man ; " in
her embrace lurk death and eternal damnation."
Varberg turned to fly; but first he would
look once more upon that young joyous face ;
and the longer he looked the fairer she grew,
and the harder it became to part from her.
"Death and damnation," cried the faithful
Eckart, and Olaf summoned all his strength and
tore himself away ; but a net of fine invisible
threads seemed to wind itself about his arms
and feet, until at length he could not advance an
inch further. Turning once more, he saw that
her hair had grown to an immense length, and
encompassed the woods far and near.
" Flee now, if thou canst," said she with the
same joyous smile, and the voice was Ruth's.
He rushed back, thrust down his old grand-
father, and in an ineffable rapture clasped her
tightly to his breast. The hill closed behind
him, and in the same moment he awoke. There
were the bare stone walls, the iron-barred win-
dow, and a belated star which still glimmered
feebly on the sky. He was indeed a prisoner,
but in the Leipsic jail, not in the Venusberg.
To the Rescue. 151
CHAPTER IX.
To the Rescue.
A T ten o'clock the next morning Varberg was
*** summoned to appear before the police
court. The judge, a moon-faced, bald-headed
man of a very imposing front, sat behind the
bar, and the Baron von Weisskopf, the traces of
yesterday's carousal still visible on his counte-
nance, was on the witness stand. The usual
questions about name, position, etc., were
promptly answered. " You say that this gentle-
man attacked you in Rosenthal," said the judge
to Weisskopf.
" I do, your honor," replied the latter, while
he reddened to the edge of his hair, and was
evidently very much ashamed of himself.
" With an intent to rob you ? "
" I think not, your honor ; I should rather
say that he was slightly drunk, and didn't know
exactly what he was doing."
152 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
Varberg sent the Baron a keen, scornful look;
but he disdained to contradict him, for fear of
implicating Ruth in an affair that would neces-
sarily bring her into an unpleasant position, and
which after all could lead to nothing worse than
a fine of five or ten dollars. After some further
cross-examination, the case was dismissed, and
Varberg paid his fine on the spot. He was just
about to leave the court when one of the police-
men who had assisted at his arrest rushed up to
the judge, laid a photograph down on the desk
before him, and began to talk and gesticulate
eagerly. Varberg finally concluded that he must
be the subject of their discussion, for the judge
now glanced at him, and now again at the pho-
tograph ; as he was about to depart, the police-
man called him back, and ordered him to remain.
" You say that you are an American citizen,"
said his honor. " Have you any passport to
show that this is actually the case? "
" Passports are no longer used in civilized
countries," replied Olaf. " I have none."
The judge raised his eyebrows, and nodded
significantly to the policeman.
To the Rescue. 153
" You don't happen to know the name Fedor
Voriakoff? " continued he.
" I do not, sir."
" And you have never been in Russia ? "
" Never."
Quick as lightning flashed through the unfor-
tunate Norseman's brain what Ruth had told
him the day before about his resemblance to the
Russian Internationalist. He suddenly grew
"very red in his face ; the judge noticed it. nodded
again contentedly, and said :
" At all events, we shall have to detain you
here, until you can prove to us satisfactorily
who you are."
" That may be very difficult, sir, as I have no
friends here in Leipsic."
The policeman in the meanwhile took the
measure of Varberg's height, and narrowly
viewed his face, all of which our hero endured
with a calm composure, well worthy of the Viking
race. After some more questioning and other
ceremonies he was conducted back to the cell
which he had previously occupied. He de-
manded pen and ink, and immediately sat down
to write a note to the American consul, stating
7*
154 ^ Norseman's Pilgrimage.
his difficulty, and asking what he had to do.
Toward evening he received a polite reply,
informing him that, as he had no papers to prove
his citizenship, he, the consul, had no means of
helping him.
Two days later everything was disorder and
confusion in the house with the old-fashioned
archway. The vacation had commenced, and
Mrs. Elder and her nieces had received an invi-
tation to come and spend the summer with
some friends in England. Half-packed trunks
and a half a dozen bandboxes of various sizes
and colors lay scattered about on the floor, and
the tables and chairs were covered with books,
hats, ribbons, and freshly ironed skirts and
dresses. Dearie was running about the room
busying herself with packing, and Ruth was sit-
ting at the window in her usual attitude, resting
her chin upon her folded hands. Her face wore
a grave, almost sad expression ; her cheeks were
pale, and her eyes looked large and lustrous.
Suddenly she arose, then stopped in the middle
of the floor, as if struggling with some great
resolution. She hastily put on her hat, threw a
To the Rescue. 155
light shawl about her shoulders, and walked
toward the door.
" Ruth, where are you going ? " cried Dearie.
" Supper will be ready in a few minutes."
" I am going out to take a walk."
"This is indeed a most extraordinary time
for taking a walk," replied the cousin. " If I
were you, I should certainly not trouble myself
so much about a man whom I had hardly known
for four weeks."
" Fortunately you don't know what I am
troubling myself about," said Ruth scornfully,
and hastened away. Dearie was mystified ; she
could not imagine how this change had come
over her cousin ; why she was so pale and
distracted, and why she had walked about as in
a dream the whole day. But Dearie contented
herself with exclaiming, " Well, I must say ! "
and went on packing. If she had read the
Leipsic paper for that morning, she might per-
haps have found the clue to the mystery.
Ruth hurried up one street and down
another ; her feet were as if benumbed ; the
ground seemed to swell and again to sink be-
neath her tread, and she hardly knew where she
156 A ^Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
was stepping. Unconsciously she pressed her
lips together, and kept her eyes steadfastly
fixed on the stones in the pavement. She
could not get rid of the feeling that she was
doing something wrong, or at least unwomanly,
and now and then she cast a shy glance at some
passer-by, as if fearing that her face should
betray her secret. With a beating heart she
mounted the broad stone staircase of the jail,
and inquired of the woman who was sweeping
the hall, where she could find the jailer. The
woman looked wonderingly at her, then mur-
mured something between her teeth, and after
some minutes returned with a rough, ruddy-
bearded Hercules who held a large bunch of
keys in his hand.
"What do you want?" asked he brusquely,
striking the keys against his thigh.
" I want to see a friend," answered Ruth in
a low voice.
" Have you a permit?"
"No; I didn't know that it was necessary."
" I can't let you in without that. You may
perhaps get one from the assistant master of the
police in the office across the street."
To the Rescue 157
And he turned his back on her, and, marched
away, rattling violently with his keys.
Ruth crossed the street and entered the office.
There were two or three showily dressed gentle-
men standing at the bar talking with the officer.
She pulled her veil down over her face ; and
seated herself at the door in the hope that they
would soon go away. But they took their time ;
and at last the officer locked his desk, and put
on his hat. She had to conquer her pride ; ad-
vanced to the bar, and in a voice which, in spite
of her efforts, trembled a little, she asked
for permission to visit the supposed Russian
prisoner.
" What is your relation to him ? " asked the
master of the police. " Are you his wife ? "
" No," she stammered feebly ; her face burned
as with fever, and she felt as if she were going to
sink into the floor.
" What are you then ? " inquired her tormen-
tor harshly."
" I am his friend."
" Ah, she is his friend," repeated he, turning
to the gentlemen, who both glanced insolently
158 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
at her, and then burst into laughter. " No, we
don't admit friends"
That was too much for her. Her indignation
was kindled within her, and her womanly wrath
mastered her grief. She threw her veil back,
raised her head, and advanced a step toward the
officer.
" Sir," said she, in a tone which at once de-
manded respect, " what right have you to insult a
lady who comes here to ask of you what it is not
in your power to deny her? The gentleman
whom I wish to see has been convicted of no
crime, and his case is simply that of mistaken
identity. Now he needs the assistance of his
friends to prove who he is. If you refuse me ad-
mission, I shall procure it to-morrow through the
American consul ; and I shall take care to have
your behavior toward me duly reported."
The Teuton was not a little bewildered at
this unexpected outburst. He stood for a min-
ute with a perplexed frown on his 'brow, as if
meditating whether he ought to be angry or not ;
then, with a surly mien, he scratched his name to
a printed permit, and handed it to Ruth. The
sun was near its setting as she reached the street ;
To tlie Rescue. 159
she again entered the gloomy edifice, and has-
tened onward through the dark, cool vaults.
She presented her paper at the jailer's lodge,
and was conducted by the same ruddy-bearded
Hercules through a labyrinth of corridors, stairs,
and galleries, until at length they stopped at a
small door, which was heavily bolted, and more-
over secured by a huge iron bar.
" Ah," thought Ruth, " here he has had to
spend three long days, and all on my account,
because he was good, and brave, and generous ! "
The door groaned on its hinges as the jailer
pushed it open. Ruth steeled her nerves, and
determined not to give away to any grief or
emotion. She peered into the cell, and by the
glimmer of the departing daylight saw a stoop-
ing figure seated on a wooden stool, close to the
wall. He did not stir as she entered, but re-
mained in the same attitude, with his head rest-
ing on his hands. A sudden fright seized her ;
she bent down over him, laid her hand on his
shoulder, and whispered, " Mr. Varberg ! " He
sprang up then again staggered backward
against the wall.
160 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
" Miss Ruth ! " he exclaimed. " Can I trust
my eyes?"
" Yes, Mr. Varberg," answered she, " it is I.
I have come here to see what I can do to get
you away from this horrible place. We are all
going to start for France and England in a few
days ; so, you see there is no time to be lost."
" It is very kind of you to think of me in my
present misfortune ; but I am afraid nothing can
be done. I have given up all hope. I shall
probably have to go to Russia, and there they
will find out their mistake ; but I thank you a
thousand times for coming to tell me good-by."
" I did not come to tell you good-by, and
still lest did I come to be thanked," answered
Ruth calmly (and he did not suspect what that
calmness cost her) ; " I came to consult with
you, and then to act. First, have you no official
document, issued in the United States, or any
communication from people who are known to
the authorities here ? "
He opened his eyes widely it was strange
to hear her talk in that calm, practical way and
after some hesitation he replied :
" No ; nothing that I can think of."
To the Rescue. 161
" Have you not a letter of credit ?" .
" Certainly."
"And where is it?"
" It is in my desk, at my lodgings."
" Then, please write a note to your landlady
requesting her to send me this letter of credit at
once. Or better, if you will give me the key to
the desk, I will send for it myself. You have
probably drawn money on it several times since
your arrival here ? "
" Every other week, for the last six months."
"Then leave the rest to me. By to-morrow
night you shall be out. Now, good-night. I
can never hope to repay the debt I owe you ! "
and she reached out her hand to him. He
seized it and pressed it to his lips ; but the hand
was cold, and it trembled. Varberg was deeply
moved. How cruelly had he not judged and
misunderstood this young girl ! There she stood,
apparently proud and erect, and talked in a com-
posed, business-like way, while the cold perspira-
tion burst from her brow, and her frame trem-
bled with suppressed emotion. If it had not
been ungenerous to take advantage of this
moment's excitement, he would have thrown
1 62 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
himself at her feet, and begged her to forgive
and to love him. He still held her hand in
both his, and looked up into her large dark eyes,
which glistened with the lustre of a gathering
tear. He noticed a slight nervous quivering
of the upper lip, but otherwise her features
showed no sign of unusual feeling.
" Ah, Miss Ruth," said he warmly, " how
good and how noble you are, and how sadly I
have misjudged you ! "
" I am not so good as you think," answered
she, attempting to smile. " Good night ! "
The rusty hinges groaned ; with a sharp click
the key turned in the lock, and with a heavy
thump the iron bar was pushed before the door.
He strained his ear to catch the sound of her
receding footsteps ; but they were too light he
did not hear them. He sprang forward and
struck his hand against his forehead.
" Good God ! " cried he, staring around him
on the gray, naked walls. " Where am I ? "
He threw himself down on the hard straw
mattress, covered his face with his hands, and
breathed heavily. He had hardly tasted of
food for two days, and overwhelmed with weari-
To the Rescue 163
ness and exhaustion, he fell into a troubled,
feverish sleep.
It is hardly necessary to recount in detail
Ruth's adventures during the next day, and the
means by which she procured her friend's
release. Having obtained the letter of credit,
she called on the banker with whom Varberg
had his account, briefly stated to him what had
happened, and asked for his assistance. She
called his attention to the fact that the letter
was dated December last, while the Russian
criminal, according to the advertisement, had
not disappeared until March of the present year,
which in itself was sufficient proof that the two
persons could not be identical. The banker,
moved by her beauty and her earnestness, rather
than by any sympathy for the persecuted Norse-
man, promised her to present the case at once to
the authorities. But justice is slow in Germany,
as elsewhere, and it was not until nearly ten
o'clock in the evening that the herculean jailer,
accompanied by an assistant of the police,
opened the door of Varberg's cell, and told him
that he was at liberty to depart. He was not
American enough at that moment to think of
164 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
claiming redress or satisfaction ; his only thought
was whether Ruth had left Leipsic or not, and
the only redress he wished was an hour's happi-
ness with her.
It was a dark night, and a thick, impenetra-
ble fog brooded over the empty streets. The
watchman's horn sounded from the cupola of
the court-house and startled a feeble echo from
the opposite side of the square, and the watch-
man of St. Thomas's answered with a long,
dolorous note. The lantern in the church
steeple hung as if suspended in mid-air, and
glimmered faintly in the dreary solitude of the
fog. Varberg rushed like a madman through
the desolate city. His head swam ; he felt
faint and dizzy, and his knees almost refused to
support the burden of his body. Nevertheless
all his soul was rilled with one strong desire, and
this desire imparted strength to his tottering
limbs. He hastily crossed the promenade,
swung himself over the garden fence, and stood
anxiously peering through the gloom. The
great dusky facade of the building stared upon
him with a spectre-like frown, and the last spark
of hope was quenched within him. No friendly
To tJie Rescue. 165
light beckoned to him from her window. She
slept all the city slept all was gloom and
desolation.
Hour after hour he wandered about in the
wet garden, now slipping in the muddy walks,
now stumbling over a flower-bed or a tree root.
The lilacs shook their cold tears over his head ;
the night folded him in its clammy arms, and
pressed its chilly kiss upon his forehead, until he
shuddered through every nerve and fibre. An
intolerable hunger tormented him, and his hands
and feet were benumbed with cold and exhaus-
tion ; but all hotels and restaurants were dosed,
and moreover he had forgotten to reclaim his
purse and his papers, of which he had been
deprived at the time of his arrest. Toward
morning he sauntered wearily to his lodgings,
and by the watchman's assistance gained access
to the house. His landlady, dressed in a light
light negligee, met him in the hall, and was so
frightened at his appearance that she came near
fainting.
"Mein lieber Doctor, wo sind sie dock
gewesen ! " cried she, as she recovered her
senses.
1 66 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
" Ich bin im Gcfdngniss gewesen" answered
he absently.
During the greater part of that day ne slept,
and when, toward evening, he sought the house
with the archway, the nest was empty and the
bird had flown.
The Clock Strikes. 167
CHAPTER X.
The Clock Strikes.
T~\ URING the next week time hung heavily
*~~ on Varberg's hands; hour after hour he
went aimlessly strolling through Rosenthal, and
when he became weary of this kind of amuse-
ment he would drop into some random restau-
rant, where he was sure of finding acquaintances,
and there he would sit distractedly devouring
one dish of ice-cream after the other, and pas-
sively suffer himself to be imposed upon by wait-
ers and fellow students. His unexpected arrest
had prevented him from meeting the Baron at the
time appointed, and his further apprehensions
regarding the duel were at last removed by a
note from his opponent, dated Fulda, in which
the writer informed him that " circumstances "
had compelled him to leave the city, and that
consequently he. withdrew his challenge. Here
he was even 'deprived of the opportunity to
1 68 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
perform an heroic act, which in some measure
would have relieved the dreary emptiness of his
existence ; for if he had fought the duel, it would
have been done for Ruth's sake, and if he had
been offered the chance of refusing it, it would
have been an equally heroic deed, which she
would have treasured up in her heart, and which
would have raised him in her estimation. But
fate persisted in turning his tragic plots into
farces, and he had no choice but to accept the
humiliating position of a farcical hero. In another
week the University semester would close, and
he would point his course northward, where his
old grandparents and his sister were eagerly
awaiting him. Strange to say, however, within
these last weeks all his enthusiasm for his native
land, with its rugged rocks and its fair-haired
damsels, had cooled, and he became seriously
alarmed at the prospect of appearing among his
relatives in this new character of an apathetic
cosmopolitan.
Leipsic seemed the mere wraith of its own
self after Ruth had gone. The mornings were
what a romanticist would have termed " impu-
dently awake," the noonday hour was as if lulled
The Clock Strikes. 169
into a heavy fever doze, and the sultry night gave
neither rest nor comfort. It lasted some time
before he reached the conclusion that Ruth
must have left so suddenly because she didn't
desire to see him ; he would have gladly dis-
missed the thought of such a duplicity, as he
called it, on her part, but a hundred unwelcome
arguments thronged to its support, until he was
forced to accept the situation, humiliating
though it be. He had noticed that she treated
him coldly the day after that fatal ball, and the
reason for this he sought in the little scene in
the night when she had in his presence yielded
to a burst of grief, of emotion, or of nervousness,
or God knows what it was ; and he had ungen-
erously accepted it as an evidence of her inter-
est in him, and had then fled like a coward,
perhaps, because he feared that a delay would
necessarily have led him to betray those feelings
which, as he flattered himself, he had hitherto
scrupulously concealed. She had humiliated
herself before him : what then could be more
natural than that she wished to get as far away
from him as possible? That she had exerted
herself in his. 'behalf, and procured his release
8
170 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
from the arrest, might have been a deliberate
and even a selfish act. She had herself been
the innocent cause of his imprisonment, and a
simple sense of justice and duty had impelled
her to explain the misunderstanding. She
would not yield him the privilege of suffering
for her sake ; he was to have no claim upon her
sympathies, perhaps not even upon her friendship
and her gratitude. It was this gloomy train of
thought which incessantly occupied Varberg's
fancy during the last week of his stay at Leipsic.
" Alas," said he to himself, as he promenaded
meditatively up and down on the floor, " our
account is even, our tale is told." And that
same night he wrote a poem which began thus :
A sleepless, joyless nay, and deathless passion !
A few days before his departure he received
letters from Norway, in which his grandfather,
grandmother, and Brynhild (each according to
his or her own fashion) expressed their joy at
the prospect of seeing him. It made him feel
wretched and guilty, for he could not but consider
how little he had done to merit the endearing
names they bestowed upon him. How little had
The Clock Strikes. 171
he thought of them during these many months
while they had been counting the days until his
return ! And even now, although he acknowl-
edged the injustice, he was as powerless as ever
to repair it. In a state of utter disgust, he at
length boarded the train which was to take him
by way of Frankfort to Strasbourg, whence he
expected to continue the journey to Paris, then
cross the channel, and take steamer from Lon-
don to Norway. As the train moved out of the
depot, a party of students began to sing : " Wo
ist des Deutschen Vaterland ? " and Varberg
involuntarily applied the sentiment of the song
to himself, and profoundly sympathized with this
poet, who, without intending it, has expressed
so strikingly how vague to a German mind is
the idea of the German fatherland.
The wheels rattled away over the rails, the
smoke whirled past the windows, and the jolly
companions in the next car kept up an incessant
brawl, and seemed nothing daunted either by the
heat or by the ingenious discomfort of their quar-
ters. Varberg being alone with an old gentleman
in his coupt, pressed himself up into a corner,
shut his eyes, a'nd allowed his mind to roam idly
172 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
wherever it listed. First he imagined himself
writing a letter to Ruth, in which he assumed an
air of cheerful unconcern, assured her in the
politest phrases of his heartfelt interest in all her
doings, and expressed the hope that the future
might afford him an opportunity of proving how
highly he prized her good opinion and her
friendship. Such a letter would evidently re-
move all fear of further misunderstandings, and
would no doubt rehabilitate him in her estima-
tion. And however much his literary half,
which was fond of asserting its independence,
approved of this plan, his more human self con-
demned it as a piece of dishonesty and coward-
ice. Moreover, there was this obstacle, that he
had no idea of where Ruth was, and had conse-
quently no means of reaching her. It was the
helplessness of his situation, or, more probably,
the gloominess of the prospect which lay before
him a long, empty life without her which
called up to his mind the thought of death. In
an altogether irresponsible mood he let one
fancy succeed another, until he imagined him-
self dead, and saw Ruth sitting in the parlor in
Leipsic, with the morning paper in her hand ;
The Clock Strikes. 173
suddenly she turns pale, starts up with a fright-
ened look, and hastens out of the room. In an
hour she returns : but her eyes are red and
swollen, and her upper lip quivers just a little, as
it always did whenever she tried to conquer an
overwhelming emotion. Mrs. Elder anxiously
inquires what has happened, and Ruth points
silently to the paper, which Mrs. Elder gazes at
with a profound air, although she cannot read a
word of it. Varberg found this a very pleasing
kind of a reverie, and took a fierce satisfaction in
thinking that now, when it was too late, she had
at last discovered his worth. After all, what
greater happiness could he desire than to have
her shed tears over him, and to have her cherish
a tender, regretful memory of him ? These were
the reflections of Varberg the author, who was
at times not free from sentimentality. " And
then she would go and marry somebody else,"
suggested a prosaic voice in his breast, and he
had to own that this was only too probable,
which at once cut short the reverie.
In the evening he took supper in Frankfort,
and reached Strasbourg about four o'clock the
following morning. He took up his lodgings in
174 ^ Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
the Inn of the Holy Spirit, on account of its
association with Goethe's youth, although it was
by no means the best hotel in the city. He left
orders to be waked up at eight, but the servant
was probably too sleepy to understand him ; and
to his utter disgust, he found that it was not far
from noon when finally he was roused by the
jingling of a bell out in the hall. He made a
hasty toilet, and a still hastier breakfast, con-
sulted his guide-book in regard to the situation
of the Cathedral, and started out in the hope
that his good instinct would lead him by the
directest way to the object of his search. He
bestowed but a passing glance upon the time-
blackened fronts of the houses, with their queer
old-worldish look and their many-gabled way-
wardness ; the pretty Alsatian girls, in their pic-
turesque attire, with the white embroidered
aprons, half covering the front of their short
skirts, interested him but little. He noticed
that most of them carried hymn-books and a
folded handkerchief in their hands, which re-
minded him of the possibility of its being Sun-
day. And immediately a Sabbath feeling stole
over him ; he noticed a certain festive look in
Tht Clock Strikes. 175
the gray houses, and in the freshly swept streets ;
the sky looked serener, the sunshine clearer, and
nature seemed to be breathing with a fuller
breast than before. He unconsciously slack-
ened his speed and bent his head, and half for-
got where he was going, when suddenly a mighty
rush of metallic clangor fell upon the silence like
an avalanche, startling the repose of a mountain
ravine into a cataract of sonorous thunder. Var-
berg swiftly raised his eyes and for an instant
he lost his breath. There, is the broad, affluent
light of the noonday, rose the solemn presence
of the minster with its sculptured facade, serenely
grave, majestic, and withal joyous and fantasti-
cally graceful. He had indeed, as Lowell says,
" taken his minster unawares."
The lofty spire climbed, with grand aspira-
tion, for and ever farther up into the pure blue
space, and as his spirit caught its ethereal sug-
gestion, a proud sense of kinship stirred in the
Norseman's bosom, and an exhilarating thrill of
happiness shot through his nerves. His frame
seemed to swell into larger proportions ; he in-
voluntarily raised his head, and his breast ex-
panded with a 'magnificent consciousness of
176 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
strength. The artistic purpose of his life assumed
a fresh magnitude, and mere personal concerns
appeared small and sordid, and faded away into
nothingness.
" Thank heaven, I have at last found my
own true self again," he murmured. " And I
need not blush to meet my old grandfather's
eye, and own myself a true and honest Norse-
man."
" And as for that incipient love affair," he
added mentally, " I am glad that it is all over,
and that Fate was wiser than I."
The minute hand of the Cathedral clock was
was fast approaching twelve ; Varberg reluc-
tantly tore himself loose from the spell of con-
templation, and entered the church through the
middle portal. A large crowd of people had gath-
ered about the famous astronomical clock, await-
ing the appearance of Christ and his twelve apos-
tles. Varberg hurried up the aisle, regardless of
the worshippers, who knelt solitary or in scattered
groups about the shrine of some cherished saint,
and he succeeded in elbowing his way through
the crowd, and in gaining a favorable position
among the first rows of the spectators. Inside
The Clock Strikes. 177
the railing a Frenchman, in a semi-clerical attire,
and, somehow or other, with the appearance of
a degraded ecclesiastic, stood violently gestic-
ulating, as he pointed out and described the nu-
merous complications of this eighth wonder of
the world. As the hour of noon arrived, and all
were breathlessly expectant, the throng became
denser about the railing, and everybody stood on
tiptoe, endeavoring to look over his neighbor's
head. The hush became intenser ; the French-
man raised his hand solemnly ; Varberg bent
forward, and saw two deep dark eyes glowing
upon him. In the same instant there came a
surprised " Oh." All heads were swiftly turned,
but fortunately then the Four Ages of Man gave
the signal, and struck the four quarters of the
hour. But Olaf what did he heed the Four
Ages ? The old skeleton, Father Time, struck
twelve blows on his bell, the angel on the first
gallery jingled on his instrument, and the twelve
apostles moved out and made an abrupt bow be-
fore the figure of the Saviour; but on Olafs
senses all these musical noises buzzed and
hummed remotely, like the rush of distant waters.
He desperately clung to the possibility of a de-
8*
178 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
lusion, but soon the uncertainty culminated in
the conviction that these eyes could belong to
none other than Ruth ; he looked once more
there was no room for doubt ; it was Ruth.
While the clock still kept up its noise, he strove
hard to collect his thoughts ; Ruth had again
turned her head, and was apparently absorbed
in the miraculous mechanism. The cock flapped
his wings, and crowed thrice, and a chorus of
ghostly echoes answered from the remotest re-
cesses of the church. There was something shud-
deringly gay in this shrill metallic voice, which
struck mockingly against the solemn vaults, then
as it were suddenly froze, dropping down dead
or vanishing in mid air. It reminded Varberg
of the sensation he had had when entering the
Chamber of Horrors in Mme. Toussaud's wax-
works in London. As the people began to dis-
perse, and the old Frenchman prepared to draw
the curtain before the clock, he advanced a step,
and stood at Ruth's side.
" There is evidently a destiny which shapes
our ends, Miss Copley," said he, holding out his
hand to her. " I am so mystified that I almost
shudder, both with surprise and pleasure."
The Clock Strikes. 179
" You say that you are pleased to see me,
Mr. Varberg," answered she, with a strange
questioning glance in her eye, " but I must
confess you look anything but pleased. Now
what shall I choose to believe ? your words or
your face ? "
" I thought we knew each other too well to
misinterpret each other's faces in that way,"
replied Olaf, and attempted to smile. " If I
should in this moment accept the testimony of
your own face, I should reach anything but a
flattering conclusion. But by the way, where
are your aunt and your cousin ? "
" Dearie is here in the church somewhere,
but aunt was too tired to go ; she hasn't been
quite well since we left Leipsic, and I suppose
we shall have to stay here for a few days, until
she is rested."
Side by side they walked down the aisle,
asking and answering such indifferent questions
as spontaneously fall from the lips when people
meet after a brief separation. Ruth was pro-
voked with herself for having given utterance to
her surprise at seeing him ; and she was half
180 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
angry with him for having made no such
betrayal of his feelings.
" He didn't even come to tell me good-by,
although he had promised to do so," she
thought. " Now I shall do my best to show
how little I care." And she went on construct-
ing ingeniously revengeful plans against Varberg,
of how she would snub and ignore him, so as to
remove the impression which she feared that her
late efforts in his behalf must have given him ;
but at the bottom of her heart there lurked a
dread, which almost amounted to a conviction,
that he had it in his power to frustrate all her
fierce resolutions. In her present revengeful
mood, however, she was loath to confess to any
such weakness, and she persevered in plotting,
until she grew almost cheerful in the contempla-
tion of her own shrewd devices.
" Miss Copley," began he at last in a low
voice, as they stopped before the sculptured
monument of the Bishop of Lichtenberg, " I
have as yet had no opportunity to thank you for
your "
" Pray don't," she interrupted him hastily.
" You have nothing to thank me for. What I
The Clock Strikes. 181
did was nothing but my simple duty a duty to
myself rather than to you."
"Ah," he muttered sadly, as he fixed a
grave reproachful glance upon her. " I under-
stand. You need have no fear, however, of my
misinterpreting your motives. I know you too
well to suspect you of sentimentality, and if I
was bold to infer that a friendly regard for me
prompted your action, then I beg a hundred
times your forgiveness. I promise you, I shall
never think so again."
She saw in a moment that she had cruelly
misjudged him ; that she had been selfish and
ungenerous; but she was not in a humor to
make any such confession, and she forcibly ban-
ished the unwelcome thought, shook her head
impatiently, and said, "Mr. Varberg, what
makes you so stupid to-day ? You didn't use to
be so before. Why not talk about something
more cheerful ? It can do us no good to dwell
upon that which is past. What is done cannot
be helped."
He was about to answer ; but just then they
were discovered by Miss Bailey, who, quite for-
getful of where she was, came running toward
1 82 A Norseman^ s Pilgrimage.
them, seized Varberg's hand, and exclaimed,
" Why, Mr. Varberg, who in the world would
have expected to find you here? How delight-
ful that you have come. Both Ruth and I have
been very much in need of a gentleman to take
us around, and we have been wishing a million
times that you were here."
Ruth scowled and pinched her cousin in the
arm ; but innocent Dearie, not understanding the
hint, tore her arm loose, and cried out, " But,
Ruth, why do you pinch me ? " The situation
was truly embarrassing; Varberg hastened to
inquire more particularly after Mrs. Elder's
health, and Dearie answered with a circumstan-
tial account of their movements since they had
left Leipsic.
" I thought you were going directly to Eng-
land," said he, in order to say something.
" So we were," replied Dearie, while they
followed Ruth, who was hastily approaching the
door. " But Ruth had taken it into her head
that she wanted to see the Saxon Switzerland,
and so we went to Dresden and stayed a few
days in the mountains. Now we are going from
here to Paris, and then to London ; and we ex-
The Clock Strikes. 183
pect to spend the summer with some relatives
of ours in Northumberland."
As they reached the street Ruth again joined
them, but she left to Dearie and Varberg to cany
on the conversation, and only now and then threw
in an indifferent remark. She carried her head
proudly, and in his eyes she looked even taller
and more queenly than usual ; but he noticed a
burning red spot upon her pale cheek, and the
restlessness of her glance betrayed her inward
agitation. At the door of Hotel de Paris they
stopped. Dearie urged him to come in and dine
with them, but he politely refused.
" But aunt would be so glad to see you."
" I shall have the pleasure of calling upon her
before leaving the city."
"Then we shall expect you this afternoon.
You will be sure to come, won't you?"
"Certainly."
For more than two hours he loitered leisurely
about the city, listening for awhile to the mili-
tary band which played in the Place d'Armes,
criticising the statues of Guttenberg and Mar-
shal Saxe, and 'indulging in philosophical rev-
eries at the sight of the desolation which the late
184 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage.
siege has left behind it. No friendly ivy drapes
the nudity of these fire-blackened ruins of the
Neu-Kirche and the great Municipal Library,
and time has not yet softened those sharp broken
lines into anything like picturesqueness and pa-
thetic harmony. Masses of dtbris still lie un-
disturbed in the angles of the court, and the
black walls, in melancholy defiance, loom up
against the clear blue sky. Varberg was the
more impressed by all that he saw because, in
his present mood, a sad spectacle had a pro-
founder significance to him than a cheerful one.
He would gladly have persuaded himself that
Ruth's conduct was a matter of indifference to
him ; and when at length he was forced to face
the truth, he vainly attempted to put a humor-
ous interpretation upon it, and ended with piti-
lessly deriding himself for his cowardly depend-
ence upon a woman's whims.
The Inn of the Holy Ghost lives on the
memory of Goethe, as indeed many other sec-
ond-rate hotels on the continent do. The com-
pany which Varberg met at the table d'hdte was
not by any means select ; but to his surprise he
found it almost exclusively French, and little
The Clock Strikes. 185
keenness of insight was required to discover,
that the Teutonic language grated on Gallic
ears. He concluded from the frown of the
little gentleman opposite, with the martial mous-
tache and the threadbare coat, that there was
some mistake prevailing in regard to his nation-
ality; and in order to remove the unfavorable
impression, he took pains to address the waiter
in French. But the little gentleman's frown
grew fiercer, and a half-bucolic individual, who
sat dozing over a plate of fruit and a bottle of
wine, suddenly waked up, quaffed his last glass
at one draught, and rose from the table. The
waiters brought the dinner, and Varberg fell to
eating ; and the Frenchman, to whom silence
was even more repugnant than the Germans,
gradually relented, bent over toward the stran-
ger, and asked, " Is this the first time you visit
France, sir?"
Varberg replied that it was.
" Then," continued the little man, who prob-
ably was ignorant of the Treaty of Versailles
and the removal of the boundary, " there is a
great pleasure in store for you. This country
1 86 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
is even more beautiful than Italy, and I have
been there too."
" You say this country" remarked Olaf ; " do
you mean France or Germany ? "
A tremendous scowl darkened the face of the
Gaul, and his eyes secerned to shoot sparks.
"Are you a German, sir ? " he cried.
" I am not."
" What are you then, if I may ask ? "
Varberg had to debate the question before
answering. Hitherto he had always called him-
self a Norwegian, but he felt no longer his
former pride in the name. The memory of his
old grandfather shot through his brain ; then
came the alluring thought of Ruth, and it
seemed as if the two were irreconcilable oppo-
nents who fought for the possession of his heart.
A treacherous blush burned on his cheek, and
after a moment's reflection he said, " I am an
American." And to drown the voice of con-
science he emptied a glass of Rhenish.
Again Ruth had conquered.
The Cathedral Tower. 187
CHAPTER XI.
The Cat/if dral Tower.
T T was about five o'clock in the afternoon when
-- Varberg handed his card to a waiter in
Hotel de Paris, with the request that it should
be carried to Mrs. Elder. In the meanwhile he
was shown into a reading room, where, quite
unexpectedly, he found Ruth seated at a table,
apparently absorbed in a German newspaper.
Her recent agitation had left no trace behind ;
she seemed as cheerful and unconcerned as if
nothing had happened. As she caught sight of
Varberg she arose from her seat, came toward
him and offered him her hand in her own easy,
natural way.
" Ah, I am glad you did not play the truant
again," said she laughing as she gave him a place
at her side on the sofa. " By the way, what
horribly stupid things these foreign newspapers
are. I have been trying to amuse myself with
1 88 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
the ' Kolnische Zeitung,' but I find it a very
dreary sort of business. Not even an interesting
obituary notice."
" Then you read obituary notices for amuse-
ment ? '' remarked he with a little show of surprise.
" Well, call it what you please," answered
she carelessly. " They are always the first thing
I read in a newspaper. And now, tell me hon-
estly, don't you, too, feel just a little bit disap-
pointed when you glance through an obituary
column and don't find a single name you know
in it?"
She asked the question with such evident
sincerity that he couldn't help laughing.
" Well, yes, when I think of it," he said, " I
must confess that I have had a similar sensation.
However, as regards the German newspapers,
you are hardly just when you say that they are
dull because they don't interest you."
" Oh, yes, I am perfectly just. I have
talked with German ladies about it, and they
say that they never find the papers worth read-
ing ; and at home I should be just as likely to
forget to eat my breakfast as to omit reading the
morning paper."
The Cathedral Tower. 189
At this moment the servant announced .that
Mrs. Elder was ready to receive Mr. Varberg,
and both mounted the stairs together. On the
way he revolved in his mind what could have
wrought this sudden change in Ruth, and he
hastily recalled the words which had passed
between them in the morning, vainly seeking a
clue to the mystery.
" I should like to know," reflected he, 4l what
sort of introverted logic it is which governs her
mental machinery. And, after all," he added,
as she opened the door to him, "what would be
the good of it ? If I could comprehend her, I
should probably not find her half so delightful.
I must accept her as I accept a miracle, and the
fairest miracle which God ever wrought."
He found Mrs. Elder seated in a large easy-
chair and propped up in pillows. She was amia-
ble, placid, and exhaustive as usual.
" How happy you ought to be, Mr. Varberg,"
said she, after having languidly expressed her
delight at seeing him, "who are going to a
country of snow and glaciers, while we shall
have to languish here in this insufferable heat."
To Mrs. Elder's obstinate fancy, Norway was,
190 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
even at midsummer, an interminable Arctic snow
field. She had evidently not profited by the
Norseman's teachings, and on this occasion he
meekly coincided with her, and gave up all
further attempts at conversion.
" We have just been spending some time in
Dresden," resumed the old lady after a brief
silence, " and we have been very much de-
lighted with the galleries. But we should have
enjoyed them more if we had had you to explain
the pictures to us."
" No, with your permission, aunt," Ruth
interposed, "I shall have to object to that.
You will forgive me, Mr. Varberg, if I say that
I, at least, enjoyed the galleries the better for
being alone. An art critic like yourself may be
a very valuable cicerone for one who travels for
instruction. But I only went to have a pleasant
time ; and in your presence I should never have
dared to pass my irreverential criticism upon all
those stilted saints and martyrs, and they in
return would not have had the courage to take
me into their confidence, and discourse with me
humanly and show me their humorous as well
as their official and pious side. With your keen
The Cathedral Tower. 191
eye passing judgment upon them, they would
have been simply grave and graceful and
decorous."
" I was not aware," replied Varberg laugh r
ing, " that my humble presence could be so awe-
inspinng.
" Oh yes, Mr. Varberg, you know you dis-
approve of jokes, and even saints are not always
deficient in humor."
" Well, if you say so. I will try to believe
that you are right. But then you must favor
me with a specimen of your criticism ; perhaps
I am not so lacking in appreciation as you think.
What is your opinion, say, of the Holbein
Madonna?"
u Well, she is not humorous, I admit. But I
read more of motherly sadness than of motherly
pride in her countenance. That sickly looking
child evidently belongs to those homely, Dutchy
looking Burgomaster folks who are kneeling in
the foreground. The prim apostles of Raphael
and his clique, with their graceful attitudes and
their faultless draperies, I enjoyed thoroughly. I
imagined myself running a pin into their arms
or tumbling theit curls, and I wondered if they
192 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
would then know how to preserve their studied
dignity. The roasting saints of Ribera and
Velasquez I also grew very fond of, and as for
the Dutch nymphs, and fawns, and peasants,
their humor is as broad as the daylight, and
there is no need of straining the interpretation."
" If you have nothing worse to report," said
he, " then on my own account, I sincerely regret
my absence. You might have taught me many
a useful lesson, and opened my eyes to things
which I should never have discovered of my own
accord."
" Oh, no, I should only have horrified you
by admiring the wrong thing, and I should have
lost fifty per cent, in your estimation."
Mrs. Elder and Dearie now related their
experiences, and the conversation took another
turn. After half an hour's talk, Varberg invited
the ladies to accompany him on a walk through
the city; but Dearie declared she could not
leave her aunt, and so the end of it was that
Ruth and Varberg went alone.
Strasbourg, even in its gayest holiday attire,
wears an aspect of idyllic drowsiness. It is not
an aspiring city. All its grandeur lies in the
The Cathedral Tower. 193
past; it wears upon its brow an habitual air
of mystery, and its romantic suggestiveness
will yield to the gentlest touch of fancy ; and
then it lapses into a profound reverie, from
which not even the rough voice of the nine-
teenth century can rouse it. This was in brief
the substance of Varberg's remarks, as he walked
with Ruth through the narrow street which leads
from the Kleber Platz up to the Cathedral. She
listened for awhile patiently, but at last she
looked almost imploringly at him and said, " Now
please, don't let us be profound. You take a
peculiar pleasure in going beyond my depth,
but this time I shan't let you. By the way, do
you remember the young lady with the yellow
hair whom I told you to talk nonsense to at the
ball in Leipsic."
" Of course I remember her."
" Well, that time you succeeded admirably.
She confessed to me the next day that she
thought you were the brightest man she had
ever met with. In fact, she was half in love
with you. I know it is unkind in me to tell you
of it, but you will probably never see her again,
so it makes no difference, Now, why do you
194 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
reserve all your brightness for others, and vent
all your learning on poor me ? "
" Miss Ruth, you are incorrigible," he broke
forth, looking pleased rather in spite of himself.
" You needn't say, however, that I am going be-
yond your depth, for your own answers contra-
dict you. I might rather turn your accusation
Against yourself. I never know what you are
going to do or say next. Indeed, you are a per-
petual puzzle to me."
" Then you ought to feel thankful, Mr. Var-
berg," retorted she with that arch look of hers,
" that you have at last found something which
you don't understand."
"To understand a woman, and especially you !
What a presumption ! I should as soon under-
take to square the circle."
" That is well enough to say," she answered.
" But apropos of Strasbourg : you have praised
this city so much that I feel like abusing it. Tell
me, would you really like to live here ? Don't
you think that everything looks insufferably
sleepy ? "
" What you call sleepiness is the very thing
which delights me. This vague mediaeval gla-
TJie Cathedral Tower. 195
mour which still hangs brooding over this colos-
sal tomb of history softens the voice and muffles
the footfall of the noisy life of to-day "
" Wait one moment ! " cried Ruth. " You
are scattering pearls to the winds. Wait, till I
can get my note-book."
"Only look at our own cities," continued
Varberg, without heeding the interruption, " and
the contrast cannot but strike you. Take, for
instance, New York, or even your much cherished
Boston, and artistically speaking, what is there
to it ? A rigidly formal, monotonous heap of
brick and mortar, pitilessly new, glaringly angu-
lar, wide awake, and unrelieved by any sugges-
tion of sentiment, poetry, or romance."
" What an outrage ! " exclaimed she, and
stopped abruptly in the street. " Remember, I
was born in Boston, and am as loyal to my coun-
try as you are to Strasbourg. If a man could
live on picturesqueness, I should find it reason-
able enough that you prefer this musty old nest
to a bright, wide-awake New England town. If
I were the magistrate of Strasbourg," she added
jocosely, " I think I should order a semi-annual
bombardment onty to rouse the inhabitants from
196 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
their torpor. With us we have at least an occa-
sional murder, or an elopement, or at all events,
a run-away team, to enliven the public sentiment ;
but it seems that even the horses here are too
decorous to indulge in any sort of frivolity."
They stood on the square before the cathe-
dral, and the combative spirit died out in the
minds of both. It seemed no longer the same
church they had seen in the morning. In the
broad light of the noon it wore an air of epic
grandeur and repose ; now the intenser mood of
the evening had quickened its stone pulses with a
new life, and with grand lyrical impulse the huge
labyrinthine texture of arch, buttress, and tracery
started up into the red, faintly-flushed sky. The
colossal facade, bathed in the deep-tinged gold
of the late sun, lent by its contrast a touch of
terror to the massive gloom which filled the re-
cesses of the eastern buttresses.
" That man's name was not 'writ in water,' "
remarked Ruth, " who built this church as an
epitaph on himself."
" It is not the epitaph of a man," replied Var-
berg, " but the monument of ten generations."
" What a pity that the south tower is wanting,
The Cathedral Tower. 197
and that the present spire, somehow or other,
refuses to carry out the noble purpose of the
facade. That florid and fantastic style of the
fifteenth century "
His features must have betrayed his astonish-
ment, and Ruth, seeing his comically perplexed
look, could no longer retain her composure, but
burst out into ringing laughter.
" Oh," she cried, " you are the easiest man to
impose upon that I ever knew. I read it all in
Baedeker this morning, and I thought I would
like to try it on you, just to see how you would
take it."
" Well, and what is the result of your experi-
ment? " asked Varberg, joining in her laughter,
because he felt that it was expected of him.
" However, next time when you may wish to
impose upon me, I should advise you to choose a
less accessible source than Baedeker."
" Now, don't be exasperating, if you please ; "
and Ruth, as if quite by accident, laid her arm
in his and looked up into his face in the most
bewitching manner. What was there in that
look which chased the blood to his cheeks, and
made his pulses quicken ? " Did he misunder-
1 98 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
stand me? Is he offended with me?" was all
it seemed to say ; but to him it carried a far pro-
founder meaning. It revealed to him his own
utter helplessness in the grasp of the passion
which had so mercilessly clutched at the very
roots of his heart. He felt himself as the vic-
tim of some fatal destiny, which with cruel joy
calmly frustrated every plan and purpose of his
life. And all the while he stood with a dis-
tracted smile about his lips ; but his eyes were
sad, and a gathering gloom clouded his brow.
The interrogation marks in Ruth's eyes grew
until at last she broke forth in a voice of alarm :
" But, Mr. Varberg, you are not really angry
with me, are you ? "
"Ah, Miss Ruth," he murmured vacantly;
" I angry with you ? I wish I could be angry
with you. I should be a happier man if I could."
" Yes, I know you like to mystify me," she
answered musingly; and then, as if trying to
banish the importunate thought which his words
suggested, she added in a merrier tone, " And
this time I ought to confess that you have suc-
ceeded admirably."
At this moment an old French guide half
The Cathedral Tomer. 199
timidly approached them, and in a husky, sepul-
chral voice offered to conduct them through the
church and up into the tower. He had a most
pathetic air of shabbiness and humiliation, as if
he had been doomed to bear upon his shoulders
all the burden and disgrace of the late war. An
ex-military coat of uncertain color hung loosely
about his limbs, and his moustache had a decided
shade of green, like a certain kind of moss which
grows upon the branches of the pine. Indeed,
as Ruth remarked, he was a most pathetic char-
acter, and she was at once prepossessed in his
favor. As they passed under the wide portal, he
began to tefl them the old story of Erwin of
Steinbach, the architect of the facade, and his
lovely daughter Sabina; but Ruth interrupted
him, saying that she knew as much about them
as he did. The disconcerted guide then humbly
called their attention to the carved stone statues
which adorned the niches of the side portals.
" It is the twelve foolish virgins," he said.
"The twelve foolish virgins!" exclaimed
Ruth. "Were they all twelve foolish? Be-
sides, I did not know that there were more than
ten of them.
2OO A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
" The twelve foolish virgins," repeated the
guide meekly.
" That man is a genuine pessimist," said she,
in English, turning to Varberg. " He has even
less confidence in the sex than you have. He
must have been cruelly jilted."
" I should call that rather a rash conclusion,"
answered he. " You think, then, that pessimism
is the natural result of blighted hopes."
" Usually it is. And still I do not deny that
there are those who are born pessimists."
They entered the church and walked up the
full length of the nave, to a side chapel where a
tonsured priest had gathered a small flock of the
faithful, to whom he was delivering a half-
humorous discourse on the life and character of
St. Joseph. This man of God had been neg-
lected of late, he said, but it was a great
mistake ; for he was a most helpful and efficient
saint.
There is at all times a potent fascination
about these miracles in stone, which we call
Gothic cathedrals. But on a summer night,
when the sun, in its downward course, pours a
quivering stream of splendor through the win-
The Cathedral Tower. 201
dows of combined amethyst, topaz, and rose,
when the air burns with all the deepest tinges
of a tenfold intensified rainbow, and the gloom,
with a dim suffusion of color, hovers indistinctly
remote under the arched vaults overhead, then
nature finishes in its own perfect spirit what the
builders have left undone, and effaces the boun-
dary line between the human and the divine.
" Somebody has said that the Gothic ar-
chitecture is a divine revelation," whispered
Ruth as, leaning on Varberg's arm, she moved
down the south aisle. " Do you remember who
said it ? "
" I think it is Ruskin."
" To be sure, so it is. I think I now under-
stand what he means. I admit too that on our
side of the ocean we don't know what a church
is. Our domestic little coops, with carpeted
floor and a velvet-cushioned sofa for the minister
to sprawl on, may do well enough for a social
chat and a tea meeting, but they are hardly fit
for worship. A place like this doesn't invite to
familiarity. A tea-meeting here would strike
even the rigidest Down East Puritan as absurdly
incongruous, if n'ot sacrilegious."
9*
2O2 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
" I suppose our churches are the logical
results of our republicanism," answered Varberg.
" We like to be on familiar terms with God as
with every one else."
" Perhaps," murmured Ruth absently, and
gazed up to the great sun-illumined windows.
Heavy drops of deep crimson, blue, and golden
light grazed the clustered shafts of the columns,
thrilling the dead stone into a brief blush of
life.
"How beautiful," said she, " and still how
sad ! I should turn Catholic within a year, if I
were doomed to visit this church daily.' *
The guide ventured to remind them, that if
they wished to visit the tower, there was no
time to be lost. At Varberg's suggestion, a little
sallow-faced sacristan opened a small door in the
transept, and let them out only a few steps from
the entrance to the tower. The ascent was
rather a laborious one, and before they had
mounted the three hundred and thirtieth step,
Ruth had at least ten times regretted her rash
resolution into which, as she insisted, her friend
had craftily beguiled her. Although he knew
himself innocent of any such intent, he had had
The Cathedral Tower. 203
too long an experience to think of contradicting
her ; he only rendered her every possible assist-
ance, reflecting all the while that the very help-
lessness of a beautiful woman makes her tenfold
dear and lovable. Having inspected the great
bell, and borrowed a stool at the warden's lodge,
they hastened out on the platform ; then as by
a common impulse came to a sudden stop, and
let their eyes range out over the magnificent
landscape, spread out before them.
" Isn't it grand ? " exlaimed Ruth ecstatically.
"If I only could forgive myself," began Var-
berg, with a malicious twinkle in his eye, " for
beguiling you "
" Now don't be preposterous," she demanded
imperiously ; and as if it were he who had made
a martyr of himself, she turned a beaming coun-
tenance upon him, and added triumphantly,
M Now don't you feel paid for your trouble ? "
"Yes,** he added, hardly able to restrain his
laughter, " I feel under infinite obligation to you."
" Oh," she cried, with an impatient toss of
her head, " how provoking you can be! "
He placed the stool near the railing on the
unfinished southern tower, and she sat down.
2O4 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage.
Eastward toward Germany, the Black Forest re-
gion, made immortal by Auerbach's tales, lay
steeped in purple gloom, and the broad plains
of Lorraine glowed with the warm hazy light of
the evening. Toward the north and west the
chain of the Vosges stood dimly blue and ethe-
real, and closing the view toward the south,
the sun-flushed peaks of the Jura traced them-
selves faintly upon the far horizon, glimmer-
ing with the airiest tints of delicate crimson and
rose. On the square below, men moved about
like little black spots, and the sombre, steep-
roofed houses, with the stork's nest under the
masoned chimney, sent forth feeble columns of
smoke which rose lazily and vanished into the
thin air. Varberg read with the profoundest
reverence the name of Goethe, carved by the
poet himself in the stone while he was a student
in the University of Strasbourg. Ruth as usual
could not summon any sentiment at the sight of
that name, and remained provokingly cold while
her companion improvised a little eulogy.
" Tell me, Miss Ruth," he said at last, " what
is your reason for disliking Goethe so much ? "
The CatJiedral Tower. 205
"Well," she answered emphatically, "he
wasn't a good man."
Now Varberg had not forgotten that hardly
three weeks ago Ruth had declared to him that
she hated good young men, and he was greatly
tempted to remind her of it; but he had long
ago ceased to wonder at the contradictions in
her character; he merely accepted them as
psychological facts, which he stored in his mind
for future use. Goethe had done the same, and
very likely that was the very reason why she
hated him.
" Goethe was not a good man," remarked Olaf,
" and therefore you dislike him as an author."
" Of course," she replied, with an air as if
that was the most natural thing in the world.
The setting sun now kindled the western sky
with a great blaze of color ; the windows of the
houses on the opposite side of the square burned
with its fiery reflection, and the huge shadow
of the cathedral, visibly lengthening, moved
slowly eastward shrouding the street in deep-
ening glamour. Varberg seated himself on the
battlement of the tower, and while Ruth was
apparently absorbed in the sunset, stole frequent
206 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
glimpses of her fair young features. They both
yielded to the magic of the situation, and uncon-
sciously lapsed into silence. The strangeness of
the scene the vast stillness, and the deep-toned
richness of the evening imperceptibly wrought
upon their senses and soothed the noisier im-
pulses of their hearts ; a feeling of sympathy and
mutual understanding stole over them ; their
eyes met with a quick response, and a smile,
more eloquent than words, reassured both that
the last film of the cloud which had during the
day had been hovering between them was at
length dispersed. Thus it happened that in
those brief moments he dared to face the reso-
lution which in spite of misgivings, counterplots,
and his own wish to the contrary, he had
dimly foreseen as the inevitable end of their
acquaintance. " It is no whim or fancy," he
said to himself; "it is a passion, interwoven
with the very fibres of my soul. It is useless
to strive against the current." And with a
composure which would have appeared pre-
posterous to himself, had he thought of view-
ing it objectively, he matured step by step the
later movements of the campaign, and weighed
TJte Cathedral Tower. 207
the chances of failure or success as coolly as if it
had been the fate of some helpless stranger
which had been submitted to his disinterested
decision. He would not propose to Ruth at
once, partly because he wished to gain time,
partly because he was by no means convinced
that she loved him. Indeed, it seemed such an
absurd thing that any woman should love him,
that he was more likely to reach a negative con-
clusion. In the meanwhile he would try to
induce her to pay a visit to Norway, then invite
her to spend a month or so in his grandfather's
house, and if their relation continued to develop
in the same direction as heretofore, the climax
would be inevitable. But what could Ruth be
thinking about, as she sat there, smiling to her-
self with that look of profound abstraction in her
eyes? Evidently the sunset was no longer occu-
pying her attention. Perhaps she involuntarily
answered this mental question by the remark
she made.
" After all, I think you are a very good
American, Mr. Varberg," she said, as if taking
up the thread of a conversation dropped only
a minute before. " In spite of all your admiration
208 A Norseman? s Pilgrimage.
of the old world, you show plainly that in your
heart of hearts your sympathy is with the new."
" To my mind, Miss Ruth," he answered with
an energy which startled her, " the new world
means you, and what a truism it would be to
say that in th'is acceptation the new world is
dearer to me than the old."
He hardly realized that he was on the verge
of a declaration ; but Ruth felt it, and she grew
visibly uneasy. With a sudden jerk she thrust
the end of her parasol into a little hole in the
battlement, and began assiduously to dig out
the gravel ; then she discovered some object
down on the square which for the moment
absorbed all her attention.
" What a queer bird the stork is," she said
at last, with a cheery unconcern, which would
have been a death-blow to his hopes had it
not contrasted so absurdly with the agitation of
her manner. Had she known, however, the
association of ideas in his mind, she would
hardly have made that remark about the stork.
His knowledge of that bird had been derived
from Hans Christian Andersen's stories.
" Yes," he replied, after a moment's hesita-
The Cathedral Tower. 209
tion, " the stork is a queer bird. It is the bird
of happiness."
"The bird of happiness," she murmured,
gazing vacantly out into the blue space.
" Pardon me, monsieur" said a creaking voice
close to Varberg's ear ; " but it 9 time to close
the church." There stood the shabby little
guide, with his cap in his hand, and smiled and
bowed deferentially. Ruth and Varberg rose,
gave one long look of farewell to the magnificent
landscape, and began their descent in silence.
Having reached the street, they dismissed the
guide, who gave them as a souvenir a picture
of four pigs, which, when folded up, represented
the likeness of the third Napoleon.
" You are evidently not an admirer of the
ex-Emperor," remarked Varberg.
"The Emperor? God bless him!" replied
the old man pathetically. "The other guides
all have this picture, and I must do what the
rest do. Monsieur" he added in a tone of inex-
pressible sadness, " I was born in this city, and
I have not the money to go away." And he
wagged his head and shuffled along, while the
2io A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
wooden heels of his shoes clattered mournfully
against the pavement.
They had intended to go directly to the
hotel, but for some reason or other they did not
do it. For more than an hour they wandered
about on the amparts of the city, conscious all
the while of a latent excitement which, as they
half expected, might at any moment break the
frail bonds of conventionalism. Ruth was not
at all sure that she desired it ; perhaps if she
had put the question boldly to herself, she
would have decided that she positively dreaded
it. But she was enough of a woman to love
excitement for its own sake ; and as she did not
feel it incumbent upon her to solve the problem
one way or the other, she simply yielded to the
fascination which the very uncertainty exerted
over her, and allowed herself to drift onward
with the fluctuating emotions of the moment,
regardless of whither they carried her. In fact,
they were both in that delightfully impersonal
mood which men are too apt to indulge when
in novel or absurd situations. Varberg, in the
meanwhile, had framed at least twenty res-
olutions in regard to the decisive question of
The Cathedral Tower. 211
Ruth's visit to Norway ; but he felt that much
depended upon the shape in which it was put,
and although an accomplished linguist, he could
find no phrase worthy of embodying so serious a
sentiment. It was after nine o'clock when they
reached her hotel, and he had not yet spoken.
He accompanied her through the vestibule to
the foot of the staircase, where with fluttering
hearts, they both paused and gazed expectantly
into each other's faces.
" Miss Ruth," he said at last, holding her
hand in his, " I have one thing to ask of you.
Will you come and visit my home this summer,
and take Mrs. Elder and Dearie with you ? My
grandparents and all of us would be so happy to
see you."
She hesitated, dropped her eyes, and again
suddenly raising them, she said firmly, " I will."
" Is it a promise?"
" It is." And she quickly withdrew her hand
and ran up stairs.
The next morning Varberg took the train
for Paris. Four days later he landed in London,
and within a week "boarded the steamer which
was to carry him t6 the land of his birth.
212 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
CHAPTER XII.
The Land of the Vikings.
T T was in the last days of July. Olaf had
-*- hastened away from Bergen, where the Eng-
lish boat had landed him, had boarded a Nor-
wegian steamer, and saw now from afar the blue
snow-peaked mountains which guarded the en-
trance to the valley of his birth. The sky was
one vast unruffled calm, the water glittered with
cool green and emerald reflections, and overhead
and far down in the deep the white clouds
floated airily through a limitless expanse of blue.
The young exile stood in the prow of the
steamer, and his heart throbbed as if it longed
to burst his bosom. His senses were keenly
awake ; every passing object, every fresh memory
traced its impressions clearly upon his mind,
and produced a quick succession of varying
emotions. It was as if this pure, bracing moun-
tain air had penetrated into his very soul, and
The Land of ike Vikings. 213
was stimulating the slumbering energies of his
nature. And still he could not but own it he
was no longer that fresh, trusting, primitive
youth who, five years ago, started out from his
mountain home to conquer an unknown happiness
in the world beyond the sea. Would he now be
capable of making the sacrifice to which he had
then so cheerfully submitted ? He knew that he
would not. Even at this moment he feared that
the emotion he experienced was half spurious ;
he had never been more bewilderingly conscious
of the duality of his nature, and the contrast
between the warm-blooded impetuosity of the
youth who departed and the more consciously
self-critical mood of the man who returned, was
not altogether imaginary. During these many
years spent among strangers, he had had no
experiences which had really stirred the depths
of his heart, and he had accordingly imagined
that he had lost the power of loving. Then
came Ruth with all the wealth of her deep,
womanly nature, which she shielded beneath
the appearance of light-hearted skepticism and
caprice ; in her he had, as she herself expressed
it, found something which he did not understand,
214 -^ Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
and after having vainly striven to reduce her to
logic, he had abandoned the attempt and loved
her instead.
" Would she understand this Norseland home
of mine? " he asked himself; " would she love it
as I do ? "
The steamer now cleared a steep headland ;
Varberg held his breath, then gave a shout, and
sprang up on the bridge. There, on the green
slope, close to the water, a white, stately man-
sion peeped forth from behind its dense screen
of foliage, and beckoned to him with a grave,
familiar eye of gentle reproach and welcome.
As soon as the steamer came into view, a large
flag flew up on the flag-pole at the point of the
pier, and a row of cannon stationed along the
beach boomed forth a joyous salute, which rolled
away over the surface of the water, and lost itself
in tumultuous echoes among the distant peaks of
the glaciers. It revealed such a vast perspective
of sound as almost to bewilder the sense with its
suggestion of limitless space and power. It was
to Varberg as if the very mountains were calling
to him with their granite voices, and sending
him from afar their stern greeting. They had
The Land of the Vikings. 215
watched over him from his birth up, and had
sung their stormy lullabies at his cradle ; the
ever-watchful eye of their glaciers had witnessed
his boyish sports ; many a silent summer night
the pine woods had told him their sombre le-
gends, and the cataracts in quivering whispers
of spray had confided to him their tenderest
memories. Now, in one quick flash, his whole
past life spread out before him, and he saw, per-
haps for the first time in his life, what he had
renounced.
The steam whistle sounded thrice, and a
white-painted shallop (the same shallop which
once he had called his own) was thrust out from
the pier. In the stern stood an old gray-haired
man, and close to him sat a young girl with a light
straw hat on her head, and a mass of blonde
hair. There were two stalwart men at the oars,
and the young lady held the tiller. It needed
but a glance to convince Olaf that it was his old
grandfather and Brynhild, his sister. The boat
glided swiftly out over the glittering mirror of
the fjord, the gentle ripple about its bow undu-
lated in long, diverging lines over the glassy sur-
face, and every stroke of the oar sent little throngs
216 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
of eddying bubbles floating shoreward in its wake.
Olaf stood intently watching all this, and it ap-
peared to him like some magnificent chapter in a
book, very beautiful, but absurdly unreal. He
also noticed that red and white streamers were
flying from the gables of the mansion, and that
handkerchiefs were waving to him from the bal-
cony, from the windows, and from the boat. The
whistle sounded for the third time, the engine
rumbled, and the wheels plashed and beat the
water into a mass of seething foam. He then
suddenly remembered where he was, tore off
his hat, and waved his pocket-handkerchief. The
gangway was lowered, and his grandfather, fol-
lowed by Brynhild, sprang up the steps as if he
had been a youth of twenty. Olaf leaped down
from the bridge ; then there was a scream, and
the young girl flung her arms about his neck, and
laughed and shed tears in an altogether irrational
manner. He kissed her, but could not think of
a word to say ; then gently released himself and
grasped the hand of his grandfather, who stood
gazing at him with a look of mingled tenderness
and surprise.
" My dear boy," he broke forth in a voice
The Land of tJie Vikings. 217
which trembled with emotion, " God be praised
that He has given you back to us again. But,
to be sure, you have changed much."
" For the worse, do you think, grandfather ? "
said Olaf, summoning all the Norwegian which
for the moment was at his command.
"Yes, indeed, for the worse," cried Bryn-
hild, who was still clinging to her brother's arm
and gazing at him with moist wide-opened eyes ;
"why have you allowed your beard to grow?
You looked a great deal better as you were when
you left home."
"I am sorry to hear it. However, I can
hardly myself be held responsible for my looks.
But how is grandmother? "
And now followed a perfect torrent of ques-
tions such as may be more readily imagined
than told. The baggage was carried down into
the boat, the smoke-stack rolled out dense
volumes of smoke, and the slender escape-pipe
behind it sent forth an abrupt, provoked shriek,
and from sheer exhaustion lapsed into silence.
Olaf helped his sister down into the shallop, old
Mr. Varberg followed, and the oarsmen took
their seats on the row benches. The sun shone
10
218 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
brightly and poured a flood of splendor upon
the glacier steeples ; the smooth waters sparkled
as if oversown with sunny jewels ; the air was
so inconceivably pure and transparent, the
meadows lay so soft and green under the brow of
the pine-covered cliffs, and every hill, every glen,
every mountain was an old acquaintance, and hid
in its stony breast an ore of golden memories.
A sense of joy and blessedness thrilled through
the young man's frame ; he was once more at
home, among those who knew and loved him.
The first feeling of bewilderment had vanished ;
the author lay a thousand miles behind him ;
now the moment asserted its right, and the past
years of exile faded away like the confused
phantoms of a dream. On the pier he was met
by the old servants of the family, who all
thronged forward to shake hands with him and
offer him their welcome. Some told him
that he had grown tall and handsome, others
that he looked very foreign, and others again
that he had not changed at all.
" And is this our little Olaf whom I used to
rock in my lap when he was a baby ? " said a
wrinkled little woman, in whom he recognized
his old nurse.
The Land of the Vikings. 219
" And do you remember the time when you
cried for a whole day, and refused to eat,
because they had killed your cow Rosyside?"
asked the family milkmaid.
Yes, he well remembered that ; and the
good old soul was so touched that she shed
tears. These and numerous other questions
were asked and answered, while the company
moved up through the garden to the vestibule,
where Olafs grandmother stood, impatiently
awaiting his arrival. She kissed and embraced
him, wept over him, and said that now she
had found him, and he must never leave her
again. The servants remained standing at the
foot of the stairs, the men with their caps in
their hands, and the women giving vent to their
emotion in sighs, and wiping their eyes with
their aprons. It was a scene which, in its simple
impressiveness, touched the homeless heart of
the young wanderer. What a contrast to the
great noisy world beyond the sea! With his
grandmother and his sister on his arm, he
entered the great drawing-room, with its heavy
red curtains, its strange tapestries, and its long
ro\vs of ancestral portraits. In the middle of the
22O A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
floor stood a large table, on which wine and
home-made cakes were spread in liberal profusion.
Old Judge Varberg called the servants in, poured
wine into the glasses, and then stationed himself
solemnly at the head of the table. He lifted his
glass, and all the others followed his example ;
whereupon he delivered a brief speech of wel-
come, in which he ingeniously avoided every
allusion to the cause of his grandson's departure,
as well as to the country in which he had spent
his years of exile. The toast was drunk, the
grandmother added her " Amen *' and the ser-
vants retired, having once more shaken hands
with the young heir of the house.
It was still early in the forenoon ; the sun-
shine glided stealthily in between the ample folds
of the window curtains, and lay in long streaks
and patches upon the uncarpeted floor.
The austere ancestors, with their powdered
wigs and pigtails, their lace-embroidered coats
and golden-hilted swords, looked solemnly down
upon their degenerate descendant, and the prim
ancestresses, in Arcadian costumes, and with
shepherds' staves in their hands, sent him mean-
ing glances of reproachful recognition.
The Land of tkt Vikings. 221
" If you had lived in my time, I should have
known how to manage you," the grand old gentle-
man with the gold-headed cane seemed to say.
But the sweet-faced, timid little lady, who had
once been his wife, and whom Olaf in his boy-
hood so often had pitied, gazed tenderly at him,
as if to say, "Whatever you are, you are my own
flesh and blood. If your mother had been alive,
you would not have found it in your heart to
leave her."
If the painter could be trusted, there must
have been a singular disproportion between the
two as regards bodily stature ; for the old gentle-
man, although standing upon the earth, leaned
himself comfortably on the top of a stone light-
house, the lantern of which shed a feeble glim-
mer out upon the distant sea, while the wife,
whose waist was as thin as that of a wasp, was
seated in an easy-chair, the back of which loomed
up far above her head. It was this particular
Varberg who, some three hundred years ago, had
obtained from the' Danish government a monopoly
for building light-houses on the western coast of
Norway : and after that, he had lived like a little
king in his fjord, sending out his cruisers along
222 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
the shore, and exacting toll from all passing ves-
sels. He had had a light-house engraved on his
seal, and had invariably written his name, " Var-
berg of the Light-house." The present Judge
Varberg, to whom nothing was more precious
than the traditions of his family, had scrupulously
preserved the title, while Olaf, to whom the
democratic convictions of his father were no less
sacred, had persisted in ignoring it.
But all thought of past dissensions and dis-
agreements vanished from Olaf s mind as he sat
there in the large, old-fashioned sofa, and listened
to the anxious questions and tender assurances
of those who in all the world were nearest and
dearest to him. On his right and left side sat
the old people, holding his hands in theirs, and at
his feet Brynhild was seated on a cricket, gazing
up into his face with large affectionate eyes. Such
a feeling of rest and security he had not experi-
enced in all his life, and if it had not been for
Ruth, he thought, he would have been content
to forget all his youthful ambitions, and to live
and die here in peace.
" But, my dear boy," said the old man, whose
features had assumed a look of concern whenever
The Land of the Vikings. 223
Olaf had opened his mouth to speak, " you have
not forgotten your mother tongue, I hope. You
speak with English accent."
" I was not aware of that, grandfather," an-
swered Olaf, "but you must remember that I
have not once had occasion to speak my own
language during these five years. It may appear
incomprehensible to you, and many would even
call it affectation; but my daily experience
has taught me that our language, being the
mere external clothing of our thought, will, as
naturally as the thought itself, receive the im-
press and the coloring of the land in which we
live. I. should, therefore, find it as unnatural to
speak Norwegian in America as, a week from
now, I should call it absurd to speak English here.
But something of my American self still clings to
me, and my organs of speech, as well as every
other part of my being, will show it, at least for
a time."
" God forbid that it should be of long dura-
tion, my son," retorted the Judge earnestly, rose
from the sofa, and went out of the room.
It now became evident to Olaf that his
grandparents intentionally ignored that part of
224 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
his life which he had spent abroad ; that they were
as bitterly opposed to the land of his adoption
to-day as they had been five years ago ; and that
in spite of his own protestations, they took it for
granted that he had now returned to repent of
his wild career and to settle down in his home
for the future, as a peaceful, conservative citizen.
They were no doubt ready enough to for-
give him, because, as the Judge had previously
expressed it, every young man had to sow his
wild oats, and this way was probably no worse
than a good many others. But Olaf did not
admit the guilt, and consequently asked no
forgiveness ; nevertheless, his discovery made
him very uncomfortable, not only because it
would debar him from the comfort of real confi-
dence, but perhaps rather because in the depth
of his heart there lurked a half-acknowledged
inclination to listen to the voice of prudence, to
choke the unprofitable ideals, to yield and
surrender.
Olaf's grandfather was a fine-looking old
gentleman of middle stature, and about seventy
years of age. He had a strong growth of white,
curly hair, a broad and massive forehead, and a
The Land of the Vikings. 225
slightly aquiline nose. The clear gaze of his
calm blue eyes, as well as the firm lines about
his mouth, indicated a keen understanding and
a strong will, with perhaps a suggestion of
obstinacy ; but those eyes, which were usually so
calm and clear, were a truly Protean feature ;
for when the old gentleman played his violon-
cello, they seemed to grow deeper, softer, and
tenderer; and as the music gathered strength
and burst forth in triumphant strains of joy, they
would shine and sparkle with singular brilliancy.
On the whole, judging from his appearance, no
one would have believed that Mr. Varberg was
seventy years old ; his figure was quite erect,
and his motions were youthful and vigorous.
His wife was a venerable matron, tall and
robust, straight as a candle, and with a certain
abruptness in her bearing and manner. To be
sure, Time had dealt roughly with the beauty of
which she had once been so proud, and the
traces of age were clearly legible upon her
wrinkled brow ; but for all that she was still a
handsome old lady, and she did the honors at
her parties with as much dignity to-day as she
had done twenty years ago. It is no rare thing
10*
226 A. Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
to find that people who have lived in harmony
together for half a century bear a marked
resemblance to each other ; at all events, in the
case of Judge and Mrs. Varberg the observation
had been frequently made. They of course
laughed at it themselves as an absurdity ; but
even Olaf could not help noticing the same mix-
ture of determination and tenderness in the
features of both. Mrs. Varberg invariably wore
a white lace cap with dark blue ribbons and a
black silk gown.
When dinner was over, and coffee had been
served, the Judge asked his grandson if he
would not like to take a ride on horseback, to
which the latter willingly consented. A few
minutes later the horses were at the door, and
the old man appeared on the stairs, with
spurs and riding boots. Olaf, having quite
forgotten his grandfather's little weaknesses
thoughtlessly offered him his hand to help him
into the saddle.
" Bah ! " cried the Judge in a provoked voice,
and gave the youth a gentle blow over his
fingers ; " what do you take me to be ? Do you
think I am in my dotage ? Only see that you
The Land of the Vikings. 227
get yourself safely into the saddle, and leave me
to take care of myself.**
The Judge had always prided himself on his
self-dependence, and did not like to be reminded
of his age. He at times himself referred to his
seventy years, but that was quite another
matter. He had been very impatient with his
physician when, three years ago, he had forbid-
den him to skate. It was all the sheerest non-
sense, he said, but nevertheless he heeded the
injunction.
The afternoon was bright and warm; the
air was soft and the sky pensively serene. The
breeze was fraught with the fragrance of birch
and wild flowers, with just a perceptible admix-
ture of the briny breath of the sea. For a
while they rode in silence along the smooth road,
which usually followed the capricious curves of
the numerous bays, and at times made a straight
cut across come jutting headland. Everywhere
the broad slope from the mountains down to the
fjord was carefully cultivated, and green meadow
and pasture land alternated with waving fields^
well-tended orchards, and stray patches of birch
and alder groves.*
228 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
"This river," said the Judge, pointing with
his riding-whip to a white torrent which dashed
down over a rocky incline, " separates my lands
from those of our friend the Colonel. Our pro-
perties, if united, would make the fairest estate
in the kingdom."
Olaf had nothing to say to this, but he grew
very hot about his ears, and felt exceedingly
uncomfortable. His grandfather's eyes rested
so steadily on him, and he was aware that much
depended upon the way he answered. Suddenly
a bright idea struck him.
" Yes," he said, straightening himself up in
the saddle ; " it would make a very fine estate
indeed. What a pity that the Colonel has not
a son, who might have married Brynhild. That
is, as far as I can see, the only way in which
your wish might be accomplished."
The old man's countenance fell ; but he
knew that it would not be prudent to push the
matter for the present. So he spurred his
horse ; Olaf followed his example, and they gal-
loped on to the bridge.
" This bridge," began the Judge, as the hoof-
beats of the horses clattered along the stone
The Land of the Vikings. 229
pavement, " was built by my great-grandfather,
Olaf Varberg, who died in the year 1681. And
the structure is just as good to-day as it was two
hundred years ago."
" Yes, it appears to be an exceedingly well-
built structure," remarked Olaf approvingly.
Five minutes later they drew rein at the gate
of a large buff-colored mansion, which was half
hid behind a cluster of huge chestnut trees.
" If you have no objection, why not go in
and call upon your old friend the Colonel ? " said
the Judge quite en passant, as if the thing had
just occurred to him in the moment.
" Aha," thought Olaf; "that was what the
ride was for. The trap was skilfully laid, but
the game is too old to be caught." And in an-
swer to the question he added aloud, " I have
no objection. It makes no difference to me
whether I call on the Colonel to-day or some
other time, since the call has to be made."
They rode into the yard, where a footman
came to take charge of the horses. Another
servant showed them into the parlor, where the
old Colonel sat enveloped in a cloud of tobacco
230 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
smoke, and with a heap of newspapers on the
table before him.
" Why, good evening, neighbor," cried the
host in a voice as if he were addressing a regi-
ment. " Rare guests, to be sure, and a thousand
times welcome ! "
The Colonel, who was a large portly gentle-
man, rose with difficulty from his leather-cush-
ioned easy chair, and hobbled toward the new-
comers.
" Well, neighbor, how is the gout?" inquired
the J-udge.
" The gout, sir ? Ah, pretty miserable
pretty miserable, my friend. Up and down, up
and down, like a three-wheeled wagon. And
this is your boy. Ah, yes, I think I recognize
him. I heard of his arrival. Well, you young
vagabond, you have come home at last, and de-
cided to live like a sensible mortal. Ha, ha, ha !
And how do you like it ? "
The Colonel laughed immoderately, and gave
Olafs hand a shake which tingled through the
marrow of his bones.
" Well, well," continued he, turning to the
Judge, who had in the meanwhile taken a seat
The Land of the Vikings. 231
on the sofa ; " boys will be boys. We all have
our failings, and the wildest colts, it is said,
make the best horses."
Olaf felt the ire rising within him ; but he
struggled hard to keep calm. It seemed as if
everybody was determined to look upon him as
a sort of prodigal son, as a reformed reprobate
who needed the indulgence and forgiveness of
of his friends. That he had toiled bravely and
broken an honorable career for himself; that
he felt a manly pride in his achievements, and
meant to build upon the foundation he himself
had laid this no one seemed to suspect. And
while he sat there listening to the patronizing
remarks of this ancient chatterbox his indigna-
tion changed to pity. What did these be-
nighted mortals, who had spent all their days in
this remote corner of the world, where a new
idea was as rare a thing as an eclipse of the sun
what did they know of the great life in which
his lot was cast? what standard had they
whereby to measure him, and what right had
they to judge him ? While Olaf was diverting
himself with these and similar reflections, the
door was gently opened, and a young lady
232 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
entered the room. She wore a light summer
dress which fell in stiff folds about her slender
body. She had grown taller since he saw her
last, and an expression of sweet, gentle sadness
dwelt in her features. Her complexion was
wonderfully clear ; her rich, yellow hair was
bound in a Grecian knot on the back of her
head, and a pure, lily-like beauty breathed from
her whole being. She first bowed to the Judge,
and then advanced to the window where Olaf
was sitting. He rose and shook hands with her.
"Ah, Olaf," she said in a hushed, gentle
voice ; " how kind in you that you came so soon
to see us. Father and I half feared that you
had forgotten us."
The young man murmured something about
the delight he experienced at seeing her, but in
his heart he felt guilty and miserable.
" And how large you have grown, Olaf," con-
tinued Thora, while her eyes dwelt with visible
pleasure on his countenance. "America has
not changed you so much as I feared it would.
Brynhild and I have talked about you so often,
and we both wondered how you would look when
you came back."
The Land of the Vikings. 233
It was a luxury to him to hear her speak. It
was many a year since anybody had called him
by bis first name, and upon her lips it sounded so
sweetly and so exquisitely beautiful.
" I am happy to know that some one has
thought kindly of me, Thora," he answered
" You don't know what a strange experience it is
to come home after so long an absence. I am
so bewildered that I can hardly collect my senses
It all appears to me like a charming story, too
beautiful to be true."
" I am glad that you do find it beautiful here,"
she replied, with a pensive smile, " for we feared
that after having travelled so much and seen so
many grand and beautiful things, you would
think everything very plain and simple here in
your old home. And we are all very plain peo-
ple, you know, and we don't hear much about
what is going on in the world. Father has told
me all about the war in France, and about the
advantages of the English constitution, but I
know he talks to me about such things only be-
cause he has nobody else to talk to, and I am
sure I find it very difficult to remember what he
explains to me,"
234 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage.
He could not help smiling at her naivete ;
nevertheless her words, by their very simplicity,
impressed him deeply. He had long ago made
the acquaintance of such characters in books,
but he had quite forgotten that they also existed
in reality. Five years ago he had himself been
too much a part of this primitive life to be able
to view it objectively. Thora had then to him
been a beautiful young girl, and nothing more ;
now, in the capacity of an author, he discovered
a new side to her character, and she accordingly
assumed a fresh importance in his eyes.
The call was prolonged until almost an hour
had passed, and Olaf and Thora made rapid
advances in each other's favor. The two old
gentlemen in the meanwhile discussed the pros-
pects of the crops, the situation of King Ama-
deo, and the defeat of the Ultramontanes
in Germany ; but at times they paused to
exchange a meaning glance, while they watched
the young couple at the window with an air of
profound satisfaction. At length the horses
were brought to the door, and the visitors
reluctantly departed. On the homeward way
hardly a word was spoken. But as they dis-
The Land of the Vikings. 235
mounted at the garden gate, the Judge laid his
arm on his grandson's shoulder (by the way, a
very unusual thing for him to do), and said,
" Well, how do you like the Colonel's daughter ? "
" She is a very beautiful girl," answered Olaf
hastily.
Many strange thoughts whirled about in Olaf
Varberg's head that night, as he retired to his
rooms those same rooms which had witnessed
his early struggles and dreams in his happy stu-
dent days. Everything was just as when he left
it. His favorite authors still stood in the book-
shelves as he had himself arranged them ; the
pictures hung in their old places upon the walls,
and gazed upon him with a familiar air of recog-
nition ; the carved furniture, with the green
damask covers, the large canopied bed, with its
flowered curtains all was unchanged ; it was as
if he had but yesterday stepped out of this room
as if these five years, with their manifold
experiences, had been but an empty dream, a
bewildered fancy. He had come here he
hardly knew why perhaps to enjoy a few brief
days of rest and now he found himself involved
in a new and hopeless struggle.
236 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
He flung himself down in an easy-chair;
paper and ink lay before him on the table.
With a sudden resolution, he seized the pen and
wrote a long letter to Ruth.
" She must come," he murmured, as he
sealed the envelope ; " and for the rest, let me
trust to fortune."
Ruth's Arrival. 237
CHAPTER XIII.
RutKs Arrival.
WO weeks had passed since Olaf s arrival
They had been veiy quiet and uneventful
weeks, but nevertheless fraught with strange and
novel experiences. Olaf had come to the con-
clusion that he was in fact the most complex
character that ever lived. Already while in
Leipsic had he discovered that the man and the
author in him were, so to speak, two distinct
individuals whose interests frequently clashed ;
Varberg the man had fallen in love with Ruth,
while Varberg the author had remained provok-
ingly cold. Now, to still further complicate the
problem, a fresh difficulty thrust itself upon his
attention. He found that his American life had
developed one side of his nature which here in
Norway he was forced to ignore; and his old
Norse self, which had slumbered so long, was
238 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage.
now awakening and asserting its rights with
renewed power.
The days dragged along slowly and deli-
ciously, and nothing occurred to break their
calm, idyllic monotony. So Olaf had time
enough for self-contemplation ; and with the
introspective tendency peculiar to youth, he
groped vaguely about in the labyrinthine re-
cesses of his being, and, as I have said, ended
with deciding that he was the most complicated
phenomenon under the sun. What especially
perplexed him was his relation to Thora. He
saw her almost daily, rowed with her on the
fjord, took long walks with her through the
fragrant birch groves, and saw with secret alarm
their relation growing day by day more danger-
ously intimate. He did not seek her, neither
did she seek him ; but through some fatality
their paths would inevitably meet. He always
felt his heart beat faster when he saw her lithe
figure in the shimmering shadow of the leaves ;
and he was immediately transported into that
impersonal, romantic mood in which the mad-
dest words and deeds seem so perfectly natural
as almost to be trite and commonplace. Olaf,
RutKs Arrival. 239
whose head was constantly filled with possible
plots for novels and dramas, at such times
assumed to himself a certain heroic character ;
he hovered high above the paltry realities of life,
and felt as irresponsible as if he had been the
Grand Mogul himself. He did not love Thora
at all events not in the sense in which he
loved Ruth ; but for all that, he was frequently
conscious of a mad desire to propose to her, not
because he was vain or heartless enough to trifle
with her affections, but only in order to act out
the plot, and to carry out the illusion to its last
consequences. The air was so soft and calm,
the sun burned so ethereally remote upon the
sky, the mountains stood so serenely gigantic in
the azure distance, the maiden at his side was
so bewilderingly fair, and the whole scene con-
trasted so gratefully with the tumult of life from
which he had lately escaped, as utterly to
remove it from the sphere of responsible reality.
It was all a beautiful idyllic romance of which
he was the hero and she the heroine, and in
romances people always propose, and his ro-
mantic sense of duty tempted him to do the
same. What Thora's emotions may have been,
240 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage.
we are not authorized to say ; for Olaf s journals
contain no hint, and still less any decisive evi-
dence. She was a dutiful daughter, and was
probably aware that her father was not averse to
a connection of the two families ; but whether
her admirer was anything more to her than that
abstract possibility of a husband which any
young man of his attainments might have been,
will always remain a matter of doubt.
Olaf had told his grandparents that some
American friends would be visiting Norway dur-
ing the summer; they had showed him great
kindness during his stay in .Germany, he said, and
he hoped that there would be no objection to
his inviting them to spend a couple of weeks in
his home. He well knew that his request would
be willingly granted, and he had therefore had
no scruples in anticipating the decision. The
long-expected letter from Ruth arrived at last,
and during the next week the otherwise so quiet
household was in a flutter of expectation, and
the position, character, and appearance of the
American guests were the all-absorbing topic of
conversation.
It was a dim, warm evening an evening of
Ruttis Arrii'i!. 241
deepest repose. The sun hung low over the
western mountain tops, and the horizon was
flushed with a faint crimson tint which shaded
imperceptibly into the upper regions of purer
blue. The water was as grave and placid as only
the fjords of Norway can be. The large flag
drowsed on its pole at the end of the pier, and
at Olafs direction a man was stationed on the
beach, ready to fire the cannon as soon as the
steamer came into view. And the signal was
given. The echo thundered away over the moun-
tains, and the huge, black boat came ploughing
a path of foam through the glittering billows.
Olaf and Brynhild, with two oarsmen, rowed
out to receive the visitors. On the bridge stood
a tall young lady, with a light straw hat on her
head, and a brightly-colored shawl thrown around
her shoulders ; she leaned over the railing and
waved her handkerchief, and Olaf and his sister
responded from the boat. There is no need of
dwelling on the scene of reception ; half an hour
later Ruth and Mrs. Elder entered the large
drawing-room, and Olaf was so proud and happy
that he felt inclined to shout or commit some
other breach of propriety. Dearie had decided
ii
242 A, Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
to remain with her relatives in England. The
host and the hostess cordially welcomed the
guests at the door, and Brynhild, who could not
tear her eyes away from Ruth's countenance,
eagerly relieved the ladies of waterproofs, hats,
and shawls.
" How beautiful she is," murmured she in her
brother's ear, and he nodded and smiled triumph-
antly.
Mrs. Elder's features wore an air of mild
defiance and perplexity. Only a week ago, when
she had reluctantly yielded to Ruth's energetic
persuasions and accepted Olafs invitation, it had
been a serious question with her whether they
ought not to bring with them their own bedding,
and a small supply of provisions ; the worthy
old lady had even, with a secret relish, antici-
pated the patronizing attitude she, as a woman
of the world, was to assume toward the natives.
Now, all these pleasant prospects were spoiled ;
and as all Mrs. Elder's mental processes were
slow, it would necessarily take some time before
she could find herself at her ease in this surpris-
ingly novel situation. Having drunk the toast
of welcome, the guests retired with Brynhild to
RutKs Arrival. 243
their rooms, and appeared again in time for
supper. The Judge, with not a little formality,
offered his arm to Mrs. Elder, Olaf hastened to
Ruth's side, and a young officer, who wrote in
the Judge's office, followed with Brynhild.
"And what is your impression of Norway,
madam ? " asked old Mr. Varberg, having brought
his lady to a seat at his side.
"Ah, you speak English," exclaimed Mrs.
Elder. " I didn't know that the natives of Nor-
way generally spoke English."
"No; the natives of Norway generally do
not," said the Judge emphatically.
Ruth grew uneasy ; she knew that her aunt
was treading on dangerous ground ; but Olaf
came to the rescue.
" I have been thinking of what we can do to
amuse our guests while they are staying with us,"
he said, addressing himself to his grandfather.
" You know the resources of the place, as it is
to-day, better than I do. What, for instance,
would you propose for to-morrow ? "
" If the ladies are good climbers, you might
make an excursion to the glaciers."
All parties present evinced a vivid interest in
244 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
this proposition, and numerous plans were sug-
gested. It was finally decided that the excur-
sion should be put off for a week, until more
visitors had arrived, and the Americans had ex-
hausted the wonders of the immediate vicinity.
Olaf, for some reason or other, was in high
spirits, and his good humor was of a contagious
kind and soon communicated itself to all the
rest. He beguiled Mrs. Elder into recounting
the incidents of their journey through France
and their sojourn in England, and craftily con-
trived to start his grandfather and Ruth on a
musical discussion concerning the relative merits
of the old Mozart and Beethoven and the new
Chopin and Wagner schools. Ruth expressed
her opinions clearly, and with a beautiful natural-
ness .and ease which evidently startled the old
gentleman more than he was willing to admit.
He was not accustomed to hear women talk in
that way ; and although he thoroughly enjoyed
this free exchange of opinions, he was old-fash-
ioned enough to question whether he really ap-
proved of the thing in the abstract. The grand-
mother, down at the other end of the table, was
positive that she did not ; to be sure, she did not
RutKs Arrival. 245
understand English, and could not judge Ruth by
what she said; but seeing that she was bril-
liant and beautiful, she instinctively felt that her
arrival must mean something; and that this
young lady's influence over her grandson would
not be favorable to her own intentions with him
was self-evident. Her own ideas of American
young ladyhood, derived mostly from the ac-
counts of English travellers, had represented the
fair sex of our land as masculine, forward, and
unattractive, and with the generalizing tendency
of the feminine mind, she had immediately con-
cluded that Ruth, from an affectional point of
view, was altogether harmless. Could it be pos-
sible, she argued, that her boy was purposely
leading her astray when he spoke with such per-
fect coolness of extending their hospitality to
these foreigners? And she had blindly credited
his proposal to a certain manly pride which did
not allow him to receive without giving in re-
turn, and perhaps to a very 7 pardonable desire
to display the ancient wealth and glory of his
home.
When the meal was at an end the young
people rose, and, according to old Norse cus-
246 A. Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
torn, went up to the master and the mistress of
the house, shook hands with them, and said Tak
for Maden (Thanks for the food). Ruth imme-
diately caught these words, walked up to the
Judge and his wife, and held out her hand.
" Tak for Maden" she said.
The Judge grasped her hand, shook it heart-
ily, and looked immensely pleased. Olaf in the
meanwhile stood looking hard at Ruth, to dis-
cover if the old roguish twinkle was not lurking
in her eye ; but he only saw an open pleasant
smile, evidently provoked by her unsuccessful
attempt at pronouncing the foreign words.
" Ah," thought Olaf, and rubbed his hands
contentedly ; " she will have grandfather in love
with her before a week is past."
The sun was yet peeping above the horizon,
and the daylight still lingered. The air was as
warm as at midsummer. The old folks took
their seats out on the balcony, and the Judge
ordered cigars and the ingredients requisite for
making toddy. And there he sat smoking, and
at the same time carrying on rather a laborious
conversation with Mrs. Elder, acting as inter-
preter between her and his wife. Brynhild was
RutKs Arrival. 247
occupied with her household duties, and Ruth
and Olaf had seized the opportunity to take a
walk on the beach.
"And now, Miss Ruth," he said, as soon as
they were alone, " you must tell me what you
think of Norway."
" To be candid," answered Ruth, " I don't
think at all. I find no time for thinking. I can
only see and enjoy. I have had many strange
notions about this remote sea-kingdom, which I
imagined to be your home, but my conjectures
were nothing like this grand reality. If I had
been consulted at the creation of the world, I
should have placed Paradise here, in this very
region."
" Ah, you haven't been here long yet," re-
monstrated Olaf, although he was secretly re*
joiced at her enthusiasm. " But if you had to
stay here in the winter, when the wind drives
huge drifts of black cloud in between the moun-
tains, and this calm glittering fjord is one vast
mass of dark foamy smoke, and the leafless trees
bend and moan under the scourge of the tem-
pest, then I am afraid you would change yo,ur
opinion, 1 '
248 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
" But then one appreciates a warm and cosy
parlor the more; and if I could only have the
monthly magazines and all the reading matter
I wanted, I don't think it would be so terrible."
" Who is romantic now ? " exclaimed he laugh-
ingly. " Don't you remember how you ridiculed
me in Strasbourg for this same sort of talk?"
" Oh yes ; that was in Strasbourg, you know,"
retorted she. " But now we are in Norway, and
that makes quite a difference."
Where the highway bordered on the beach,
there grew a couple of drooping birches, between
which there was a rough bench. It was rather
large for one, and would seat two without much
difficulty. Ruth and Olaf, found the spot
peculiarly inviting. It was high tide ; the mirror
of the water moved in smooth, pensive undula-
tions which caught a tinge of crimson from the
sunset, became transparent as they neared the
shore, and broke in a soft ripple upon the sand.
Large white sea-birds sailed calmly under the sky,
then plunged headlong into the fjord, whence
high spurts of spray rose and again fell hissing
over the shining surface. Olaf had never felt
prouder of his native land than in this moment ;
Rutiis Arrival* 249
and the feet that Ruth deemed it worthy of her
admiration heightened a hundredfold his own
enjoyment. The enchantment of her presence
filled the air, and made it sweeter and richer to
breathe. The dreamy apathy which had pos-
sessed him before her arrival had vanished, and
the bright atmosphere which ever surrounded
her, like a bracing breath of the sea, had awak-
ened his senses to a keener delight in existence.
"Miss Ruth," he said at last, " I think I
know you better now than I ever did before.
These few hours have taught me well, I hardly
know what."
He was half prepared to have her ridicule
the sentiment or even resent it; but to his
surprise, she smiled in a pleased way, and an-
swered, "/ might with greater truth say the
same of you. What appeared anomalous to me
before, and often startled me, is now perfectly
intelligible. Having learned to comprehend the
country in which you have spent your early
years, knowing the length of your stay in Amer-
ica, and then considering your natural disposi-
tion supposing these three things to be knows
quantities, I think I could have calculated your
250 A Norsemaris Pilgrimage.
character with the exactness of an algebraic
problem that is, if I had any head for mathe-
matics," she added with a merry laugh. " But
^unfortunately I have not."
" Well, it is your good luck or my good luck
whatever you please that you are not gifted
in that direction," was his reply. " I should
dislike to be such an inevitable result of certain
iron forces in the making of which I had
myself no hand. Moreover, I am persuaded
that you cannot calculate human beings in that
fashion."
" Yes, with men you can, but with women it
is quite another matter. They are the results
of a thousand incalculable combinations, which
are too subtle for the mathematician to deal
with. Therefore the attempt on the part of a
man to account for the doings or the character
of a woman always ends in dire failure."
"But do you mean to imply that women
mutually understand each other?"
" At times. Yes."
" Ergo : women are greater mathematicians
than men, and there our logic stops."
" How provokingly stubborn you are," cried
RutJis Arrival. 251
Ruth, and sprang up from her seat. " Now I
think it is time that we commenced to talk
about something else."
He was not in a mood to contradict her.
She might have persisted that the grass was
blue and the beach green, and he would joyfully
have consented. Tlj| sea kept up its vague
murmur in their ears ; the song-thrush, the
nightingale of Norway, warbled drowsily in the
crowns of the birch-trees, and the arctic summer
night shed its soft splendor around them.
They walked slowly along the strand, now
stopping to pick up a curious shell, now watch-
ing the flight of the large white-winged sea-
birds.
" How do people know when to go to bed
here ? " said Ruth, lifting her eyes to the great
sun-gilded peaks in the distance. " It must be
past nine o'clock now, and it is almost as light as
at noon. And still it is a different kind of light
as if the sun was a little bit weary, and was
good-humoredly coaxed into staying up a little
for our benefit. Somehow or other, I cannot get
out of the notion that all this has been gotten
up on my account, and that, as soon as I have
4
252 A Norsemaiis Pilgrimage.
become domesticated, nature will again assume
its usual working-day appearance. I know it is
unpardonably conceited in me to think so ; but
after all it is a pleasant conceit. So, why
should I dismiss it ?
" I can see no earthly reason why you
should," answered Olaf. " Only wait a few days,
and I will arrange a sunset among the glaciers
for you, and, if possible, an avalanche which
will sweep away a few peasants' houses, and
some other theatrical effects of the same sort.
I dare say you will enjoy it hugely, and you will
probably never have such another experience in
all your life."
At the garden gate they met Brynhild, who
was just starting out in search of them.
" Grandmother was afraid you might be catch-
ing cold," she said, " and she wished me to bring
you this shawl."
" Thank you," said Ruth ; " there is no danger
of my catching cold in this temperature. But if
I can oblige anybody by putting on a shawl, I
will do it."
Olaf and his sister exchanged a rapid glance ;
Rutlis Arrival. 253
both understood the old lady's tactics; but
Ruth seemed to have no suspicion.
" But you didn't tell me how people know
when to go to bed here," began Ruth. " If the
sun keeps on at this rate, I shall be dreadfully
mixed up about day and night."
"We go altogether by instinct. We go to
bed when we are tired, and get up when we feel
like it. And by a fortunate coincidence, we all
get tired about the same time, and when Bryn-
hild says that breakfast is on the table, we all
have a simultaneous impulse to rise."
" What a delightful way of living. I have no
doubt I shall soon get accustomed to it."
They walked up through the garden, and
joined the group on the balcony. As the clock
struck ten in the hall, the Judge rose, bade the
company good night, and retired. The ladies
soon followed his example. Olaf felt no desire
for sleep ; the great fact that Ruth had arrived
so filled his mind that it left no room for any
other thought. He lit a cigar and flung himself
down in his grandfather's easy-chair. It was still
light ; but just the faintest suggestion of twilight
(that clear, transparent twilight of the North)
254 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
lingered in the air, and the sky was grave with
nocturnal blue. It had been such a great day
that the young man could not consent to go to
rest before having somehow made clear to him-
self its meaning and summed up its possible re-
sults. That he loved Ruth that was at least
certain ; he no longer feared to confess it to him-
self or even to her; and all the imagined difficul-
ties of uncongeniality of disposition and interests,
etc., which had so distressed him a month ago,
had vanished in mist. And as he weighed the
chances of Ruth's loving him, the thing did not
at least seem such an utter absurdity as at the
time when first he considered the question. In
the light of this new possibility, Olaf Varberg
hopefully viewed the life that lay before him.
With a joyful tumult of heart, he saw the
time when, sitting in his cosy study, he should
find himself in the situation so charmingly de-
scribed by Pliny in one of his letters. How
lightly would not the winged thoughts flow un-
der the spell of her presence ; how good-na-
turedly would he not suffer those little interrup-
tions when, leaning confidingly over the back of
his chair, she would glance down on the page on
Ruttts Arrival. 255
which he was writing ; and what wild throbs of
happiness would not throng his bosom when he
read her affectionate sympathy in her eyes, and
that fine pride which only a wife can take in her
husband's real or imagined greatness. All this
he saw and felt, and the imaginary scene made
him as happy as if he had merely to reach out
his hand to make it real. Never had his duties
to himself and to her appeared more sacred to
him than in this moment ; never had the talent,
which he knew to be his, appeared such a great
and glorious thing; never had his purpose in life
been so strong and so clearly defined. In this
little reverie he was disturbed by a pair of soft
arms which were gently laid about his neck, and
a warm cheek, which was lightly pressed against
bis. Olaf was too bewildered to think ; he turned
his head quickly, and a shade of disappointment
flitted over bis features. It was Brynhild.
"Ah, is it you?" he said, perhaps a little
coldly.
Brynhild did not answer, but only wound
her arms more tightly about his neck, as if she
were afraid that somebody might come and tear
him away from her. Presently he felt his cheek
256 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
growing wet, and he discovered that she was
weeping.
" But, my dear girl, what is the matter with
you ? " asked Olaf gently, drawing her down into
his lap.
" Oh, how lovely, how beautiful she is."
sobbed Brynhild, and hid her face on his bosom.
"Who is lovely? who is beautiful? I am
sure I don't understand you."
" Ah, your American lady. You never told
us that she looked like that."
" And you cry because she is lovelier and
more beautiful than you imagined her? "
" Oh, Olaf, you don't know," cried the girl,
with a fresh burst of grief. " We thought
Thora and I thought that that you would
always remain at home."
She started up as if frightened at her own
words, and almost ran into the house. Olaf
hardly knew why, but her words sent a pang
to his heart. His first impulse was to call after
her and demand an explanation ; but somehow
he imagined what she might have to tell him,
and on a second thought he concluded that there
are times when certainty is even worse than
RutRs Arrival. 257
doubt. So he arose and walked up to his
rooms ; but his happy reverie was spoiled.
Ruth woke up with the sensation of having
slept for a fortnight when the maid called her
the next morning. And when the shining
coffee-pot was placed upon a little table before
her bed, and the fragrant brown liquid poured
into the china cups, she opened her eyes widely,
and asked why they had allowed her to sleep
until after dinner. She had a vague impression
that the German custom of drinking coffee
immediately on rising from the dinner-table pre-
vailed in Norway too (as indeed it does) ; but the
Norse fashion of drinking coffee while in bed she
was as yet unacquainted with. But, as she had
already declared, she was bound to respect the
national customs ; and to convince herself of her
own sincerity, she began with making a martyr
of herself by drinking more than she really
wanted.
This old house, with its spacious halls, its
quaint tapestry, and its air of good cheer and
large-handed hospitality, had strangely wrought
upon the young girl's fancy. And then this
stately old gentleman, with his stiff gait and his
258 A. Norseman 's Pilgrimage.
old-fashioned chivalresqueness of manner, pos-
sessed a certain romantic fascination in her eyes ;
in her present mood she was half disposed to
regret that Olafs sojourn in her own land had
made him so hopelessly American and so utterly
disloyal to the traditions of his family. She
liked the old Judge immensely, and was natu-
rally anxious that he should like her. It was
therefore no mere comedy on her part, when, on
appearing for breakfast this morning, she pro-
fessed a vivid interest in the family pictures and
allowed their owner to conduct her through the
gallery and entertain her with the history and
incidents connected with each separate portrait.
If she had artfully plotted the conquest of the
old man, she could never have chosen a more
ingenious method. And when Olaf, who had
enjoyed a little nap after the coffee, entered the
drawing-room, he observed the pleased expres-
sion in his grandfather's countenance, and
secretly triumphed in Ruth's success. He was
unjust to her, however, when in his heart he
suspected her of design.
This vast, unrippled calm of the Northern
sky, the serenely idyllic mood of the late sum-
RutJis Arrival. 259
mer, with its faint undulations of tone, by their
very novelty imparted to Ruth's mind an ever-
fresh sense of adventure. The days went by,
but all limits of time and space were, as it were,
blurred, and the question whether it was Sunday
or Monday concerned her no more than did the
household expenses of the Emperor of China.
All she knew was that she thought this a most
delightful way of living ; and as long as her aunt
showed no signs of impatience, she saw no rea-
son why she should trouble herself about the
morrow. The mornings were usually spent on
the fjord, rowing or fishing ; the afternoons were
devoted to rambles through the neighboring
birch grove ; and in the evening the Judge and
Ruth invariably had a " musical fight " about
Chopin, Liszt, and Beethoven, which usually
ended with a practical test of the merits of these
composers. Ruth did play Chopin superbly.
Those inarticulate sighs which at times seem to
be struggling through the gloom-fraught chords
of his nocturnes she rendered with a deep and
powerful pathos, as if she had herself expert
enced all this dim yearning and sorrow and
despair. The old -man would on such occasions
260 A Norseman s Pilgrimage.
sit down at her side, at first intent upon finding
fault, then gradually forgetting his hostile inten-.
tions, until his eyes kindled with sympathetic ani-
mation ; and at last he would rise abruptly, and
begin to pace up and down the floor. Ruth saw
and enjoyed hertriumph, but she was too prudent
to take advantage of it; and the Judge, who was
just a little bit stubborn, sat down once more
and opened fire on Liszt, whom he attacked the
more fiercely because he had tacitly admitted
his defeat on Chopin. Then Ruth played one
of the " Rhapsodies Hongroises," and there was
another armistice. Nevertheless the Judge was
by no means positive whether he approved or
disapproved of this young American girl ; he
was sure that he admired her, but it was always
under a protest. In his opinion women had no
right to be so clever, so bright, and so self-
possessed ; in the good old times when he was
young, girls never spoke unless they were
addressed, and then they invariably blushed and
answered, in trembling monosyllables ; and a
young man, when in the company of ladies,
naturally assumed a slightly patronizing tone,
and was in return agreeably impressed with the
Ruth's Arrival. 261
idea of his own importance. The Judge could
not but smile when he imagined the way Ruth
would meet a man who should approach her in
this manner. Then, it was not to be denied,
Ruth was an American, and America and revo-
lution were to his mind identical terms. Amer-
ica had been his evil demon ; it had sowed the
seed of discord in his family, had deprived him
of his only son, and now God only knew what
was to happen. The Judge felt that it was his
duty to dislike this young lady, and he did his
best ; but when he sat at her side, and saw the
fine intelligence of her dark eyes, and listened to
those bright little remarks of hers, which came
and went like a flash of the Aurora Borealis,
then he could only rebel in silence and own that
resistance was vain. But Ruth was happily
unconscious of all this : she came, saw, and
conquered.
262 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
CHAPTER XIV.
The Glacier Expedition.
" '"T^HERE was once a princess, who was the
* most beautiful princess in all the world,"
exclaimed Olaf, as he saw Ruth emerging from
her room with a fine, fresh color on her cheeks,
and attired in the jaunty costume, which with
her aunt's aid she had improvised for the glacier
excursion.
" And there was once a prince, who was the
sauciest creature that ever lived," retorted Ruth,
pushed him aside, and ran down stairs.
It was about six o'clock in the morning. A
company of young people, including the youth-
ful e"lite of all the neighborhood, had gathered
down on the pier, and a couple of sturdy oars-
men, with yellow knee-breeches and red-peaked
caps, were engaged in clearing the boats. Tea-
kettles, lunch-baskets, and various articles of
wearing apparel were stowed away under the
The Glacier Expedition. 263
row-benches, and the young lieutenants, who
liked to display their authority before the ladies,
shouted their orders in stentorian accents. Then
all of a sudden there was a hush ; the ladies put
their heads together and spoke in whispers, and
the gentlemen pulled at their waistcoats and
drew themselves up into martial attitudes. Ruth
was seen descending the garden terrace. They
had all heard about this wonderful American
beauty, but only few of them had seen her ; ru-
mor had been busy with her name even before
her arrival, and had magnified every circum-
stance connected with her into the most fabulous
dimensions. That she had come to marry the
grandson of the Judge seemed to be a settled
thing ; and it was told for certain that she owned
a bank of her own, and was rich enough to buy
out the whole parish. The parish shoemaker, who
was the authorized bearer of news, had reported
her to be " fairer and richer than the Queen of
England," taking it for granted that the Queen
of England was beyond dispute, by virtue of
her position, the most beautiful woman in the
world. He had also thrown out some dark hint
about " their doing things differently in America,"
264 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
which by the parish gossips had been variously
construed ; but neither Ruth nor Olaf would
have been particularly nattered if they had
known of the doubt which existed in the minds
of many as to whether it was he or she who had
assumed the aggressive part in the marriage
question. It was natural enough that so mys-
terious a creature, even if she had not been so
loudly heralded, should have excited the curiosity
and wonder of the half-rustic neighbors ; now she
stood among them, but the halo of her rare
Southern beauty and the fabulous land from
which she hailed still seemed to remove her far
out of their sphere. She smiled and greeted
them in her own frank, friendly way, while they
thronged forward to be introduced. Then they
all took their seats in the boats, and the oarsmen
thrust out from the pier.
The morning fog was just rising from the
water, and drifted in fleecy fragments up along
the sides of the mountains. Stray bits of meadow
and wheat field lay glittering brightly with myr-
iad dewdrops, wherever the sun had made a rift
in the white veil of the mist. The fjord shone
with a soft summer freshness, as if it had just
TJie Glacier Expedition. 265
awakened from a long and healthful sleep. On
all sides the huge uncertain forms of snow-hooded
peaks mirrored themselves in the cool ethereal
deep. Hundreds of sea birds were already on
the wing ; the shrill-voiced gull sailed majesti-
cally over the wakes of the boats, and hardly
twenty feet away the fearless, white-breasted
gannet plunged headlong into the tide and left
a patch of eddying bubbles where it had van-
ished. As the sun rose higher a light shiver ran
over the surface of the water, and its faint un-
dulations played in changing tints of reflected
blue and cool luminous green.
By some chance Thora Haraldson had come
to occupy the seat next to Ruth in the stern of
one of the boats. Olaf sat upon a cross bench op-
posite, dividing his attention between the land-
scape and the company. As his eyes fell upon
the fair group before him, the picturesque con-
trast between the two struck his artistic fancy,
and presently he found himself critically compar-
ing them and trying to account for their points
of difference. How frail and almost insignificant
looked this slender blue-eyed alpine maiden by
the side of that tall, brilliant, and magnificent
266 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
beauty. And somehow she seemed to be con-
scious of her own insignificance, for she looked
with large innocent eyes up into Ruth's face, and
an expression of child-like wonder was visible in
her features. " Ah," philosophized Olaf, " it is the
problem of my life which stands embodied before
me. The one is the peaceful, simple life of the
North, with its small aims and cares, its domestic
virtues, and its calm, idyllic beauty. Love to
her means duty, a gentle submissiveness, and the
attachment bred by habit and mutual esteem.
But in the other's bosom lives a world of slum-
bering tumult, a host of glorious possibilities,
which though still shrunken in the bud, will one
day, when touched by the wakening warmth of
love, develop all the emotional wealth and gran-
deur of perfect womanhood. She is the flower
of a larger and intenser civilization, and all the
burning pulses of life which animate this great
century, unknown to herself, throb in her being.
And it is my own future which I love in her. I
too shall become a larger and a more perfect
man for what I give and what I receive in the
mystery of such a love. The past lies behind
me, and Ruth and love before me."
The Glacier Expedition. 267
Olaf might have causd a sensation by pro-
posing then and there, if Ruth had not uncon-
sciouly interrupted his reverie.
" Mr. Olaf," said she (for she too had got into
the habit of calling him by that name because it
sounded so delightfully barbarous), " these moun-
tains don't always look so tall and magnificent,
do they?"
" Oh, not by any means," retorted Olaf, who
was in that moment capable of saying anything.
" Don't you see they are standing on tiptoe look-
ing over the edge of those clouds in order to
catch a glimpse of you ? It is not often that
they have the chance of seeing such a sight."
" Now, don't be absurd, pray," answered she,
and smiled, rather in spite of herself. " I'really
meant it quite seriously. I think you said some-
thing the other day about optical delusions
caused by the singular transparency of the air at
certain seasons of the year, or something of that
sort."
" Yes," said Olaf, with a malicious twinkle in
his eye ; " I did say something of that sort. I
said that when beautiful young ladies came here
to visit them, the mountains suddenly remember
268 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
their youthful dreams, and they have just enough
of the dandy about them to make them anxious
to produce a good impression. Therefore they
wrap a picturesque cloak of sun-gilded mist
about their shoulders, cock their glittering hel-
mets of ice a little so as to look reckless,
straighten their aged backs, and shake off the
avalanches which slumbering centuries have
heaped up there. And then you would hardly
believe it strange tumultuous emotions awake
in their stony breasts, and warm the huge masses
of ice which have gathered in their beards ;
and the ice melts ; boisterous cataracts rush
down over their bosoms ; their sombre armors
of pine forest swell as if they were going to
burst, and hoarse, rumbling noises issue forth
from their glacial throats. Then they are only
trying if they haven't lost their voices. That
is how the mountains behave when they are
in love. And you know, Miss Ruth, all this is
not so absurd as it may sound to you ; for when
you have made conquests of grandfather, and
Brynhild, and myself, and all the rest of us, why
then should the mountains be exceptions? ''
"Why, Mr. Olaf," cried Ruth laughingly,
The Glacier Expedition. 269
"you are certainly fibbing. All this was not
at all what you told me. But you do talk so
magnificently. Pray go on. You may say
whatever you please."
" But the trouble is I haven't got anything
more to say."
" Well, then, you may keep quiet. But by
the way, does your friend Hiss Thora speak
English?"
"I don't suppose she knows herself; proba-
bly she never tried."
" I do understand a little," said Thora timidly.
" But I cannot speak."
"Then Mr. Olaf will act as our interpreter.
Won't you, Mr. Olaf?"
* Oh, certainly."
And the conversation commenced. They
talked of Norway and of America, of the won-
ders of fjords and glaciers, and of their own
little private doings ; but where the thoughts
have to pass through the medium of an inter-
preter a conversation can never become con-
fidential.
It was still early morning when the rowers,
as if by mutual agreement, pulled up the drip-
270 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
ping oars and poised them under their knees ;
the clear drops of water sparkled like sun-
smitten emeralds, and fell with a sharp metallic
click upon the shining surface. This was the
usual resting-place, and Olaf, in deference to
ancient custom, let a large jug of beer pass the
round among his crew. There was a slight cur-
rent jjerceptible, and the boats were allowed to
drift ; and as Ruth looked up she uttered a cry
of surprise, and gazed in frightened wonder
upon the vast panorama of desolation which
spread out before her. A minute ago they had
seen nothing but the huge promontory which
loomed up straight before them, and which
made them feel as if the boats in which they
were sitting were mere nutshells. Now, as if the
mountain wall had been raised like a back cur-
tain in a theatre, the view suddenly deepened ;
the sunshine itself became suffused as it were
with a bluish ice-tint, and as far as the eye could
reach, the granite Titans of the primeval world
raised their hoary heads in calm defiance of
heaven. The keen arrows of the sun smote
upon their shields of snow, and rebounded in
brilliant reflections from their icy helmets, and
The Glacier Expedition. 271
the sombre shadows of the fjord below were
startled with rapid flushes of crimson, gold, and
violet.
" We are not going in there, are we ? " said
Ruth anxiously. " It looks to me as if the
whole thing was coming down. I really doubt
if it is safe to enter."
" My official duties compel me to travel here
every week," remarked one of the lieutenants,
who could speak a little English. " But it never
occurred to me to be frightened."
" Ah," said Ruth, with a smile.
" Why should I be frightened ? " continued
the martial youth, anxious to follow up his
triumph.
" No, I can't really see why you should,"
replied she. " I am sure / shouldn't."
The gentleman's countenance fell, and he
hastened to volunteer his service at the oars.
The boats had now entered a narrow branch of
the fjord, one of the most wildly picturesque
regions which Norway or any other country has
to show. It looked like a mere narrow cleft
between two gigantic chains of mountains which
rose with a grand sweep, almost perpendicularly
272 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
from the water. The bare steep sides were
thickly furrowed with the tracks of avalanches,
and at times, where the slope descended less
abruptly, wildernesses of debris and water-
carved bowlder rose like the stern mausoleums
of dead glaciers. Ruth was right it did seem
as if the mountains might at any moment take it
into their heads to close this rift, which evidently
some earthquake or similar revolution had burst
open while the earth was still young and enthu-
siastic. The company spoke in whispers, as if
they were afraid of waking some slumbering
Trold, whose very breath might be fraught with
destruction. The old Norse legends of St. Olaf
and the giants seem very credible things in a
scene like this.
Toward noon the boats were put in at a
little pier, where a boisterous torrent mingled
its passionate voice with the noonday silence of
the fjord. A low growth of stunted birch and
alder trees edged its banks, and large flocks of
goats were scattered through the bottom of the
broad ravine.
To the westward shone the vast expanse of
eternal snow ; a mighty arm of this illimitable
TJie Glacier Expedition. 273
arctic field shot down through this very cleft,
the upper end of which it filled like a huge
wedge of silver.
" Now, here is a chance for your optical
illusions," said Olaf, as he stood with Ruth on
the strand. " How long do you suppose it
would take you to walk up to the edge of that
glacier ? "
" I should imagine about ten minutes," an-
swered she unsuspectingly.
" If you walk that distance in less than three-
quarters of an hour, I will pledge myself to climb
the peak over there in the same time."
Ruth laughed, and appealed to the lieu-
tenant, who, with outrageous disregard for her
feelings, decided that she might regard herself
as lucky if she reached the spot at all, and that
an hour was the minimum of time required.
The gentlemen were then called upon to assist
in unloading the boats, and Ruth, who was
beginning to feel the cold breath of the glacier,
allowed Olaf to wrap a shawl about her, and sat
down with Thora on the bank of the stream.
There was a brief debate whether they should
serve the dinner- here or up under the ice field,
274 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
and as the sun shone brightly up there, while
the bottom of the cleft was filled with shadow,
the latter plan finally prevailed. Olaf now
began to feel his responsibility as host and, at
his sister's suggestion, during the upward
march devoted himself equally to all the ladies.
They were all very nice, some even pretty, but
although many of them had known him in his
boyhood, they seemed reluctant to recognize in
this tall, bearded gentleman the gay and light-
hearted youth who wrote verses and was the
lion of the parish balls five years ago. Then his
dress was of a foreign cut, and there was still a
perceptible accent in his speech. To be sure, he
was perfectly frank and friendly with them, but
for all that, his foreign sojourn had raised up an
insurmountable wall between him and them, and
if he had been attempting to talk to them across
the Atlantic Ocean the distance could not have
appeared greater. And Olaf, whose spiritual
organism was as sensitive as that of a mimosa,
was with every moment more impressed with
his own strangeness, until at last he was inclined
to look upon himself as a rhinoceros or some
rare animal escaped from a menagerie.
The Glacier Expedition. 275
The ascent of the steep ravine soon told
on the strength of the ladies. Only Ruth kept
bravely in the front with her lieutenant, and her
merry laughter and her endurance stimulated
the ambition of the rest. The rugged path lay
along the edge of the glacier torrent, which
roared and foamed a hundred feet below, and
occasionally sent up a fierce gust of cold, shiver-
ing spray. Rude piles of erratic bowlder, inter-
spersed with solitary bushes of birch and juniper,
covered the sides of the ravine, and away toward
the west lay a huge mass of billowy ice, like a
cataract of molten silver suddenly congealed or
by some magic agency arrested in its course.
It was an hour past noon when the merry com-
pany halted under the brink of the glacier.
Olaf hastened to Ruth's side. He was curious
to see how this sight would impress her.
"What a fierce, wicked, terrible thing this
is," said she gravely, gazing on the wall of earth
and stone which the ice was pushing before it.
" Well, such things must be," remarked Olaf
philosophically.
" Now, don't you laugh at me," continued
Ruth in the same serious tone; "but do you
276 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
really think that these grand monstrosities were
in the original plan of creation ? Or do you be-
lieve that they are accidental things which have
somehow been developed afterward ? I really
can't see the use of them."
" I am afraid I am not enough of a naturalist
to tell what their special use may be in the
cosmic economy," replied he. " But from an
aesthetic point of view it is easy to account for
their existence. You know, beauty is its own
excuse for being, as Emerson says, and you will
certainly not deny that this glacier is beautiful."
" No ; to be sure, it is beautiful," said the
girl. " But it is a beauty which makes me trem-
ble. There is something hard, and fierce, and
cruel in it. It is the same sort of beauty that
there is in a thunderstorm, and I am afraid I am
not heroic enough to enjoy it."
Indeed there is a suggestion of terror and of
stern demoniac will in these frozen masses of
wintry strength, and even the glory of a hun-
dred sunsets could not lend one tinge of serener
beauty to their cold, fierce sentiment of divine
grandeur and wrath. It is the God of the Old
Testament who dwells in the glaciers, and whose
The Glacier Expedition. 277
voice makes itself heard in the midnight terror
of their avalanches.
The arctic sun, which even on a midsummer
noonday is far from the zenith of the sky, was
slowly journeying to the westward, and soon
stood almost behind the glacier. At a few miles'
distance, where its upper ridges touched the sky,
an army of sparkling steeples traced itself airily
upon the near horizon, while further toward the
north, where the plateau sloped downward, and
the outline of the ice seemed less jagged, the
boundless snow fields sent forth a vast blinding
glare which pained the eye beyond endurance.
But it was a joy to watch the manifold play of
the light upon the colossal ridges, as they loomed
skyward, and again abruptly descended in laby-
rinthine lines toward the wall of moraine which
bounded the lower plateau. Through their thin,
gracefully sculptured edges, as keen as that of a
billow in the act of breaking, shone a glittering
maze of delicate, star-shaped frost-flowers, and
gradually, as the ice-blocks became thicker and
more opaque, their color shaded through all the
paler tints of blue into the deepest sapphire
gloom. And looking upward over the crests of
278 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
this whole mer de glace, a strange shimmering
sheen, like the ghosts of a thousand disembodied
colors, seemed to be floating in the air, strug-
gling to rise, but by some hidden power to be
fettered to the icy billows.
The more prosaic part of the company had,
in the meanwhile, been engaged in spreading the
dinner, upon some large blocks of stone about
fifty feet distant from the ice-wall. The charge
of the Judge's portable wine cellar Olaf willingly
surrendered to one of the officers. A rude fire-
place was built, the unopened lunch baskets ran-
sacked, and the guests seated in picturesque
little groups upon a grassplot near the banks of
the river. The sun was blazing bright and warm,
and what little wind there was blew toward the
glacier ; so the spirits of the young people grad-
ually thawed ; the shy little maidens laughed and
chattered, and the martial gentlemen joked ami-
ably, and recounted their hunting and camp
adventures. When the dinner was at an end,
Olaf startled the company by announcing his
intention of ascending the glacier. He first
asked the gentlemen if any of them was disposed
to accept his guidance, as he knew the topog-
The Glacier Expedition. 279
raphy of the place from his boyhood ; and when
they refused, he appealed to the ladies. The
fair-haired damsels stared as if he had requested
them to take a balloon voyage with him; but
still greater was their wonder when Ruth rose
and said that she would be glad to put herself
under his charge.
"But I warn you beforehand that it is no
joking matter," said Olaf, who was perhaps him-
self somewhat startled ; " there are continually
loose blocks breaking away, and you know the
guide-books say that the ascent from this side is
dangerous.
* Oh, I have thick boots on," answered she,
with a critical glance at her feet, "and as for
the rest, it can be no more dangerous to me than
to you."
u You are the bravest girl that ever lived,"
whispered he in her ear. " I am charmed to
have your company."
"Hypocrite! "laughed she. " Your face tells
a different story. But for all that, I am bound
to keep you to your word."
The young Norseman, used from his earliest
boyhood to mountain climbing, felt his heart
280 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage.
leap within him at the glorious prospect of a
stroll over the eternal snow fields, with this fair
maiden of Southland birth. For to the arctic
fancy of a Norwegian, the name of America is
fragrant with the perfume of tropic vegetation
and southern romance ; and although Olaf had
spent four winters in New England, he made no
effort to rid himself for the time being from his
early hallucinations. He relieved Ruth of her
shawls, gave her his hand, and struck in upon
the path along the northern side of the ice-field.
"And when can we expect you back?" cried
Brynhild after them.
" We are not going to mount to the top,"
shouted he ; " and if we are not back in an hour
and a half, you will never see us again, at least
not in the condition in which we departed."
Brynhild looked frightened ; but she knew
that her brother had always had his own way,
and that it would be of no use to interfere.
Ruth was not altogether unpractised in climbing ;
she had had a brief experience a month ago in
the Saxon Switzerland, and she now frequently
astonished her guide by the accuracy with which
she measured a distance wherever there v/as
The Glacier Expedition. 281
occasion for a leap. The path crept with irregu-
lar steeps and windings along the edge of the
glacier, now and then losing itself in devious
" goat tracks " whenever a pile of scattered rocks
necessitated a departure from the ice-line. But
Olaf never hesitated in his course, and Ruth had
perfect confidence in his guidance. It was a
wonder to him that this girl, who had complained
of weariness when they ascended the Strasbourg
Cathedral, could step so briskly through this
stony wilderness, never losing her foothold, and
without a murmur of complaint. He put it
down mentally as another enigma of the feminine
character. But this keen, bracing mountain air
has a wonderfully stimulating effect. He already
felt the magic of its breath in the vigorous rush
of his own blood, and in Ruth's cheeks it had
kindled a glow of deeper color. There was
fire in her eye, and her voice had a rich and
joyous ring, born, as he fancied, of the splendor
and the excitement of the hour. After more
than half an hour's climb they reached a shel-
tered nook where a slender, sparsely-leafed birch,
frail as a frost-flower, stood trembling over the
glacial abyss. From hence they made a cautious
282 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
excursion out on the ice, and again returned to
take a few moments' rest. Here in the lee of a
projecting rock and exposed to the southern sun,
some faintly-tinted alpine flowers had been
coaxed into life, and Olaf plucked them, gave
them to Ruth, and indulged in a little reverie
about their brief and joyless existence. Ruth
was in a sympathetic mood. She met his
thought half way and instinctively caught it
before it was uttered. The vast loneliness and
the dread desolation which surrounded them
seemed to bring them nearer together. There
was to him at that moment no woman in all the
world except Ruth ; he and she had been chosen
to inhabit and to rule the virgin earth. Far
down in the unseen deep rushed and boomed
the subterranean glacier torrents, like the voices
of eternity. And in his own heart pulsed a kin-
dred life, and a voice as mighty and eternal sang
in his own breast the ever fresh mystery of
creation.
" Mr. Olaf," said she, bending compassion-
ately over the flowers, " do you think these
poor shivering little things are really alive.
They seem to me the mere frozen breath of the
The Glacier Expedition. 283
glacier. Excuse me ; I grow poetical without
knowing it."
" You need make no excuses," answered he,
and seated himself at her side under the birch
tree. " To be sure, I should call it a mere
semblance of life. And so are the lives of thou-
sands of men and women who eke out their
existence here in the constant struggle for daily
bread. What do they know of what life has to
offer?"
" But they seem healthy and robust enough ? "
" Yes ; but they count their years by
winters."
" How strange. And did you too, when you
lived here, say that you were so and so many
winters old ? "
" Yes, I did. But from the time I saw you,
Ruth, mine has been a summer life, and hence-
forth I shall number my age by its summers.
It all depends upon you, Ruth," he added in a
passionate whisper. " I love you."
A terrible crash was heard. A fierce, split-
ting noise shot through the glacier, and a huge
block of ice broke loose and tumbled do\vn into
the abyss, startling the silent air with a harsh,
284 A Norseman's- Pilgrimage.
continuous peal, as of receding thunder. Ruth
gave a frightened cry, and in the bewilderment
of terror flung her arms around Olaf's neck and
clung fast to him. He sat calm, and did not
stir from the spot ; in the excitement of that
moment nothing could have moved or surprised
him. The dread thunder of the glacier seemed
but the fitting accompaniment to his declaration.
He quietly stooped down over the girl, gazed
into her frightened face, and kissed her. Then
it suddenly occurred to him that it might merely
have been her fright which had involuntarily
brought her into his embrace, and that possibly
he had been ungenerous in taking advantage of
her agitation. This suspicion drove the blood
to his face ; he swiftly released her from his
arms, and stammered something about mis-
takes and excuses. The girl, who was now
perfectly composed, opened her eyes wide in
astonishment ; then the ludicrous side of the
situation suddenly struck her.
"Why, Olaf," she cried, "don't be too con-
scientious, pray. If it is a mistake, it is at all
events rather late to retreat now. We shall have
to stand by it like heroes."
The Glacier Expedition. 285
" Ruth," exclaimed he, with a happy laugh,
" you are incorrigible. To joke in a place and
in a moment like this ! "
The mention of the place started a fresh
fear in her mind.
" You don't suppose they can see us from
down there?" exclaimed she, and sprang up
from her seat.
"What if they do?" answered he com-
posedly.
"Not for all the world," said she fiercely.
" I would rather die than have them see us."
"Well, calm yourself then. If they had the
eyes of Argus, they could not see through that
rock."
The stillness of the wilderness grew with
every moment intenser ; the cold white face of
the glacier settled into something like a frown,
and the icy sheen upon its brow rose with a
sterner glare against the azure sky. To be sure,
summer had invaded its domain ; what was more
natural than that it should resent it? It was
probably a novel experience for the glacier to
have this glowing bit of summer, with its thou-
sand warm suggestions (one of which would be
286 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
enough to thaw an iceberg), nestled here on its
very bosom. Something like this Olaf would
undoubtedly have thought, as he stood silently
regarding the glacier before beginning the de-
scent, if he had not just then been too happy to
have any thought at all. A vast, shapeless bliss
filled his being. It seemed such an inconceivable
privilege to be able to call Ruth by her first
name, leaving out the " Miss ; " and during the
delightful rambling talk which they carried on,
as long as the wilderness alone could hear them,
he frequently had to restrain himself for fear of
betraying how boyish he was in his glee. He
had always somehow had the idea that the
whole masculine sex were pining for Ruth, and
he could not but confess to himself that a sense
of triumph over his unsuccessful brethren added
to the keenness of his joy. A loud chorus of
voices welcomed them as they reached the bot-
tom of the ravine, and as it was already late in
the afternoon, they rested but a few minutes
and then continued their march to the fjord.
Brynhild whispered something to her brother
about monopolizing the American lady, and he,
in return, stared blankly at her, as if he could
The Glacier Expedition. 287
not quite see what she meant, and then burst
out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. He
had in one way or another to give vent to his
superabundant spirits, and this presented the
first occasion.
"And, after all, we did have the pleasure of
seeing you again in the same condition in which
you departed," said one of the lieutenants to
Olaf, as the boats were thrust out from the beach.
" No ; I beg your pardon," answered he
thoughtlessly ; " my condition has been con-
siderably changed by that glacier climb."
" Ah," said the lieutenant, and raised his eye-
brows significantly.
A quick blush sprang to Ruth's face, and she
sent Olaf an imploring glance.
Yes," continued he, in the same careless
voice ; " it has been an experience which prob-
ably" (with a mischievous glance at Ruth) 44 1 shall
never have the chance of repeating. It has in-
creased my store of knowledge, and given me a
glimpse of a side of the divine economy with
which I never expected to become acquainted."
And with us, you know, we have no glaciers
at all," interposed Ruth energetically.
288 A. Norsemarfs Pilgrimage.
" Oh, yes, I understand," remarked the mar-
tial gentleman, with a disappointed look ; " it
must have been a very interesting experience
although a very cold one, I should judge," he
added, shivering.
Olaf was about to answer, but Ruth promptly
stopped him.
" You turned that very neatly," whispered
she, and smiled approvingly, as an hour later
they sat side by side in the stern of the
boat.
The sun sank below the horizon, the day-
light faded, and the golden crescent of the
moon rose from behind a snow-clad peak. It
shed its pale glimmer upon the water, which
shone with changing tints, playing between steel
blue and the usual lucid green. The evening
was calm ; hardly a ripple moved the mirror of
the fjord, save those evanescent undulations
which spread from the bows of the boats. The
young officers, who had good voices, sang the
famous Swedish duets " Gluntarne," and the
clear-toned echoes of the mountains set the
solemn, remote wildernesses a-trembling with
Tho Glacier Expedition. 289
joyous melody. It was within an hour of mid-
night when they landed at the Judge's pier.
The hospitable mansion was prepared for their
reception. Only a few of the ladies followed
Thora to be the guests of the Colonel.
" What are you doing there, Ruth ? " asked
Olaf, as after some search he found his heroine
standing behind the curtain in one of the recesses
of the windows.
" Oh, it is it is only those glacier flowers,"
answered she (and it was the first time in his
life that he had seen her confused); "those
flowers which reckoned their age by winters.
Oh, Olaf," she exclaimed, suddenly interrupting
herself, " tell me truly and honestly, don't you
think me dreadfully heartless ? "
"Heartless!" ejaculated he, as if such a
thing had never entered his head ; " how can
you imagine anything so absurd ? "
"Well, it isnt absurd," persisted the girl
vehemently. " I came to think of it to-day. I
hardly believe that I have said one friendly
word to you since we became acquainted. But
for all that you may be sure of one thing," she
13
290 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
added in a hushed,, earnest tone, " and that is
that I love you."
The moon sailed swiftly through the noc-
turnal sky, the rising tide beat faintly against
the strand but Ruth and Olaf still lingered in
the curtained recess at the window.
Conclusion. 291
CHAPTER XV.
Conclusion.
"C*OR two days Ruth and Olaf were successful
* in preserving the secrecy of their engage-
ment, but at the end of that time they both
tacitly, if not openly, admitted that for a self-
imposed duty it was a very arduous one. Ruth
had originally stipulated a week, and had even
had serious thoughts of a fortnight. And when
her lover was unable to see the expediency of
all her feminine diplomacy, and even ventured
to grumble, she would disarm him with a smile,
and then add in her own bewitching way,
" Well, you know, it is an admirable thing for
discipline."
But to-day Ruth had herself twice fallen out
of her r61e ; first at the breakfast table she had
called him by his first name, and an hour ago, as
he stood talking with his grandfather out on the
balcony, she had come up from behind, put her
292 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
arm through his, and gazed into his face with a
sort of absent-minded tenderness, which would
have been sufficiently convincing to the old
gentleman, if he had not been too much inter-
ested in the discussion to notice her. Bryn-
hild's suspicions had been aroused long ago ;
and the soft joyous radiance of Ruth's eyes, the
deep abstraction of her look when she thought
herself unobserved, and even the occasional
abruptness of her motions, all went to confirm
her fears, and often made her waver in her
allegiance to the fair-haired Thora, who was to
have rebound the broken link and once more
reconciled the exile to his family and his
country.
But there was something about Ruth which
somehow made it seem a privilege to be allowed
to worship her ; and Brynhild's loyal nature could
not resist this influence ; moreover, she loved her
brother too well not to feel an intense interest
in the woman who apparently held his fate in
her hand. So these two soon became friends,
and many a time Ruth's secret hovered upon
her lips, and it was merely by virtue of an almost
superhuman effort .that she stayed her eager
Conclusion. 293
tongue. Brynhild, on the other hand, felt an
equally irresistible desire to confide in Ruth the
early marriage plot with Thora, but on a second
thought she concluded that it would be ungener-
ous and cruel, and she forbore. Indeed, as the
days went by, and she read hi Ruth's dark eyes
the tale which they would fain have hidden, and
as she weighed the strong womanly fervor of a
love like hers against the pale dreamy devotion
of a nature like Thora's, she no longer wondered
at her brother's choice.
The heavy red curtains had been drawn
before the parlor windows ; the evening was cloudy
and a pleasant twilight filled the room. The
Judge and his wife had just retired ; Mrs. Elder
had been suffering with a headache during the
afternoon, and had not left her room since sup-
per. Ruth was sitting at the piano, playing
carelessly a bit of Schumann's Slumber-Song.
Olaf had thrown himself into a corner of the
sofa.
" Ruth," he said, * won't you please stop
making that noise and come and sit down here ?
I have something important to tell you."
Ruth stopped in the middle of a measure,
294 A Norseman^ Pilgrimage.
wheeled round on the piano stool, and went to
the sofa.
" Ruth," began he (for he still gloried in her
name), " I have been very much worried to-day
by the thought of what grandfather will say when
he hears of this affair of ours. You know that
both he and grandmother have set their hearts
on keeping me at home. And I never mentioned
that possibility to you, I think."
" I have thought of that possibility, neverthe-
less," said she seriously.
" And what have you thought, dear?"
" I have thought that I would consent to live
even in Siberia, if you would only live there with
me."
" Well, it was merely a supposititious case.
You may be sure I want to live nowhere but in
America."
And he went on to explain to her his posi-
tion in his grandfather's house, reviewed the
family history from the very beginning, and ended
with declaring that he would go to the old
Judge to-morrow, tell him of his engagement,
and offer to renounce his inheritance. Ruth
entered enthusiastically into this plan, and saw
Conclusion. 295
with secret pride the heroic figure Olaf would cut
when stepping forward to propose this magnani-
mous sacrifice.
" But," she added, checking herself abruptly,
11 how much do you suppose your grandfather is
worth ? "
" Ruth, I am ashamed of you," cried he laugh-
ing. " Who would have believed that you were
such a worldly creature. You approve of the
principle abstractly, but when you come to its
application in your own case or in mine, then
you begin to have doubts "
"You didn't answer my question, sir," inter-
rupted she earnestly.
" Well, grandfather is probably worth about
one hundred and twenty thousand dollars, of
which one half would fall to me."
" But that is a great deal of money, Olaf ;
only think how many nice things we could buy
for it."
Olaf instead of an answer flung his arms
about her, and if the journal be correct, I am
not sure but that their lips met by chance in the
the twilight. Then a sharp click was heard in
the next room, as- if a key was being turned in
296 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
the lock, which was followed by approaching
footsteps. Ruth sprang up, as if she had been
shot, rushed to the looking-glass, and began
vigorously to smooth her hair, which had be-
come somewhat disarranged. In an instant the
door was opened, and the young girl in her be-
wilderment slipped behind the window curtain.
Unhappily the Judge had an exceedingly sensi-
tive ear, and the unfinished melody of the Slum-
ber-Song had been haunting him for the last half-
hour, and prevented him from falling asleep.
Now he appeared, wrapped in his embroidered
dressing-gown, sat quietly down at the piano,
took up the air in the very measure where Ruth
had been interrupted, and played it to the end.
Olaf crouched down in the sofa, and in his heart
he wished his grandfather a hundred miles away.
But by an unlucky accident the old gentleman
had confirmed himself in the habit of examining
fire-places and window fastenings a couple of times
before going to bed ; and, as he rose from the
piano, an evil destiny led him to the very window
where Ruth had sought a hiding-place. The
Judge drew the curtain gently aside.
" But, my dear," exclaimed he in a voice of
Conclusion. 297
surprise, "are you playing hide-and-seek here,
all alone?"
Ruth felt her heart beating in her throat;
but she nerved herself for the moment, put on
an air of reckless defiance, and stood bolt up-
right before the Judge. Olaf perceived that it
was time for him to come to her rescue.
" Grandfather," he began bravely, taking
Ruth by the hand, " Ruth and I well, the fact
is that Ruth and I have found out that we
love one another."
" Ruth and you have found out that you
love one another, have you?" repeated the
Judge slowly, as if he were weighing each word.
" When did you find that out ? "
" I discovered my love for Ruth a long time
ago ; the very first time I saw her."
" And I did too a very long time ago,"
echoed Ruth eagerly.
" I can readily believe that," said the old
man smiling, and seated himself on the piano
stool. "He probably behaved in such a way
that you must have been blind if you did not
see it."
' You know I don't mean that," retorted the
13*
298 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
girl, who felt her spirits rapidly reviving. " I
am sure you understand very well what I do
mean."
*" Well, well," sighed the Judge ; u young folks
will make strange discoveries in this world."
Then there was a long pause, during which
the Judge's breathing was painfully audible.
" Well," he said, raising his head abruptly,
" what can I do about it ? You haven't asked
my advice, and I am sorry that I have disturbed
you.''
" We just want you to say that it is all right,"
answered Ruth promptly.
" You want me to say that it is all right.
Aha ! But now, if I should say that it isn't all
right, what then ? "
" Then we should be very sorry indeed."
" Yes, we should never be perfectly happy if
we thought that we had grieved you," added
Olaf.
" I would not make you unhappy for any-
thing, children," said his grandfather, struggling
hard to keep his voice firm. " However, I know
that I can do but little here. You, my boy,
have long been beyond my reach. And I know
Conclusion. 299
that it must be so, and accept what is inevitable.
Since you wish my consent in this matter, I
should be a wretch if I withheld it. I wish you
all the happiness that life has to offer."
He rose quickly and went to the door.
There he paused for a minute., and regarded
with a sad eye the young couple, who still stood
hand in hand before him in the twilight.
"Well, my dear/* he said, taking a step
toward Ruth, "if you are my daughter, I
probably have the privilege of kissing you
good night.
Ruth rushed toward him, and flung her arms
about his neck. And he kissed her tenderly, as
he would have kissed his own daughter ; but a
tear trembled in his eye trembled for a mo-
ment, and fell on the girl's forehead.
What remains of Ruth's and Varberg's story
may be briefly told, especially as the entries in
,the latter's journal after this date are few and
irregular. They had a hard battle to fight the
next day with Olafs grandmother, but when she
had convinced herself that resistance was vain,
and moreover the. Judge took sides against her,
she gracefully succumbed, on the condition that
300 A Norseman's Pilgrimage.
she should herself have the privilege of making
the wedding. Olaf remarks that since the en-
gagement was made public, his grandfather has
evinced a most extraordinary interest in Amer-
ica, and the grand republic furnishes inexhausti-
ble themes for conversation at breakfast, dinner,
and supper. It is also evident that the Judge
takes no little pride in exhibiting his accom-
plished American daughter-in-law to the gran-
dees of the parish. Old Mrs. Varberg, who
regards her husband as an oracle, is also
gradually relenting. Mrs. Elder has at last
become convinced that the Norwegians are not
identical with the Laplanders.
The last three entries I prefer to quote in the
language of my original.
September 10. To-day we received a cable
telegram from Ruth's father. He intends to
start with a Cunarder to-morrow, and promises
to be here in time for the wedding.
September 12. There is a rumor afloat, that
Colonel Haraldson has promised his daughter to
Lieutenant P , who writes in grandfather's
office.
September 15. Yesterday grandmother made
Conclusion. 301
a large party for Ruth and me. Half the parish
was invited, and Ruth thinks it was a very mag-
nificent affair. Grandfather gave the toast,
which he ended with these words ; " And now
may God bless you, my children, be it in Nor-
way or in America." I translated the speech in
a whisper to Ruth, and she thought it wonder-
fully eloquent. It was very different from the
way grandfather used to talk about America
before she came, and she gloried the more in the
change because she naturally assumed to
herself the credit of having converted him.
THE END.