Marie Grubbe by Jens Peter Jacobsen (parable of the sower read online txt) 📕
He was a large-boned, long-limbed man with a stoop in his broad shoulders. His hair was rough as a crow's nest, grayish and tangled, but his face was of a deep yet clear pink, seemingly out of keeping with his coarse, rugged features and bushy eyebrows.
Erik Grubbe invited him to a seat and asked about his haymaking. The conversation dwelt on the chief labors of the farm at that season and died away in a sigh over the poor harvest of last year. Meanwhile the pastor was casting sidelong glances at the mug and finally said: "Your honor is always temperate--keeping to the natural drinks. No doubt they are the healthiest. New milk is a blessed gift of heaven, good both for a weak stomach and a sore chest."
"Indeed the gifts of God are all good, whether they come from the udder or the tap. But you must taste a keg of genuine mum that we brought home from Viborg the other day. She's both good and German, though I can't see that the customs have put their mark on her."
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decided that in the spring they should both go to Copenhagen. In the
meantime Marie was to try to get from Johan Utrecht two hundred
rix-dollars to buy mourning so that she could appear properly before
the new king, but as the bailiff did not dare to pay out anything
without order from Ulrik Frederik, Marie had to go without the
mourning, for her father would not pay for it and thought the lack of
it would make her pitiful condition the more apparent.
They arrived in Copenhagen toward the end of May, and when a meeting
between father and son-in-law had proved fruitless, Erik Grubbe wrote
to the King that he had no words to describe in due submission the
shame, disgrace, and dishonor with which his Excellency Gyldenlove
had some years ago driven his wife, Marie Grubbe, out of Aggershus and
had given her over to the mercies of wind and weather and freebooters
who at that time infested the sea, there being a burning feud between
Holland and England. God in his mercy had preserved her from the
above-mentioned mortal dangers, and she had returned to his home in
possession of life and health. Nevertheless, it was an unheard-of
outrage that had been inflicted upon her, and he had time and again
with letters, supplications, and tears of weeping besought his noble
and right honorable son, my lord his Excellency, that he would
consider of this matter and either bring proofs against Marie why the
marriage should be annulled or else take her back, but all in vain.
Marie had brought him a fortune of many thousand rix-dollars, and she
had not even been able to get two hundred rix-dollars with which to
buy mourning dress. In brief, her misery was too manifold to be
described, wherefore they now addressed themselves to his Majesty the
King, appealing to the natural kindness and condescension of their
most gracious sovereign with the prayer that he would for God’s sake
have mercy upon him, Erik Grubbe, for his great age, which was seven
and sixty years, and upon her for her piteous condition and be
graciously pleased to command his Excellency Gyldenlove that he should
either bring proof against Marie of that for which Christ said married
persons should be parted, which, however, he would never be able to
do, or else take her back, whereby the glory of God would be
furthered, the state of marriage held in honor as God had Himself
ordained, great cause of offence removed, and a soul be saved from
perdition.
Marie at first refused to put her name to this document, since she was
determined not to live with Ulrik Frederik whatever happened, but her
father assured her that the appeal to her husband to take her back was
merely a matter of form. The fact was that Ulrik Frederik now wanted a
divorce at any price and the wording of the petition would put the
onus of demanding it upon him, thus securing for her better terms.
Marie finally yielded and even added a postscript, written according
to her father’s dictation as follows:
I would fain have spoken with your Royal Majesty, but, miserable woman
that I am, I have no dress proper to appear among people. Have pity on
my wretchedness, most gracious Monarch and King, and help me! God will
reward you.
As she did not put much faith in Erik Grubbe’s assurances, she managed
to get a private letter into the hands of the King through one of her
old friends at court. In this she told him plainly how she loathed
Ulrik Frederik, how eagerly she longed to be legally parted from him,
and how she shrank from having even the slightest communication with
him in regard to the settlement of money matters.
Yet Erik Grubbe had for once spoken the truth. Ulrik Frederik really
wanted a divorce. His position at court as the King’s half-brother was
very different from that of the King’s favorite son. He could no
longer trust to fatherly partiality but simply had to compete with the
men about him for honor and emoluments. To have such a case as this
pending did not help to strengthen his position.lt would be much
better to make an end of it as quickly as possible and seek
compensation in a new and wiser marriage for whatever the divorce
might cost him in fortune or reputation. So he brought all his
influence to bear to reach this end.
The King laid the case before the Consistory, and this body delivered
a report, following which the marriage was dissolved by judgment of
the Supreme Court, October fourteenth, sixteen hundred and seventy.
Both parties were to have the right to marry again, and Marie Grubbe’s
twelve thousand rix-dollars were to be refunded to her with all her
other dowry of jewels and estates. As soon as the money had been paid
over to her, she began preparations to leave the country without
listening to her father’s remonstrances. As for Ulrik Frederik, he
wrote his half-sister, wife of Johan Georg, Elector of Saxony, telling
her of his divorce and asking if she would show him so much sisterly
kindness that he might flatter himself with the hope of receiving a
bride from her royal hands.
Marie Grubbe had never had money of her own, and the possession of a
large sum gave her a sense of powers and possibilities without limit.
Indeed, it seemed to her that a veritable magic wand had been placed
in her hands, and she longed like a child to wave it round and round
and bring all the treasures of the earth to her feet.
Her most immediate wish was to be far away from the towers of
Copenhagen and the meadows of Tjele, from Erik Grubbe and Aunt
Rigitze. She waved the wand once, and lo! she was carried by wheel
and keel over water and way from the land of Sjaslland to Lubeck
town. Her whole retinue consisted of the maid Lucie, whom she had
persuaded her aunt to let her have, and a trader’s coachman from
Aarhus, for the real outfitting for her trip was to be done at
Lubeck.
It was Sti Hogh who had put into her head the idea of travelling, and
in doing so, he had hinted that he might himself leave the country to
seek his fortune abroad and had offered his services as courier.
Summoned by a letter from Copenhagen, he arrived in Lubeck a
fortnight after Marie and at once began to make himself useful by
attending to the preparations necessary for so long a journey.
In her secret heart Marie had hoped to be a: benefactor to poor Sti
Hogh. She meant to use some of her wealth to lighten his expenses on
the trip and in France until it should appear whether some other
fountain would well in his behalf. But when poor Sti Hogh came, he
surprised her by being splendidly attired, excellently mounted,
attended by two magnificent grooms, and altogether looking as if his
purse by no means needed to be swelled by her gold.
More astonishing yet was the change in his state of mind. He seemed
lively, even merry. In the past he had always looked as if he were
marching with stately step in his own funeral procession, but now he
trod the floor with the air of a man who owned half the world and had
the other half coming to him. In the old days there had always been
something of the plucked fowl about him, but now he seemed like an
eagle, with spreading plumage and sharp eyes hinting of still sharper
claws.
Marie at first thought the change was due to his relief in casting
behind him past worries and his hope of winning a future worth while,
but when he had been with her several days and had not opened his lips
to one of the lovesick, dispirited words she knew so well, she began
to believe he had conquered his passion and now, in the sense of
proudly setting his heel on the head of the dragon love, felt free and
strong and master of his own fate. She grew quite curious to know
whether she had guessed aright and thought with a slight feeling of
pique that the more she saw of Sti Hogh, the less she knew him.
This impression was confirmed by a talk she had with Lucie. The two
were walking in the large hall which formed a part of every Lubeck
house, serving as entry and living-room, as playground for the
children and the scene of the chief household labors, besides being
used sometimes for dining room and storehouse. This particular hall
was intended chiefly for warm weather and was furnished only with a
long white-scoured deal table, some heavy wooden chairs, and an old
cupboard. At the farther end some boards had been put up for shelves,
and there cabbages lay in long rows over red mounds of carrots and
bristling bunches of horse-radish. The outer door was wide open and
showed the wet, glistening street, where the rain splashed in shining
rivulets.
Marie Grubbe and Lucie were both dressed to go out, the former in a
fur-bordered cloak of broadcloth, the latter in a cape of gray russet.
They were pacing the red brick floor with quick, firm little steps as
though trying to keep their feet warm while waiting for the rain to
stop.
“Pray, d’you think it’s a safe travelling companion you’ve got?”
asked Lucie.
“Sti Hogh? Safe enough, I suppose. Why not?”
“Faith, I hope he won’t lose himself on the way, that’s all.”
“Lose himself?”
“Ay, among the German maidens—or the Dutch, for the matter of that.
You know ‘tis said of him his heart is made of such fiery stuff it
bursts into flame at’ the least flutter of a petticoat.”
“Who’s taken you to fools’ market with such fables?”
“Merciful! Did you never hear that? Your own brother-in-law? Who’d
have thought that could be news to you! Why, I’d as lief have thought
to tell you the week had seven days.”
“Come, come, what ails you today? You run on as if you’d had Spanish
wine for breakfast.”
“One of us has, that’s plain. Pray have you never heard tell of
Ermegaard Lynow?”
“Never.”
“Then ask Sti Hogh if he should chance to know her. And name to him
Jydte Krag and Christence Rud and Edele Hansdaughter and Lene Poppings
if you like. He might happen to know some fables, as you call it,
about them all.”
Marie stopped and looked long and fixedly through the open door at the
rain. “Perhaps you know,” she said as she resumed her walk, “perhaps
you know some of these fables so that you can tell them.”
“Belike I do.”
“Concerning Ermegaard Lynow?”
“Concerning her in particular.”
“Well, let’s have it.”
“Why, it had to do with one of the Hoghs—Sti, I think his name
was—tall, red-haired, pale—”
“Thanks, but all that I know already.”
“And do you know about the poison too?”
“Nay, nothing.”
“Nor the letter?”
“What letter?”
“Faugh, ‘t is such an ugly story!”
“Out with it!”
“Why, this Hogh was a very good friend—this happened before he was
married—and he was the very best of friends with Ermegaard Lynow. She
had the longest hair of any lady—she could well-nigh walk on it, and
she was red and white and pretty as a doll, but he was harsh and
barbarous to her, they said, as if she’d been an unruly staghound and
not the gentle creature she was, and the more
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