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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worst that can befall anyone.”
“Oh, they won’t let things come to such a pass,” said Soren, a little
crestfallen.
“Well, they’d both like to get rid o’ her, and her sisters and her
brothers-in-law are not the kind o’ folks who’d stand between if there
‘s a chance o’ getting her disinherited.”
“O jeminy, she’d help me.”
“You think so? She may ha’ all she can do helpin’ herself; she’s been
in trouble too often fer anyone to help her wi’ so much as a bucket o’
oats.”
“Hey-day,” said Soren making for the inner chamber, “a threatened man
may live long.”
From that day on Soren was pursued by hints of the gallows and the
block and the red-hot pincers wherever he went. The consequence was
that he tried to drive away fear and keep up his courage with brandy,
and as Marie often gave him money, he was never forced to stay sober.
After a while he grew indifferent to the threats, but he was much more
cautious than before, kept more to the other servants, and sought
Marie more rarely.
A little before Christmas Palle Dyre came home and remained there,
which put a stop to the meetings between Soren and Marie. In order to
make the other servants believe that all was over and so keep them
from telling tales to the master, Soren began to play sweethearts with
Anne Trinderup, and he deceived them all, even Marie, although he had
told her of his plan.
On the third day of Christmas, when most of the people were at church,
Soren was standing by the wing of the manor house playing with one of
the dogs when suddenly he heard Marie’s voice calling him, it seemed
to him under the ground.
He turned and saw Marie standing in the low trap-door leading to the
salt cellar. She was pale and had been weeping, and her eyes looked
wild and haunted under eyebrows that were drawn with pain.
“Soren,” she said, “what have I done, since you no longer love me?”
“But I do love you! Can’t you see I must have a care, fer they’re all
thinkin’ o’ nothin’ but how they can make trouble fer me an’ get me
killed. Don’t speak to me; let me go, ef ye don’t want to see me
dead!”
“Tell me no lies, Soren; I can see what is in your heart, and I wish
you no evil, not for a single hour, for I am not your equal in youth,
and you have always had a kindness for Anne, but it’s a sin to let me
see it, Soren; you shouldn’t do that. Don’t think I am begging you to
take me, for I know full well the danger ‘t would put you in and the
labor and wear and tear that would be needed if we were to become a
couple by ourselves, and ‘tis a thing hardly to be wished either for
you or me, though I can’t help it.”
“But I don’t want Anne now or ever, the country jade she is! I’m fond
o’ you an’ no one else in the world, let ‘em call you old and wicked
an’ what the devil they please.”
“I can’t believe you, Soren, much as I wish to.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“No, Soren, no. My only wish is that this might be my grave, the spot
where I stand. Would that I could close the door over me and sit down
to sleep forever in the darkness.”
“I’ll make you believe me!”
“Never, never! there is nothing in all the world you can do to make me
believe you, for there is no reason in it.”
“You make me daft wi’ your talk, and you’ll live to be sorry, for I
‘m goin’ to make you believe me, even ef they burn me alive or do me
to death fer it.”
Marie shook her head and looked at him sadly.
“Then it must be, come what may,” said Soren and ran away.
He stopped at the kitchen door, asked for Anne Trinderup, and was
told that she was in the garden. Then he went over to the menservants’
quarters, took a loaded old gun of the gamekeeper’s, and made for the
garden.
Anne was cutting kale when Soren caught sight of her. She had filled
her apron with the green stuff and was holding the fingers of one hand
up to her mouth to warm them with her breath. Slowly Soren stole up to
her, his eyes fixed on the edge of her dress, for he did not want to
see her face.
Suddenly Anne turned and saw Soren. His dark looks, the gun, and his
stealthy approach alarmed her, and she called to him: “Oh, don’t,
Soren, please don’t!” He lifted the gun, and Anne rushed off through
the snow with a wild, shrill scream.
The shot fell; Anne went on running, then put her hand to her cheek
and sank down with a cry of horror.
Soren threw down the gun and ran to the side of the house. He found
the trap-door closed. Then on to the front door, in and through all
the rooms till he found Marie.
“‘Tis all over!” he whispered, pale as a corpse.
“Are they after you, Soren?”
“No, I’ve shot her.”
“Anne? Oh, what will become of us! Run, Soren, run—take a horse and
get away, quick, quick! Take the gray one!”
Soren fled. A moment later he was galloping out of the gate. He was
scarcely halfway to Foulum when people came back from church. Palle
Dyre at once asked where Soren was going.
“There is someone lying out in the garden, moaning,” said Marie. She
trembled in every limb and could hardly stand on her feet.
Palle and one of the men carried Anne in. Her screams could be heard
far and wide, but the hurt was not really serious. The gun had only
been loaded with grapeshot, of which a few had gone through her cheek
and a few more had settled in her shoulder, but as she bled freely and
cried piteously, a coach was sent to Viborg for the barber-surgeon.
When she had gathered her wits together a little, Palle Dyre
questioned her about how it had happened and was told not only that
but the whole story of the affair between Soren and Marie.
As soon as he came out of the sick-room, all the servants crowded
around him and tried to tell him the same tale, for they were afraid
that if they did not, they might be punished. Palle refused to listen
to them, saying it was all gossip and stupid slander. The fact was
the whole thing was extremely inconvenient to him: divorce, journeys
to court, lawsuit, and various expenditures—he preferred to avoid
them. No doubt the story could be hushed up and smoothed over and all
be as before. Marie’s unfaithfulness did not in itself affect him
much; in fact, he thought it might be turned to advantage by giving
him more power over her and possibly also over Erik Grubbe, who would
surely be anxious to keep the marriage unbroken, even though it had
been violated.
When he had talked with Erik Grubbe, however, he hardly knew what to
think, for he could not make out the old man. He seemed furious and
had instantly sent off four mounted men with orders to take Soren dead
or alive, which was certainly not a good way of keeping matters dark,
for many other things might come up in a trial for attempted murder.
In the evening of the following day, three of the men returned. They
had caught Soren at Dallerup, where the gray horse had fallen under
him, and had brought him to Skanderborg, where he was now held for
trial. The fourth man had lost his way and did not return until a day
later.
In the middle of January Palle Dyre and Marie moved to Norbaek manor.
He thought the servants would more easily forget when their mistress
was out of their sight, but in the latter part of February they were
again reminded of the affair when a clerk came from Skanderborg to ask
whether Soren had been seen in the neighborhood, for he had broken out
of the arrest. The clerk came too early, for not until a fortnight
later did Soren venture to visit Norbaek one night and to rap on
Marie’s chamber window. His first question when Marie opened it was
whether Anne was dead, and it seemed to relieve his mind of a heavy
burden when he heard that she had quite recovered. He lived in a
deserted house on Gassum heath and often came again to get money and
food. The servants, as well as Palle Dyre, knew that he was in the
habit of visiting the house, but Palle took no notice, and the
servants did not trouble themselves in the matter, when they saw the
master was indifferent.
At haymaking time, the master and mistress moved back to Tjele, where
Soren did not dare to show himself. His absence, added to her father’s
taunts and petty persecution, irritated and angered Marie until she
gave her feelings vent by scolding Erik Grubbe, in private two or
three times, as if he had been her foot-boy. The result was that, in
the middle of August Erik Grubbe sent a letter of complaint to the
King. After recounting at great length all her misdeeds, which were a
sin against God, a scandal before men, and an offence to all
womanhood, he ended the epistle saying:
Whereas she hath thus grievously disobeyed and misconducted herself, I
am under the necessity of disinheriting her, and I do humbly beseech
Your Royal Majesty that You will graciously be pleased to ratify and
confirm this my action and that Your Royal Majesty will furthermore be
pleased to issue Your most gracious command to Governor Mogens Scheel
that he may make inquiry concerning her aforesaid behavior toward me
and toward her husband and that because of her wickedness she be
confined at Borringholm, the expense to be borne by me, in order that
the wrath and visitation of God may be upon her as a disobedient
creature, a warning unto others, and her own soul possibly unto
salvation. Had I not been hard pressed, I should not have made so bold
as to come before You with this supplication, but I live in the most
humble hope of Your Royal Majesty’s most gracious answer,
acknowledgment, and aid, which God shall surely reward. I live and die
Your Royal Majesty’s
Most humble and most devoted true hereditary subject
ERIK. GRUBBE. Tjele, August 14, 1690.
The King desired a statement in the matter from the Honorable Palle
Dyre, and this was to the effect that Marie did not conduct herself
toward him as befitted an honest wife, wherefore he petitioned the
King to have the marriage annulled without process of law. This was
not granted, and the couple were divorced by a decree of the court on
March twenty-third, sixteen hundred and ninety-one. Erik Grubbe’s
supplication that he might lock her up and disinherit her was also
refused, and he had to content himself with keeping her a captive at
Tjele, strictly guarded by peasants while the trial lasted, and indeed
it must be admitted that he was the last person who had any right to
cast at her the stone of righteous retribution.
As soon as judgment had been pronounced, Marie left Tjele with a poor
bundle of clothes in her hand. She met Soren on
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