tales from two hemispheres[1].(两个半球的故事)-第40章
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they met the more they found to talk about； to be sure； it was she who did
the talking； and he looked at her with his large wondering eyes and
listened。 She told him of the lamb which had tumbled down over a steep
precipice and still was unhurt； of the baby who pulled the pastor's hair last
Sunday during the baptismal ceremony； or of the lumberman； Lars； who
drank the kero… sene his wife gave him for brandy； and never knew the
difference。 But； when the milkmaids passed by； she would suddenly
forget what she had been saying； and then they sat gazing at each other in
silence。 Once she told him of the lads who danced with her at the party
at Houg； and she thought she noticed a deeper color on his face； and that
he clinched both his fists and thrust them into his pockets。 That set her
thinking； and the more she thought； the more curious she grew。 He
played the violin well； suppose she should ask him to come and fiddle at
the party her father was to give at the end of the harvest。 She resolved to
do it； and he； not knowing what moved her； gave his promise eagerly。 It
struck her； afterward； that she had done a wicked thing； but； like most girls；
she had not the heart to wrestle with an uncomfortable thought； she shook
it off and began to hum a snatch of an old song。
〃O'er the billows the fleet…footed storm…wind rode； The billows
blue are the merman's abode； So strangely that harp was sounding。〃
The memory of old times came back to her； the memory of the
morning long years ago； when they sat together on the strand； and he said；
〃I think I would rather be your bride… groom； Borghild。〃 The memory
was sweet but it was bitter too； and the bitterness rose and filled her heart。
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TALES FROM TWO HEMISPHERES。
She threw her head back proudly； and laughed a strange； hollow laugh。
〃A bastard's bride； ha； ha！ A fine tale were that for the parish gossips。〃
A yellow butterfly lighted on her arm； and with a fierce frown on her face
she caught it between her fingers。 Then she looked pityingly on the dead
wings； as they lay in her hand； and murmured between her teeth： 〃Poor
thing！ Why did you come in my way； unbidden？〃
The harvest was rich； and the harvest party was to keep pace with the
harvest。 The broad Skogli mansion was festively lighted （for it was
already late in September）； the tall； straight tallow candles； stuck in many…
armed candlesticks； shone dimly through a sort of misty halo； and only
suffused the dusk with a faint glimmering of light。 And every time a
guest entered； the flames of the candles flickered and twisted themselves
with the wind； struggling to keep erect。 And Borghild's courage； too；
rose and fell with the flickering motion of a flame which wrestles with the
wind。 Whenever the latch clicked she lifted her eyes and looked for
Truls； and one moment she wished that she might never see his face again；
and in the next she sent an eager glance toward the door。 Presently he
came； threw his fiddle on a bench； and with a reckless air walked up to her
and held out his hand。 She hesitated to return his greeting； but when she
saw the deep lines of suffering in his face； her heart went forward with a
great tenderness toward him； a tenderness such as one feels for a child
who is sick； and suffers without hope of healing。 She laid her hand in his；
and there it lay for a while listlessly； for neither dared trust the joy which
the sight of the other enkindled。 But when she tried to draw her hand
away； he caught it quickly； and with a sudden fervor of voice he said：
〃The sight of you； Borghild； stills the hunger which is raging in my
soul。 Beware that you do not play with a life； Borghild； even though it be
a worthless one。〃
There was something so hopelessly sad in his words； that they stung
her to the quick。 They laid bare a hidden deep in her heart； and she
shrank back st the sight of her own vileness。 How could she repair the
injury she had done him？ How could she heal the wound she had
inflicted？ A number of guests came up to greet her and among them
Syvert Stein； a bold…look… ing young man； who； during that summer； had
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TALES FROM TWO HEMISPHERES。
led her frequently in the dance。 He had a square face； strong features；
and a huge crop of towy hair。 His race was far…famed for wit and daring。
〃Tardy is your welcome； Borghild of Skogli；〃 quoth he。 〃But what a
faint heart does not give a bold hand can grasp； and what I am not offered
I take unbidden。〃
So saying； he flung his arm about her waist； lifted her from the floor
and put her down in the middle of the room。 Truls stood and gazed at
them with large； bewildered eyes。 He tried hard to despise the braggart；
but ended with envying him。
〃Ha； fiddler； strike up a tune that shall ring through marrow and bone；〃
shouted Syvert Stein； who struck the floor with his heels and moved his
body to the measure of a spring…dance。
Truls still followed them with his eyes； suddenly he leaped up； and a
wild thought burned in his breast。 But with an effort he checked himself；
grasped his violin； and struck a wailing chord of lament。 Then he laid his
ear close to the instrument； as if he were listening to some living voice
hidden there within； ran wa… rily with the bow over the strings； and
warbled； and caroled； and sang with maddening glee； and still with a
shivering undercurrent of woe。 And the dusk which slept upon the black
rafters was quickened and shook with the weird sound； every pulse in the
wide hall beat more rapidly； and every eye kindled with a bolder fire。
Pressently｛sic｝ a Strong male voice sang out to the measure of the violin：
〃Come； fairest maid； tread the dance with me； O
heigh ho！〃
And a clear； tremulous treble answered：
〃So gladly tread I the dance with thee； O heigh
ho！〃
Truls knew the voices only too well； it was Syvert Stein and Borghild
who were singing a stave。＇8＇
＇8＇ A stave is an improvised responsive song。 It is an ancient
pastime in Norway； and is kept up until this day； especially among the
peasantry。 The students； also； at their social gatherings； throw
improvised rhymes to each other across the table； and the rest of the
company repeat the refrain。
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TALES FROM TWO HEMISPHERES。
SyvertLike brier…roses thy red cheeks blush； BorghildAnd thine
are rough like the thorny bush； BothAn' a heigho！
SyvertSo fresh and green is the sunny lea； O
heigh ho！ BorghildThe fiddle twangeth so merrily； O
