Marie Grubbe Read online

  He had bidden her goodbye and was standing with his hand on the latch when he said: “It is a black page of my life that is in front of me, madame, now that your Kalø days are over, and I shall yearn in pain and agony, grieving like someone who has lost that which makes up his mortal happiness, his every hope and desire. And yet, madame, if it should one day happen that I had cause to believe that you hold me dear, then God only knows what that would make of me. Perhaps it would awaken in me those powers whose wings of wonder I have yet to use, and let that part of my soul that is thirsting for deeds and burning with hope win the upper hand and make my name famous and glorious. But it is equally probable that such unspeakable happiness would slacken every string made taut, silence every crying demand, dull every expectant hope, so that my land of happiness for my powers and talents would be a spineless Capua.”24

  It was not surprising that Marie had her reservations, and she knew they were not unfounded. Even so, she could not help but sigh…

  She then left for Tjele. Erik Grubbe had wanted her to return because he feared that Sti Høg might persuade her to take measures that would hinder his own plans, and he wanted to see whether it would not be possible to persuade her to accept an arrangement whereby the marriage remained in force.

  His efforts proved in vain, but still Erik continued writing letters encouraging Ulrik Frederik to take Marie back. Ulrik Frederik never replied. He wanted to postpone any decision for as long as possible, because the financial loss that would flow from a divorce would cause him serious problems, and he did not believe his father-in-law’s assurances about Marie being open to reconciliation. Erik Grubbe’s tendency to lie was known all too well.

  Meanwhile, the tone of Erik Grubbe’s letters became more and more threatening, and there was talk about a personal appeal to the king. Ulrik Frederik realised that matters could not continue like this for long, and he now wrote a letter from Copenhagen to his overseer at Kalø, Johan Utrecht, in which he asked him in all secrecy to ascertain whether or not Lady Gyldenløve would meet him at Kalø Castle without Erik Grubbe’s knowledge. This letter was written in March 1669.

  Ulrik Frederik hoped that, by suggesting a meeting he might discover Marie Grubbe’s true feelings, and if he found that she was open to reconciliation, then he would immediately return with her to Aggerhus, if not, then he expected that a promise to agree to an immediate separation would secure him the best possible divorce terms. But Marie Grubbe declined the meeting, and Ulrik Frederik set off for Norway with the matter unresolved.

  Erik Grubbe continued with his useless letter writing for a while, but then in February 1670 a message arrived with the news that Frederik III had died, and now the time had come to act, Erik Grubbe felt. For King Frederik had always valued and had such blind affection for his son that he would have thought that all blame lay with the other party in such circumstances, but they could expect something quite different from King Christian.

  It was true that he and Ulrik Frederik were bosom friends, and the two brothers’ lives crossed all the time at parties, but a small shadow of jealousy might well be hanging over the king, who had so often been in the shadow of his much cleverer and more impressive half-brother during his father’s reign. Besides, young rulers were inclined to want to show how impartial they were, and consequently, eager for justice, they would not infrequently be most unjust in their treatment of those whom the crowd might assume they had an inclination to protect. Therefore, they now decided that as soon as spring arrived, they would both set off for Copenhagen. Meanwhile, Marie was to make sure that she got two hundred rigsdaler from Johan Utrecht to buy mourning clothes so that she could appear with decorum in the new king’s presence, but the overseer did not dare pay out any money without instructions from Ulrik Frederik. So Marie had to travel without mourning clothes, as her father would not pay for any; he also believed that this omission would make her wretched circumstances all the more conspicuous.

  They arrived in Copenhagen towards the end of May, and when a meeting between father and son-in-law did not lead anywhere, Erik Grubbe wrote to the king to say that he could not, in all humility, find words adequate to describe the contempt, shame and dishonour his excellency, Lord Gyldenleu, had heaped on his wife, Marie Grubbe, when he had sent her away from Aggerhus, a few years ago, to suffer all the mercies of wind, weather and those men of fortune who happened at that time to be creating utter havoc on the high seas, there being then a burning feud between the Dutch and the English.

  But God had, in his mercy, preserved her from the dangers which he had mentioned, and she had reached his house in possession of life and health. But it was an unheard-of humiliation which she had suffered, and he had now many times in writing, with prayers and tears of sorrow, begged his noble, highly esteemed son-in-law and high born excellency that he might yet come to his senses in this affair, and either prove to Marie the case against her, and why this marriage had to be dissolved, or else take her back, but all to no avail. Marie had brought to his estate many thousands of rigsdaler, but not withstanding, she had not received as much as two hundred with which to buy mourning clothes. In short, her wretchedness beggared belief, and therefore they had sought his royal majesty, and the natural mercy and clemency of their most merciful sovereign and king, with their humblest prayer and supplication that his majesty, for the sake of God, would take pity on him, Erik Grubbe, because of his great old age of seven and sixty years, and would take pity on her because of her great wretchedness and humiliation, and would, in his mercy, be pleased to command his excellency Gyldenleu to either prove to Marie his case that the marriage should be annulled in accordance with the words of Christ – which he would never be able to do – or to take her back, an act which would serve the glory of God, because marriage would receive that honour God himself has placed in it, great shame would be avoided, great sins banished, and a soul freed from damnation.

  Marie completely refused at first to put her name to this petition, as she did not in any way desire to live with Ulrik Frederik, whatever happened. However, her father assured her that the demand that Ulrik Frederik take her back was only empty words, since he now wanted a divorce at any cost, and the way the document had been written forced his hand in the matter and put her case in a better light, and would secure better terms. So Marie gave in, and she even added, at her father’s suggestion and using his words, the following postscript to the letter:

  “I desired to speak to Your Royal Highness, but miserable woman that I am, I have not the clothes that I can appear in public, please have mercy, most gracious Sovereign and King, and help me in my misery to justice. May God reward you.”

  As she did not really trust Erik Grubbe’s words, she managed to arrange – using one of her old friends at court as a go-between – that the king should receive a private letter from her in which she made no bones about how much she hated Ulrik Frederik, and how eagerly she longed for a divorce upon terms that would sever all connections.

  However, Erik Grubbe had for once spoken the truth, Ulrik Frederik wanted to be divorced. His position at court as the half-brother of the king was quite different to that of the king’s favourite son. He could not rely on the king’s indulgence, but actually had to compete with other noblemen at court for honour and glory. To have an affair such as this unresolved did little to enhance his status. It would be much better to have it over and done with as soon as possible, and a new and better union might compensate him for what the divorce would cost him, both in reputation and fortune. He therefore used all his influence to achieve this end.

  The king immediately put the matter before the council, which came to the decision that the marriage should be annulled by the High Court on the 14th of October 1670, and that both parties should be allowed to re-marry. Marie Grubbe received the twelve hundred rigsdaler and the rest of her dowry, including jewellery and landed estate. As soon as the money had been paid to her, she made preparations, against her father’s objections, to leave the cou
ntry. As for Ulrik Frederik, he wrote immediately to his half-sister, the wife of the Elector of Saxony, Johan George, about the annulment, asking her whether she would show him so much sisterly love that he might dare to entertain the flattering hope of receiving a bride from her royal hands.

  * * *

  23 A paragon of sweetness, a divine mouth, a lovely mouth, which could be likened to a perfumed shell from India with oriental and rare pearls; the part that opens and shuts that lovely treasure with the sweetest honey and purple…” from Guarini, Il pastor fido.

  XIV

  Marie Grubbe had never before been the mistress of her own money, and on receiving such a large sum, she felt that her power and means were without limit. Yes, it seemed to her as if a divining rod that could uncover all wonders had been placed in her hand, and she longed like a child to put it to work and by waving it summon all the treasures of the world to lie at her feet.

  Her first wish was to be far away from the spires of Copenhagen and the meadows of Tjele, from Erik Grubbe and Aunt Rigitze, and so for the first time she made use of her fortune, travelling by carriage and boat across land and sea away from Sjoelland, down through Jutland and Slesvig to the town of Lübeck. Her entire retinue was Lucie the chambermaid – whom she persuaded her aunt to spare – and a merchant’s coach driver, whom she acquired at Aarhus. But the real preparations for the journey were to take place in Lübeck.

  It was Sti Høg who had given her the idea of travelling, and he had once told her that he too would leave the country and seek his fortune, offering to accompany her on the journey. And so, summoned by a letter from Copenhagen, he came to Lübeck about a fortnight after Marie’s arrival, and he began immediately to make himself useful by taking all those measures that such a long journey required.

  Marie had really wanted to be a benefactor for poor Sti Høg by using her large resources to take the burden of the journey’s expenses and the stay in France, until he might discover some other source of wealth. But when Sti Høg arrived, she was surprised to find him dressed in great splendour, well-equipped and accompanied by two stately grooms. Taken together, there were plenty of signs that his purse was in no need of the weight of her gold. But she was even more surprised by the change that seemed to have occurred in his state of mind: he was lively, almost happy. While before he looked like someone following his own hearse with measured steps, now he trod the floor like a man who owned half the world and was owed the other half. There had been something of the plucked bird about him before, whereas now he resembled more an eagle with fluffed feathers and a pair of sharp eyes that spoke of even sharper claws.

  Marie thought at first that it must be his happiness at being able to throw all his past anxieties behind him and his hope of gaining a future worth protecting that had caused such a change. But when he had been there a few days, without any of those lovesick, timid words she knew so well crossing his lips, she began to suspect that he had conquered his desires, and now, in a feeling of triumph, was resting his heel on the neck of love’s dragon, knowing himself to be strong and free and the master of his own fate. She was quite curious to know whether her guess had hit the mark, and she thought to herself, a little regretfully, that the more she saw of Sti Høg, the less she knew him.

  A conversation she had with Lucie could not but confirm this suspicion. It took place one afternoon when they were both walking back and forth in the large entrance hall that is found in all houses in Lübeck and which serves as hallway, main living room, a place for the children to play or to do most household chores, and occasionally even as a dining room or as a store for vegetables. Their room was only used when the weather was mild, and so it just contained a long white scrubbed table, some heavy wooden chairs and an old cupboard; on the back wall there were some rough wooden shelves with green rows of cabbages above red mounds of carrots and bristling bunches of horseradish.

  The front door was open wide to a glistening wet street where the rain was splashing down in glittering streams.

  Both Marie Grubbe and Lucie were dressed to go out, one in a fur-edged coat, the other in a cloak of grey-brown, coarse material. They were waiting for the rain to stop, and walking back and forth across the red brick floor with quick, noisy steps, as if they were finding it difficult to keep their feet warm.

  “Have you put your trust in a really reliable companion?” asked Lucie.

  “Sti Høg, why ever not? I should have thought so. What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, as long as he doesn’t dawdle or get lost on the way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, there are the German girls and the Dutch too… you know he has the reputation that his heart is made of such flammable material that it can burst into fire by the light fanning of a petticoat.”

  “In which fools’ market have you picked up those tales?”

  “Lord, have you never heard that before? And he’s your own brother-in-law! Who would think that was news, I might as well be telling you that there are seven days in the week.”

  “What’s got into you today? You’re gabbling like you’ve drunk Spanish wine for breakfast.”

  “Yes, one of us has, that’s for sure. Tell me now, have you never heard the name Ermegaard Lynow?”

  “No!”

  “Then ask Sti Høg if by chance he happens to recognise that name, and in the same breath you can mention if you want Jydte Krag and Christence Rud and Edele Hansdatter and Lene Poppings. It might happen that he knows some tales, as you call them, some tales about all of them.”

  Marie stopped by the open door and stood for a long time, staring fixedly out into the rain. “Might you,” she then asked, beginning to walk again, “might you perhaps be able to tell some of those tales?”

  “You would expect so.”

  “About Ermegaard Lynow?”

  “Yes, her in particular.”

  “What can you tell?”

  “Oh, it concerns one of the Høgs, Sti I think it was, tall, red-haired, pale…”

  “Thank you, I know that already.”

  “Do you also know about the poison?”

  “No, not at all!”

  “Or the letter, then?”

  “Pray tell.”

  “Oh, it’s an ugly story, it is.”

  “Well…”

  “She and this Høg were good friends, this being before he was married. Yes, he was the very best of friends with Ermegaard Lynow; she had the longest hair of any maiden, she could almost step on it, and she was so white and red, a real beauty of a woman she was, but he was so hard and rough with her, they said, as if she were a difficult greyhound and not the fine creature she was. But the worse he was, the more she loved him. He could have beaten her black and blue, and probably he did, but she would have kissed him for it. Ugh, it’s just plain ugly to think what a human being can sink to when it has quite given its heart away. But then he tired of her and never looked her way, because his thoughts were now for another, and Mistress Ermegaard mourned and grieved, and was about to die of grief and misery, but still she lived, if you can call it that. Then this maiden could bear it no longer. She had, so they say, seen Sti Høg ride past the farm, and she ran after him. For a full mile she kept pace with his horse without him as much as slowing down for a moment or listening to her moans and prayers; no, he just rode his horse hard, leaving her behind. This she couldn’t bear, and then she took a lethal potion, and she wrote to Sti Høg that she had done it because of him, and now she would never stand in his way no more. She only wanted to see him once more before she died.”

  “And?”

  “Yes, God only knows whether what people say is true, for then he is the worst body and soul that Hell’s flames might await: he then wrote back – yes, this is what he wrote – that the best antidote for her would be his love, but this wasn’t in his power to give, but he had heard that milk and garlic did some good too, and this he would advise her to take. That is what he replied. Can you think of anything more sha
meful?”

  “And Mistress Ermegaard?”

  “Mistress Ermegaard?”

  “What happened to her?”

  “Well, it wasn’t his doing, but she hadn’t taken sufficient poison to die of it, although she became so sick and miserable that she nearly didn’t recover.”

  “Poor little lamb,” said Marie and laughed.

  Almost every day during that time, there was some slight change in Marie Grubbe’s impression of Sti Høg, and consequently also in their way of treating one another.

  That Sti was not a dreamer was easy to see from the forethought and resourcefulness with which he smoothed their journey of all the many obstacles and difficulties they encountered, and it was just as easy to come to the conclusion that his manners and intelligence far exceeded those of the finest noblemen they met. His talk was always fresh and interesting, and unlike that of others; it was as if he had his own secret path to an understanding of men and things, and it was, Marie thought, with easy contempt that he proclaimed his faith in the strength of the beast in man, or how little gold lay hidden amongst the dross of human nature, and the cold, passionate eloquence with which he proved to her how little consistency there was in human character. How dark and foolish, weak and fumbling and how quite in the power of chance it was. The struggle between what was noble and what was base within the soul, seemed to her mighty and mesmerising. She began to think that he had rarer gifts and greater strengths than most mortals. She could not but admire, indeed she almost worshipped, that lofty power she sensed in him, and yet there still remained in her soul a doubt, a quietly lurking, always whispering doubt that never gained voice in actual thought, but showed itself in an obscure, instinctive feeling, touched by fear, that this power was one that might threaten and rage, but would never swoop or engage.