Marie Grubbe Read online

  Søren did not deign to answer.

  “Oh, will his lordship not say a single word?” continued Ane. “Simple folk like us would so like to hear some educated talk, and I know that’s something his lordship knows well. You’ve heard, haven’t you, Trine, that his sweetheart has given him a book full of compliments and all kinds of artful language, and I have no doubt that such a fine gentleman knows how to read and spell, both backwards and forwards.”

  Søren hit the table with his closed fist and gave her an angry look.

  “Søren,” took up the other maid, “ah woul’ gi’ ye a bad penny for a kiss. Ah kno’ that ol’ woman supplies ye wi’ both sauce and meat…”

  At that moment Marie entered carrying the cake, which she put in front of Søren, but he threw it across the table.

  “Turn those women owt!” he shouted. But then the tallow would go cold. He did not care. The maids were sent out of the room.

  Søren threw the red hat as far as he could and swore angrily. She shouldn't be bringing him stuff to eat, as if he were a pig that needed fattening, and he wouldn’t be made a fool of in front of people by her making hats fit for the stage for him to wear. There must be an end to all of this. He was the man, and it just wasn’t right that he should allow himself to be pampered like this, that hadn’t been what he had wanted. He wanted to rule, and she should obey, he wanted to give and she should receive; yes, of course he knew that he had nothing to give, but that didn’t mean that she should be making a nobody of him with her gifts. If she wouldn’t go through thick and thin with him, then they should go their separate ways. This he certainly couldn’t take; she should submit to him and run away with him, she shouldn’t be sitting there being her ladyship so that he was always having to look up to her, he needed her to share life with him like a fellow being. She should be in a position where he could be good to her, and she could thank him. She should fear him, and she should have nothing and nobody in the world to rely on except him.

  A carriage came rolling through the gate, and as they guessed it must be Palle Dyre, Søren sneaked off to the men’s quarters. There he found three farmhands sitting on their beds besides the gamekeeper, Søren Jensen, who was standing.

  “Here comes the baron!” said one of them just as the coachman entered.

  “Shhh, don’t let him hear anything,” said another in mock anxiety.

  “Yes,” whispered the first speaker quite loudly. “I wouldn’t be in his shoes for all the gold coins you can fit in a mill sack.”

  Søren looked round anxiously and sat down on a chest that was close to the wall.

  “It’s a right painful death that’s awaitin’ him,” added one who had been silent and shuddered.

  Søren Jensen the gamekeeper nodded gravely at him and sighed.

  “What’s that ye are talkin’ about?” asked Søren with pretend indifference. No one answered.

  “Do you mean this?” asked the one who had spoken first, letting his finger slide across his neck.

  “Silence,” said the gamekeeper, frowning at the speaker.

  “Be it me that ye’re talkin’ about,” said Søren, “then don’t sit there all huddled together, but say what ye got to say.”

  “Aye,” replied the gamekeeper, putting much stress on the word and looking at him with serious determination. “Yes, Søren, it is ye we’re talking about, may the good Lord keep ye!” And he folded his hands and seemed lost in dark thoughts. “Søren,” he began again, drying his nose. “It’s a flaysome journey ye’re on, and ah’ll tell ye one thing.” He spoke as if he were reading from a book. “Turn round, Søren think o’ yer sowl. Over there stand t’ gallows and t’ block,” he pointed to the main building. “And there t’ life of a Christian an’ a Christian burial.” With his hand he drew a curve in the air in the direction of the stables. “’Cause it’s by yer neck that ye’ll be punished, those are t’ holy words o’ t’ law, yes, that’s how it’ll be, bethink yerself.”

  “But,” replied Søren stubbornly, “who’ll be denouncin’ me?”

  “Yes,” repeated the gamekeeper with emphasis, as if he had mentioned something that made his case much worse. “Who’ll denounce ye? Søren, Søren, who will denounce ye? Devil strike me dead, ye are such a fool,” he continued without any solemnity. “And it’s complete folly to be chasing a woman near ol’ age if that puts your life at risk. If she were only young! And then a mad devil of a woman too, just let Bluebeard keep her in peace. There are, thank God, other women folk in the world than she.”

  Søren had neither the courage nor the desire to try to explain to them that he could not possibly live without Marie Grubbe. He was himself quite ashamed of this senseless passion, and it would bring the whole pack of them, servants and maids, down on him if he confessed to the truth, and so he lied and denied his love.

  “Aye, that’s a wise road,” he said. “But do ye see that I have a rigsdaler, when ye have naught, and clothes in plenty, an ’ole cartload full of ’em, dear friends, and as soon as my purse is quite full, why then ah’ll quit and disappear, and one of ye can then try yer luck.”

  “That’s fine talk,” replied Søren the gamekeeper, “but ah would say it’s like stealing money with a noose round yer neck. It’s a fine thing to be given gifts of clothes and silver, and to lie stretched in yer bed, like someone ill, and then to get wine, roast and whatever she’s in mind to send, but it will ne’er do here, what with so many folk, it’ll come out one fine day, and then the worst in t’ world awaits ye.”

  “Oh, it’ll ne’er come to that,” said Søren, a little despondent.

  “Well, they’d both like to get rid of 'er, and her sisters and brothers-in-law, they’re not the kind to interfere, if it means they can disinherit her.”

  “By the devil, she’d help me.”

  “Ye think so? She’ll have enough to do saving her own skin, and she’s been in trouble too many times that there’ll be anyone who’ll help her with as much as a few grains of oats.”

  “What of it! A man wi’ a threat hanging o’er him can still live long.”

  From that day on Søren had to listen to dark talk everywhere, veiled references to the gallows, the block and glowing irons; and to sustain his courage and keep his fear at bay, he took refuge in aquavit, and since Marie had regularly given him money surreptitiously, he never had to be sober. After a while, however, he stopped caring about the threats, but he was more careful than before, and kept himself with the servants mostly, seldom seeking out Marie.

  As it was getting close to Christmas, Palle Dyre returned and stayed at home, and so the meetings between Marie and Søren ceased altogether. To make sure that the other servants would believe that all was over and so wouldn’t tell the master tales, Søren began to play sweethearts with Ane Trinderup, and he deceived them all, even Marie, although he had made her complicit in his plan.

  On the third day of Christmas, while everyone was in church, Søren was standing at the far end of the main building playing with one of the dogs when he heard Marie calling. Her voice, he thought, seemed to be coming from below the ground. He turned round and caught sight of Marie’s face through a trap door close to the ground. It was the door to the salt cellar. She was pale, tear-stained, and her eyes stared wildly and anxiously below a pair of eyebrows drawn in pain.

  “Søren,” she was saying. “What have I done to you, that you don’t care for me any more?”

  “But I do. Can’t ye understand that I must ta’ measures. They’re thinking of nothin’ but trouble for me and how they might undo me and ta’ my life. Don’t speak to me, let me go if ye don’t want to see me on the gallows.”

  “Don’t tell lies, Søren, I can see where you are going, but I wouldn’t wish you any harm because of it, because I haven’t got your youth, and you’ve always been sweet on Ane, but you shouldn’t have made me see it, that’s wrong and thoughtless. Don’t think I would ever beg of you to come back, I know only too well what a dangerous game you’d be playi
ng and what pain and a hard struggle it would be for us, should the two of us stand against the world. That’s something not to be wished on either of us, though I can’t help it.”

  “But I wouldn’t want Ane for anything; such a peasant she is. I love none in the world but ye, let them call ye old or young, or what the devil they like.”

  “I don’t believe you, Søren, however much I would like to.”

  “Ye don’t believe me?”

  “No, Søren, no. I only wish I were standing right here in my grave, and that I could close the hatch and sit down and sleep in the darkness.”

  “Ye shall come to believe me.”

  “Never, never. There is nothing in the world that you could do to make me believe you. It makes no sense at all.”

  “Ye deprive me of my senses with yer talk, and ye’ll regret it because I’ll make ye believe me even if I’m to be burnt alive or tortured to death for that sorry thing.”

  Marie shook her head and looked at him unhappily.

  “Then it must be, and the devil take the rest,” said Søren and ran away. By the kitchen door he stopped and asked for Ane Trinderup and was told that she was in the garden. He went over to the men’s quarters and took an old, loaded gun of the gamekeeper’s and ran out into the garden.

  Ane was standing by the cabbage patch when he caught sight of her. She had her apron full of leaves and was holding the fingers of one hand in front of her mouth, blowing at them to warm them. Very slowly, Søren crept up on her, his eyes on the lower part of her skirt because he didn’t want to see her face.

  Suddenly Ane turned round and saw Søren. His dark expression, the gun, his stealthy steps, all made her afraid. She shouted at him, “Don’t do it, Søren, don’t do it!” He lifted the gun, with a wild, piercing scream. Ane dashed through the snow.

  The shot rang out, Ane continued running, then felt her cheek and fell to the ground with a shout of terror. Søren threw away the gun and ran towards the end of the farm building.

  The trap door was shut. Then he went to the main entrance, through all the reception rooms till he found Marie.

  “Oh Lord judge me,” he whispered, pale as a corpse.

  “Are they after you, Søren?”

  “No. I shot her.”

  “Ane? What will then become of us? Run, Søren, run! Take a horse and escape. Hurry, hurry, take the grey!”

  Søren ran. A moment later he was galloping through the gate. He had not got half way to Foulum when they returned from church. Palle Dyre asked immediately where Søren was heading.

  “There is someone lying out there moaning,” replied Marie, shaking all over and hardly able to stand.

  Palle and one of the labourers carried Ane in. She was screaming so loudly that it could be heard from afar. She was not in much danger, for the gun had been loaded with lead pellets, and a few had entered her cheek and some had pierced her shoulder, but as she was bleeding heavily and was moaning so piteously, they sent a carriage for the barber surgeon in Viborg.

  When she had gained her composure somewhat, Palle Dyre questioned her about what had happened, and was told of the shooting and the whole story of the relationship between Søren and Marie.

  As he left the sickroom, the servants crowded round him, all of them wanting to tell him about what he had just heard, for they feared that they might otherwise be punished. But Palle was not listening. He said that this was empty talk and foolish rumour, and sent them away. He found the whole thing very unwelcome: divorce, journeys to court, the court process and all the expenses, that was something he would rather avoid. It had to be possible to hush things up and for everything to return to the way it had been before. Even Marie’s unfaithfulness was to him almost a matter of indifference. What had happened might even be turned to an advantage, because it would give him more power over her, and possibly also over Erik Grubbe, who would probably put every effort possible into making sure that the marriage lasted, although she had been unfaithful.

  But when he had spoken to Erik Grubbe, he did not know what to think; he could not fathom the old man, who had become very agitated and had immediately sent out four men on horseback with orders to seize Søren dead or alive. That was certainly not a good way to keep this a secret, as all sorts of things might crop up during the interrogations for attempted murder.

  The evening of the following day, three of the men returned. They had caught Søren at Dallerup, where the grey horse had fallen, and had taken him to Skanderborg, where he was now under arrest. The fourth man had lost his way and returned a day later.

  In the middle of January Palle Dyre and Marie moved to Nørboek farm so that the servants would find it easier to forget their mistress, but towards the end of February they were reminded of everything when a clerk arrived from Skanderborg to enquire whether Søren had been seen in the district, as he had broken out of prison. The clerk had, however, arrived too soon, for it was a fortnight later before Søren summoned up the courage to knock on the window of Marie’s bedroom. The first thing he asked when she opened the window was whether Ane was dead, and a heavy burden seemed to have been lifted from his mind when he heard that she was completely recovered.

  He was staying in a deserted house on Gassum Heath. He returned often and was regularly helped with money and food. Both Palle Dyre and the servants knew that he came and went on the farm, but Palle pretended that nothing was happening, and the servants did not take much notice, seeing that their master was so indifferent.

  At haymaking time the master and mistress moved back to Tjele, and there Søren did not dare show himself. This fact, and her father’s perpetual taunts and insults, made Marie so frustrated and angry that she took her father aside on a couple of occasions, and scolded him as if he were a scullery boy. This led to Erik Grubbe sending a letter of complaint to the king in the middle of August. After a detailed account of all her misdemeanours, which would surely incur divine wrath, scandal and contempt for the whole race of womankind, the letter concluded with the following words:

  “Because of such conduct, and her licentiousness and disobedience, I am obliged to deprive her of any inheritance, and I most humbly beg, and earnestly beseech, that Your Royal Majesty should be graciously pleased to confirm, approve and ratify my decision, and that Your Royal Majesty should also be graciously pleased to signify to Sheriff Mogens Scheel that it is your pleasure that he investigate her conduct, both towards myself and her husband, and her licentiousness, and that she be imprisoned on Bornholm at my expense to face God’s anger and condemnation, as befits such a disobedient creature, an object of loathing, and to secure thereby the redemption of her soul. It is with extreme reluctance that I find myself asking Your Majesty to approve the matter. I live in the most humble hope of Your Majesty’s most gracious help and favour which, I trust, God will amply reward. I live and die,

  Your Majesty’s most humble and loyal servant,

  A true subject of my feudal lord,

  Erik Grubbe.”

  The king desired a statement from the Honourable Palle Dyre, who replied to the effect that Marie Grubbe had not behaved towards him as an honest married wife, and that he therefore asked the king to graciously allow the marriage to be dissolved outside of a court of law.

  This was not granted, and the couple were divorced by a decision of the court on the 23rd of March, 1691. Nor was Erik Grubbe’s application to have her disinherited and imprisoned successful; so he had to content himself with keeping Marie a prisoner on Tjele, guarded by peasant labourers, for as long as the trial lasted, and so he was in fact one of the last who had it in his power to hurl the stone of righteous retribution.

  Immediately after the court’s decision Marie Grubbe left Tjele, taking with her a poor bundle of clothes. There she met Søren on the south heath, and he became her third husband.

  * * *

  24 Town in southern Italy known in Roman times for its luxury.

  25 ‘Small birds of the woods, how happy you are that you can freely s
ing of the pain of your love. Valleys, cliffs, woods and plains all know of your joys and sorrows. Your innocent love does not shun the light; the whole world is for you a place of freedom, while cruel honour – the scourge of our life – holds us fast with its iron laws. It is true that I feel a secret flame that against my better intentions has been burning in my heart ever since that fatal day when I caught sight of Alcidor dancing to a chalmeau beneath an elm tree.’ A chalmeau is a baroque wind instrument, a predecessor of the clarinet. From Racan Les Bergeries (1625) act 1, scene 3.

  XVII

  A month later, one evening in April, many people were standing crowded together outside the entrance to Ribe Cathedral. The Church Council was in session, and for its duration it was an old custom to light candles in the cathedral tower at eight o’clock on three evenings each week, when people of rank and quality in the town, as well as its respectable citizens, would wander up and down the nave while an organist skilfully played. But humble people had to content themselves with standing outside and listening.

  Among them were Marie Grubbe and Søren.

  Their clothes were plain and ragged, and they did not look like they had enough to eat every day, which was not surprising since theirs was not a profitable trade. In an inn somewhere between Aarhus and Randers, Søren had come across a poor, sick German, who had sold him for six silver crowns a hurdy gurdy, a motley outfit, an old checked blanket, and now he and Marie were making a living by going from market to market, where she played the hurdy gurdy while he would stand on the blanket, lifting and hurling about great weights and iron bars borrowed from local shopkeepers, in as many ways as he could think of. It was also a market that had enticed them to Ribe.