Andrea, the tribulations of a child

Chapter One

The Child was going to die. The Child had to die. They both wished for it — now.

Yes. Now they wished it.

The Child wished for it also.

It was as if the rooms round about were dying; as if the home became a cold, speechless tomb, that was not concerned with life or the living.

Only one place was inviolate, full of sunshine, fair with flowers, and cheerful with constant laughter — the room where the Child lay, the little Andrea, their tall, grown-up daughter.

She was such that all people loved her — all the people there in the city.

From the market-women upon the marketplace, where she used to buy the season’s fruit, there now came thick gray cornucopias full of yellow plums.

“I want to smell, Musser, I want to smell,” she laughed; and smelled of the plums which she was forbidden to eat.

From the big gardens round about in the city came dew-wet flowers every morning, and in the evening her boy and girl-friends called with budding branches and downy ferns which they brought from the woods, where never more Andrea would go.

“Let me take them, Musser.” And the ferns and flowers were given into her hands and she became wet and laughed gleefully.

Poor old women in the basements and poor maiden ladies in the Almshouse cut geraniums from their flower-pots and came with them.

For flowers, that was the best they had.

“ Musser, don’t forget to give them coffee,” cried Andrea, and she wanted to see them [ 4 ]

drink it; but the geraniums she crushed, as they did not smell of anything.

“ Do you know what ? I have a dreadfully greedy nose; it can never be satisfied!” And then she and the mother laughed at that little nose, which was so delicate and small and did not look at all greedy.

In a large jar stood rushes and cattails. They were brought up from the stream, where Andrea every evening used to row in her white boat, while she sang and shouted, so that it was heard far over the hills where the farmers lived ; or she lay flat on her stomach in the bottom of the boat and ate cold pancakes and drifted with the stream.

She had the vanity to drag the oars to and from the boat herself.

It was only when the moon shone that she did not go out on the stream.

And every time she looked at the rushes, she thought that now this was all over for her.

Under the ceiling, flew — stuck on pins — a multitude of butterflies. They had been brought from Brazil by a cousin, and she loved to have them around her for the sake of their beautiful colour, which, though she could no longer see, she remembered well enough; and then for all the imaginings that followed with the thoughts of owning something “from deep, deep in the big primeval forests !”

It grieved her that they were stuck on pins ; they should rather have been alive, she thought.

In the centre of the ceiling hung a little Cupid finely carved in white wood. It always flapped about and made the pierced butterflies tremble.

About these there had been a struggle. By the advice of the physician there had come a nurse with long hard hands and a heavy step. She demanded that the dusty finery be pulled down at once — it was out of place in a sick-room.

Then Andrea had wept most bitterly and jumped out of bed. Before evening that strict lady was through in that home.

The mother then nursed her child, and the butterflies flew under the ceiling.

The bookcase was pitiably empty of books ; for when Andrea wanted new ones — she would not borrow, she wanted to own them — she sold the old, but the old were of little value because of the many dog-ears that marked “the lovely places.”

In the bookcase, back of the green silk curtain, stood her dance slippers and Eskimo shoes, but in the bottom of the bookcase lay a collection of bones and old iron.

Andrea got one penny a pound for these at the junkshop.

And so Andrea found a way in all innocence.

She lay playing with a couple of heathertufts that the washerwoman’s little boy had brought her. They were from the “ Rolling Hill,” where Andrea every year picked wortle- [ 7 ]

berries in competition with the Poorhouse women, and scrambled round and round — alone — until dress and petticoats were in tatters. Then she promised her dress to the one who was poorest ; but before she gave it away, the cook must needs weigh it. She could get five cents a pound from “Peter” over at the paper-factory.

Andrea amused herself by letting the dry earth crumble from the roots down on sheet and night-dress.

“Now, Musser — it is surely soiled, not ?”

And she let it crumble.

When the besmudged and bedraggled little girls came with a half-eaten candy-stick or a beautiful fragment of glass from the gutter, Andrea wanted to have them lifted up, and they kissed her right on the mouth — but afterward her mother had to wash her face.

Every time the bell rang, she listened and was jubilant over the many gifts that continued to come.

“Musser,” said she, “you do not think, do you that it is because of — , you know ?”

The mother shook her head and laughed, and the child laughed with her. They always found occasion to laugh, and they both knew that it was the wisest way in which to chase the very sorrowful thoughts from the room.

“ Because for my birthday I received thirtyone congratulations, besides bonbons and gifts!”

Andrea lay and looked toward the window.

“Oh — bring me the field-glass!”

“ What do you want with that ?”

“ I am going to use it.” She pressed her lips together and looked saucily: “Inquisitive!”

The mother brought the field-glass, and Andrea slid it under the cover.

A little later, when the mother was out for water, Andrea stealthily brought it forth. [ 9 ]

With a knowing smile she held it before her eyes, pointed it towards the window and screwed it up and down.

There ought to be a gable with a stork’s nest — but it was not there.

No it was not there!

Quietly she dropped the field-glass, folded her hands and sighed ; but when the mother came, her eyes were glad again.

“ Do you know — I should really like to go to a dance once more; just one little dance!” And she looked sidewise down at the light blue night-gown, that was embroidered with silk flowers on the collar. And she cast a sly glance at the bows in the two dark braids that bound her to the pillow like shining chains.

“ I do not know any one who has light blue night-gowns, eh ? It was droll that we should hit upon that. Ah, yes, the way one has danced, both when one was allowed to, and when father became hot about the ears be- [ 10 ]

cause of it. And how weary those little feet are now!”

With a great effort she thrust forth one foot.

“Heavens! Such a lean little thing. It was good that I took my dance in time, else I should have shaken the bed out of joint with my restlessness in these days. Is it not so, Musser ? Don’t you agree with me ?”

“Yes, of course — but now try to sleep, dear!”

“ Sleep! So you think I want to sleep ? I want to prattle, I do, and not sleep one single wink. You are surely not tired or peevish, are you?”

No, that the mother was not.

The girl came in with a letter. The mother took it.

“ It is from Josephine — shall I read it ?”

But the Child wanted to keep the letter until she became well.

It was put into her hands.

“ Mother — one never knows what lies inside of two such white walls. One might become afraid — ”

The mother laughed.

“Josephine is not as bad as she appears — but shall I not read it ?”

“No — I want to have it for myself. I will read it myself — when the eyes are entirely well!”

She lay crumpling it, straining her eyes to distinguish the signature.

“It is such a living thing, a letter !”

Then she put it away from her.

“Little Mother !”

“Yes — ”

“Will you not do everything that I ask for, even though it be stupid, if it is not too shockingly expensive ?”

The mother nodded.

“ Still if it costs something, eh ?”

“ That you know very well, little child !”

“ Well, all right, then I believe you and take you at your word. I think we ought to have [ 12 ]

a celebration to-day, we three old folks. What do you say to that ?”

“A celebration ?”

“Yes, exactly, a celebration. I want to have Grandmother Voldby’s gold chain on and all the rings — fiddle-faddle, little mother, my fingers are not tired to-day. Then you make afternoon-tea for yourself and father with lady-fingers, and an eggnog for me, real white and rich. You put on your new waist and comb the part straight — remember that! And then — no, that you shall do first of all — send word to old Nikolsen to come at once with his accordion and play two hours down in the garden. Two hours! Nothing but song and dance. He does it for twentyfive cents an hour. But hasten, my dear Musser, hasten !”

She laughed, and the mother laughed with her, kissed her on the forehead, and was going.

“ Stop a little — there is no one in the whole wide world I think so much of as of you ; no, [ 13 ]

not one; not a single one. Do you hear that ?”

And the~mother was hardly out, before the child took the white letter, tore it open, and stared and stared.

This much she saw, that it was only three lines, a greeting and a name.

But it disappeared in a mist.

She rang. The hand that rang the little bell trembled. Very impatiently she rang, and continued, until the girl from the kitchen came storming in.

“Read, Anne — read, quickly, read — ”

And Anne gaped in astonishment, and Anne read.

“Once again.”

Anne read it once more.

“You may go now — it was only that.”

Now the words were imprinted in her memory.

She turned her shoulders so that her head slid out of place. Her neck pained.

Very slowly, very softly she continued to repeat the contents of the letter.

There was in her soul no thought beyond it.

The mother went through the lofty rooms, where the plants stood and withered and made the air close and oppressive, for no one remembered to give them water.

She went to the room where the father sat alone with his sorrow.

But outside of the door she faltered, as was always her habit outside of his door.

He dropped the book, but did not look up.

“What is it?”

“Andrea asked me to call!” She said it softly and humbly. He arose, looked up, but did not look at her.

“ Is there — anything else ?”

“No — not now. She is so wonderfully [ 15 ]

well satisfied. But I know — but I know — oh, Karsten, I feel a great dread. You must be careful. Andrea sees, as if she read our thoughts !”

“Sees — ”

“I cannot endure it!”

“You must accustom yourself to it, Jutta. It must be endured!”

He shook off the hand that she had laid on his shoulder.

“Karsten!”

“ Could you not spare me these scenes — if only during this time!”

Then she was silent.

Outside of the door she took his hand.

“For her sake!”

Hand in hand, and smiling, they went in — where the child received them with a smile, that came from the depths of her sorrow like their own.

“You come so sweetly;” she looked from the one to the other. “You come so sweetly, [ 16 ]

you two. But then you have not been here for over three hours, father!”

He sat down by her bed, and the mother went out again.

“Real rich and white, do you hear, Musser,” cried the child.

The father asked how things were.

“Are you the doctor?”

“No, but then — ”

“No, but then you should let the doctors take care of that, and look after your boys with their Greek and Latin. But as for that, it goes indifferently well. That is to say, for the moment it goes so remarkably lovely that we are going to have a celebration. But, then, tell me something!”

He told her a little about the school.

“The pudden-heads — oh, oh! Will you have a chocolate pastille as large as a dollar ? There in the drawer. But give me half!”

The father put it in between her lips, and she snapped it with a smile.

“It is very tempting, I am going to eat all of it — you take another. But then what will our mother say to that ; she has not had any at all, and she has been here the whole day. She is so awfully good to me, indeed she is, so awfully, absurdly good, that it pains me to think of it. She surely sleeps with her eyes ajar, just to watch over me. And she is so sad, so sad. We should really give her something for all her goodness to us, should we not ? A silk waist ? When she does not stoop over she has a very charming figure. Blue it must be, of course, like all the others. Shall we?”

The father promised it, and played with her hand.

“ Have you seen how we have dressed up ?” She showed him her rings. “Do you remember that one ? That was an uncomfortable time, indeed. What a hubbub you made ! and the way the doctors gaped at me ! I can remember I thought, — “ if only they do not cut me open [ 18 ]

like a fish to see what there is inside of me.” But then you gave me the ring so as to lie mouse-quiet. They were so sure that I was done for, but they were certainly fooled that time! ” She laughed quietly.

“ That time — ”

The father saw the changed expression.

“ You got that one with the pearls for your confirmation!”

“Yes, thank you, my dear master, we remember. Only girl in white silk with train. And then we had forgotten the garters at home, ha, ha! And the stockings slipped down. I threatened Goldsmith Larsen with all manner of torture. ‘ If you do not induce father to buy that ring, you will never get brooches to repair for either Agnes, Jeannette, Edith, or me ; so now you know it.’ And Larsen was obliging enough, and you were a dear, stupid father, who jumped right into the trap !”

“Yes, because he had such an awfully artful daughter!”

“Well — yes, you may say that, if you will; but then I have done worse things than that. Shall I confide the worst to you ? It cost one hundred and fifty. That was because of the stone, you understand. But you must not dare to tell Musser, for she has such scruples. She says that I must neither lie nor steal. Now do you know any one who neither lies nor steals? Of course you don’t, certainly not! 4 Larsen, mark the ring down to fifty crowns ; then we buy it. 5 And Larsen, he was a sly fellow. ‘ Why, father, have you ever in your life seen anything so disgracefully cheap — the one who could own such a ring ! 9 Father went into the trap, and I got the ring on the Christmas tree ; but for eleven months Larsen shared half of my pocket-money.”

“But, what is this I hear? Then that must have been the time you sold bones and rags and old iron ? ”

“That was it, father. Heaven knows, one had to find a way out of it. How I begged [ 20 ]

Musserfor soup, which is so disgusting, merely for the sake of the bones. You are not cross on account of the ring — I tell you, I love it at least as much as my long nail!”

“Droll little girl with the nail!”

“Yes, why not? But can you remember Lavinia Fink, the beautiful, — she who had no husband ? She wore either raven-black or snow-white with green shoes and red stockings, and she was so inexpressibly lovely and Bohemian. Her nails, however, were ever so much finer than mine. But then I let one grow out on my big toe as well, and that was extra! Look, father, here it is; see how it glistens. It becomes more shiny and quaintlooking, the weaker I myself grow.”

The father tried to jest, and promised her small silk cases for the nail.

“Father!”

“Yes!”

“Have you noticed the way everything fades P It’s the sun ; but Anne insists that the [ 21 ]

night-dress here is not faded ; and you can see, can’t you, that it is nearly lavender ? That’s so — listen ! there was something — ” -That—”

“ That you must help me with. Oh, father, won’t you — teach me the Danish letters, but in an awful hurry ?”

“ But tell me, what do you want with them ?”

“Father, you must teach me them!”

“Yes, yes, as soon as you are better, you can learn them in two hours, surely!”

“Father, you have promised it every day ... if you do not teach them to me ... I cannot die peacefully.”

She said it very quietly, and held her father’s eyes the while; then she repeated :

“Not peacefully, then!”

Perceiving that there was a feeling of dread and apprehension over the child, he gave his word that he would teach her the Danish letters the next day.

“Father — you must not forget it, — you must not, you must not, both the large and small letters; just as they wrote in the olden days!”

He promised to remember the old-fashioned characters.

“But then there was a note I wanted to write . . . will you help me with it, father ? I want so very much to write it myself, only two lines. That I can do, I am sure, with big, big letters, can’t I ? ”

“Andrea, little girl — the doctor says — ”

“If you will not, then you will not. I can count the spots on the curtain and the butterflies from here. I am not altogether blind yet. But then we’ll talk no more about that. If only I were up; if only I were up!”

Suddenly she threw the cover about her and said in a voice that bubbled over with laughter : “ Then I would surely amuse you ! ”

The maid came in with a coarse paper bag for Andrea.

“ Now what can it be ?” She stretched out [ 23 ]

her hands. The father took the bag, opened it, and began to laugh.

“ Who is it from, Anne ?”

“It was a sailor, or some one of that kind, who said that it was for our sick lady.”

The father emptied the bag — ship’s-crackers as big as soup plates. They smelled mouldy.

But Andrea said, coyly: “Let me taste — they are from my sweetheart!”

“Oh, so that is it; yes, I suppose you have many sweethearts ?”

“Only one and a half, father, one and a half; and then you: but this is from the one!”

“Not from the half?”

“ No — from my real sweetheart!”

Which one is that ?”

f * The one with the crackers. He is a sailor and has curly hair, and only one ear, and a red^muffler around his neck.”

“How my little girl talks!”

** Why, father, it is true. I will tell you all.

But you must not laugh, nor become grieved, nor get angry, will you ? It is a great secret !”

“I am all ears!”

“Then put your ear close down to me, and I’ll whisper it to you. It was last year, when I was out rowing. He sat and played the accordion up on the deck of the ship. And one evening he did not play, but stood and munched crackers, and I was very flippant, you know. ‘Give me one, too,’ I cried; and he threw one down to me, and then we became good friends. I saw his sleeping-room, and I assure you, father, that it was no larger than a bed — and there lay two, one above the other, on shelves; upon my word they did. Ugh! He certainly is not handsome. But this year he came back ; and he had broken his leg over in England, and was so sad. You are not angry, are you, father ? ”

“No, no — what else ?”

“Yes — then I promised to marry him, when I am twenty years old, and he is captain [ 25 ]

of a vessel. I do not care the least bit more for him than for the man without a nose down on the wharf — but then he has no one who cares for him. And all that he has seen in foreign countries! You should just hear! To be sure Pierre Loti’s little sailor was indeed a different and nicer fellow. He has kissed me seven times — but not on the mouth, of course; and he has given me his word, that when we are married, he will still refrain from kissing me on the mouth. It is only you and Musser, who may do that. Now then, what do you say ?”

The father kissed her.

“Father has nothing at all to say when his little girl takes sweethearts on her own account.”

“Well, now . . . was it . . . was it shabby of me to deceive him, when I knew, that . . . that I, . . . you know ?”

“Oh, no, Andrea, it was not at all . . . shabby!”

“I have not told it to you before, for suppose you had thought I should get well, you might have give him a raking over the coals ! He would be very happy, I can tell you, if you gave him my Chinese-silk mufflers; for he thinks them most beautiful. You need not say anything about it to Musser, for she will tell it to all the other ladies, and that we cannot have, can we ?”

“No, it shall be between us two!”

“Father, if you whimper, then I’ll cry. You must laugh. Kiss me, little father, my lovely, lovely father. My very loveliest father. Lay your hand here on my forehead, then we will keep quiet for two minutes. So now look at your watch. Sh ! Sh ! !”

He took his watch out, and Andrea followed the hands.

“Ugh, now I can stand it no longer. Father, if now I should become quite blind, it would not matter so much after all; because you can tell me everything — can you not ?

Cannot we two also agree upon one pair of eyes, we two ?”

The father could not find words to answer.

Suddenly she pressed her lips together and became ashen pale.

“What was it? What was it? I was so frightened. I am so afraid. It is in here, little father . . . feel . . . help me!”

He laid his hand on her chest, and noticed the uneasy beating of her heart.

“ And what will you do, when you are alone ? what will you do . , . you two ?”

“Andrea!”

He could not bear to hear those words.

“If I keep quiet, I shall burst. ... If I only knew one thing, — that you were happy together, with love and little gifts, and fiveo’clock tea every day. Musser is so good, so good ; but happy, — that she certainly is not. It is just as if her eyes continually ask for pardon ; as if she had done something wrong. If you only kissed each other every morning, [ 28 ]

and . . . yes, you should both sleep in here and think of me. Then, I can tell you, she would never take morphine to make her sleep. She could squeeze herself into my bed, and you could have hers, for it seems so poor and forlorn now. You could lie together, hand in hand ... if only I were sure of it, I should almost not be the least bit afraid of ... ”

“Andrea ... we will do everything that you ask!”

“ Will you ? Will you ? In here . . . you and Musser ? Do you dare say ‘ honour bright’ on that ? Father, father, how I love you! I can notice it far out in my ribs, and there the heart is not, I am sure! If only now I could be with you — we three, all alone ! May I — may I tell her about it? Gracious, how glad she’ll be! It is not a fib, is it? You are not deceiving me? You surely would not, eh ? No, certainly not. Thank you for that, father. Oh, now I am as light as a feather!”

“Tell me, Andrea, is there anything you wish for very much ?”

“ Wish for, wish for ? Yes, God bless you, to be sure there is. First, a pair of awfully strong spectacles, awfully, awfully strong, so that I myself can read my letters ; and then a red skating cap with a tiny gold bell in the tassel — that is surely something I have gotten from a fairy tale . . . but here in the city one cannot get them, do you think so ? And then a thick, very, very thick, raw, red carrot to munch — you do not know how I love such carrots ! Then there is nothing more, unless . . . yes . . . lift me a little, carry me a little ! Oh, father, carry me a little, I am so tired of lying down. We’ll shut the door, eh ?”

“I dare not — you can’t stand it!”

“ Lift me, lift me a little ... it will probably be the last time. Now that I ask you!”

Then the father lifted her carefully and tenderly, and carried her in his arms up and down the floor, up and down. She nestled [ 30 ]

up to him, and looked closely at everything.

“This is lovely . . . we fly, we two. It relieves me somewhat, when you walk with me like this. It is as if I were covered with feathers. We two, father dear, we know best!

Father . . . there is so much I want to have on my own little stone, but we will not speak of that now. In the drawer over there under the astrologer’s card, it lies. You will see to it, will you not ?”

He nodded and kissed her on the eyes. She became heavy in his arms, and fell into a light slumber. He could not relax his hold on her, and not until she shivered from the cold did he lay her down ; and then she awoke at once.

“Father — if Josephine sends a wreath, it must not come on my grave!”

“Are you angry with Josephine?”

She nodded and her eyes became big.

“Father — she has done me harm. Now, remember, even though it were the most beautiful of them all!”

The father promised to remember all that she said, and never to forget it.

“ Father, tell me — is it entirely impossible ? Yes, or no P Then afterwards I will tell you what it is!”

“What shall I answer?”

“I — no, of course!”

“ Very well, then — no, it is not impossible !”

“Now — there we have caught a wise old rat ! That was the best that could ever happen ... a little bit of a fat lassie, just as greedy as a puppy; and her name must be Andrea. Andrea shall be her name!

“What do you mean now, child ?”

“ Have I your word, or have I not ? It was not impossible, you said yourself. How I have wished for it ! She would surely become a paragon of strength and beauty, who could both dance and get married, and all the rest. For I know very well all the rest : I know much more than you think!”

The father hid his face in his hands. An- [ 32 ]

drea drew a little sigh, but laughed right aftef* so that no one should notice it.

“What has become of Nikolsen and the eggnog ? I am sleepy. It whirls and throbs inside of my head!”