Kristin Lavransdatter

by Sigrid Undset

  She had fallen asleep in her chair when Erlend came home and tossed his frozen mittens onto the table.

  “Are you back already?” said Kristin, astonished. “I thought you would stay for the daytime mass.”

  “Oh, two masses will last me for a long time,” said Erlend as Kristin picked up his icy cape. “Yes, the sky is clear now, so the frost has set in.”

  “It was a shame that you forgot to wake Orm,” said his wife.

  “Was he sad about it?” asked Erlend. “I didn’t actually forget,” he went on in a low voice. “But he was sleeping so soundly, and I thought . . . You can well believe that people stared enough because I came to church without you. I didn’t want to step forward with the boy at my side on top of that.”

  Kristin said nothing, but she felt distressed. She didn’t think Erlend had handled this very well.

  CHAPTER 3

  THEY DID NOT have many guests at Husaby that Christmas. Erlend didn’t want to travel to any of the places where he was invited; he stayed home on his manor and was in a bad humor.

  As it turned out, he took this act of fate more to heart than his wife could know. He had boasted so much of his betrothed, ever since his kinsmen had won Lavrans’s assent at Jørundgaard. This was the last thing Erlend had wanted—for anyone to believe that he considered her or her kinsmen to be lesser than his own people. No, everyone must know that he held it to be an honor and a distinction when Lavrans Bjørgulfsøn betrothed him to his daughter. Now people would say that Erlend had not considered the maiden much more than a peasant child, since he had dared to offend her father in such a manner, by sleeping with the daughter before she had been given to him in marriage. At his wedding, Erlend had urged his wife’s parents to come to Husaby in the summer to see how things were on his estate. He wanted to show them that it was not to paltry circumstances that he had brought their daughter. But he had also looked forward to traveling around and being seen in the company of these gracious and dignified in-laws; he realized that Lavrans and Ragnfrid could hold their own among the most esteemed of people, wherever they might go. And ever since the time when he was at Jørundgaard and the church burned down, Erlend had thought that Lavrans was rather fond of him, in spite of everything. Now it was unlikely that the reunion between Erlend and his wife’s kinsmen would be pleasant for either party.

  It angered Kristin that Erlend so often took his ill temper out on Orm. The boy had no children of his own age to play with, so he was frequently peevish and in the way; he also got into a good deal of mischief. One day he took his father’s French crossbow without permission, and something broke in the lock. Erlend was very angry; he struck Orm on the ear and swore that the boy would not be allowed to touch a bow again at Husaby.

  “It wasn’t Orm’s fault,” said Kristin without turning around. She was sitting with her back to the two, sewing. “The spring was bent when he took it, and he tried to straighten it out. You can’t be so unreasonable to refuse to allow this big son of yours to use a single bow out of all those you have on the estate. Why don’t you give him one of the bows from up in the armory?”

  “You can give him a bow yourself, if you feel like it,” said Erlend furiously.

  “I’ll do that,” replied Kristin in the same tone as before. “I’ll speak to Ulf about it the next time he goes to town.”

  “You must go over and thank your kind stepmother, Orm,” said Erlend, his voice derisive and angry.

  Orm obeyed. And then he fled out the door as fast as he could. Erlend stood there for a moment.

  “You did that mostly to annoy me, Kristin,” he said.

  “Yes, I know I’m a witch. You’ve said that before,” replied his wife.

  “Do you also remember, my sweet,” said Erlend sadly, “that I didn’t mean it seriously that time?”

  Kristin neither answered nor looked up from her sewing. Then Erlend left, and afterwards she sat there and cried. She was fond of Orm, and she thought Erlend was often unreasonable toward his son. But the fact was that her husband’s taciturn and aggrieved demeanor now tormented her so that she would lie in bed and weep half the night. And then she would walk around with an aching head the next day. Her hands had become so gaunt that she had to slip several small silver rings from her childhood days onto her fingers after her betrothal and wedding rings to keep them from falling off while she slept.

  On the Sunday before Lent, late in the afternoon, Sir Baard Peter-søn arrived unexpectedly at Husaby with his daughter, a widow, and Sir Munan Baardsøn and his wife. Erlend and Kristin went out to the courtyard to bid the guests welcome.

  As soon as Sir Munan caught sight of Kristin, he slapped Erlend on the shoulder.

  “I see that you’ve known how to treat your wife, kinsman, so that she is thriving on your estate. You’re not so thin and miserable now as you were at your wedding, Kristin. And you have a much healthier color too,” he laughed, for Kristin had turned as red as a rosehip.

  Erlend did not reply. Sir Baard wore a dark expression, but the two women seemed neither to hear nor see a thing; they greeted their hosts formally and with courtesy.

  Kristin had ale and mead brought over to the hearth while they waited for the food. Munan Baardsøn talked without stopping. He had letters for Erlend from the duchess—she was inquiring what had become of him and his bride: whether he was now married to the same maiden that he had wanted to carry off to Sweden. It was hellish traveling now, in midwinter—up through the valleys and by ship to Nidaros. But he was on the king’s business, so it would do no good to grumble. He had stopped by to see his mother at Haugen and he brought them greetings from her.

  “Were you at Jørundgaard?” Kristin ventured.

  No, for he had heard that they had gone to a wake at Blakarsarv. A terrible event had occurred. The mistress, Tora, Ragnfrid’s kinswoman, had fallen from the storeroom gallery and had broken her back, and it was her husband who had inadvertently pushed her out. It was one of those old storerooms without a proper gallery; there were merely several floorboards placed on top of the posts at the second-story level. They had been forced to tie up Rolv and keep watch over him night and day ever since the accident occurred. He wanted to lay hands on himself.

  Everyone sat in silence, shivering. Kristin didn’t know these kinsmen well, but they had come to her wedding. She felt suddenly strange and weak—everything went black before her eyes. Munan was sitting across from her and he leaped to his feet. When he stood over her, his arm around her shoulder, he looked so kind. Kristin realized that it was perhaps not so odd for Erlend to be fond of this cousin of his.

  “I knew Rolv when we were young,” he said. “People felt sorry for Tora Guttormsdatter—they said he was wild and hard-hearted. But now you can see that he cared for her. Oh yes, many a man may boast and pretend that he’d like to be rid of his spouse, but most men know full well that a wife is the worst thing they can lose—”

  Baard Petersøn stood up abruptly and went over to the bench against the wall.

  “May God curse my tongue,” said Sir Munan in a low voice. “I can never remember to keep my mouth shut either. . . .”

  Kristin didn’t know what he meant. The dizziness was gone now, but she had such an unpleasant feeling; they all seemed so peculiar. She was glad when the servants brought in the food.

  Munan looked at the table and rubbed his hands.

  “I didn’t think we’d be disappointed if we came to visit you, Kristin, before we have to gnaw on Lenten food. How have you managed to put together such delicious platters in such a short time? One would almost think you had learned to conjure from your mother. But I see that you’re quick to set forth everything a wife should offer to please her husband.”

  They sat down at the table. Velvet cushions had been placed for the guests on the inner benches on either side of the high seat. The servants sat on the outer bench, with Ulf Haldorssøn in the middle, right across from Erlend.

  Kristin chatted quietly with the women guests
and tried to conceal how ill at ease she felt. Every once in a while Munan Baard-søn would interrupt with words that were meant to tease, and it was always about how Kristin was already moving so slowly. She pretended not to hear.

  Munan was an unusually stout man. His small, shapely ears were set deep in the ruddy, fat flesh above his neck, and his belly got in his way when he sat down at the table.

  “Yes, I’ve often wondered about the resurrection of the body,” he said. “Whether I’m going to rise up with all this fat that I’ve put on when that day arrives. You’ll be slim-waisted again soon enough, Kristin—but it’s much worse for me. You may not believe it, but I was just as slender in the belt as Erlend over there when I was twenty winters old.”

  “Stop it now, Munan,” begged Erlend softly. “You’re upsetting Kristin.”

  “All right then, if that’s what you want,” replied Munan. “You must be proud now, I can well imagine—presiding over your own table, sitting in the high seat with your wedded wife beside you. And God Almighty knows that it’s about time, too—you’re plenty old enough, my boy! Of course I’ll keep my mouth shut, since that’s what you want. But nobody ever told you . . . to speak or keep still—back when you were sitting at my table. You were often a guest in my house and stayed a long time, and I don’t think I ever noticed that you weren’t welcome.

  “But I wonder whether Kristin dislikes it so much that I tease her a little. What do you say, my fair kinswoman? You weren’t as timid in the past. I’ve known Erlend from the time he was only so high, and I think I can venture to say that I’ve wished the boy well all his days. Quick and boyish you are, Erlend, with a sword in your hand, whether on horseback or on board ship. But I’ll ask Saint Olav to cleave me in half with his axe on the day when I see you stand up on your long legs, look man or woman freely in the eye, and answer for what you have done in your thoughtlessness. No, my dear kinsman, then you will hang your head like a bird in a trap and call on God and your kinsmen to help you out of trouble. And you’re such a sensible woman, Kristin, that I imagine you know this. I think you need to laugh a little now; no doubt you’ve seen enough this winter of shameful memories and sorrows and regrets.”

  Kristin sat there, her face deep red. Her hands were trembling, and she didn’t dare glance at Erlend. Fury was boiling inside her—here sat the women guests and Orm and the servants. So this was the kind of courtesy shown by Erlend’s rich kinsmen. . . .

  Then Sir Baard said so quietly that only those sitting closest could hear him, “I don’t think this is something to banter about—that Erlend has behaved in this way before his marriage. I vouched for you, Erlend, to Lavrans Bjørgulfsøn.”

  “Yes, and that was devilishly unwise of you, my foster father,” said Erlend loudly and fervently. “I can’t understand that you could be so foolish. For you know me well.”

  But Munan was completely intractable.

  “Now I’m going to tell you why I think this is so funny. Do you remember what you said to me, Baard, when I came to you and said that we had to help Erlend to achieve this marriage? No, I am going to talk about it; Erlend should know what you thought about me. This is the way it stands between them, I said, and if he doesn’t win Kristin Lavransdatter, only God and the Virgin Mary know what madness will result. Then you asked me if that was the real reason I wanted him to marry the maiden he had seduced, because I thought perhaps she was barren since she had managed to escape for so long. But I think you know me, all of you; you know that I’m a faithful kinsman to my kin. . . .” And he broke into tears of emotion.

  “As God is my witness along with all holy men: never have I coveted your property, kinsman—because otherwise there is only Gunnulf between me and Husaby. But I said to you, Baard, as you know—to Kristin’s firstborn son I would give my gold-encrusted dagger with its walrus-tusk sheath. Here, take it,” he shouted, sobbing, and he tossed the magnificent weapon across the table to her. “If it’s not a son this time, then it’ll be one next year.”

  Tears of shame and anger were pouring down Kristin’s hot cheeks. She struggled fiercely not to break down. But the two women guests sat and ate as calmly as if they were used to such commotion. And Erlend whispered that she should take the dagger “or Munan will just keep on all night.”

  “Yes, and I’m not going to hide the fact,” Munan went on, “that I wish your father could see, Kristin, that he was too quick to defend your soul. So arrogant Lavrans was—we weren’t good enough for him, Baard and I, and you were much too delicate and pure to tolerate a man like Erlend in your bed. He talked as if he didn’t believe that you could stand to do anything in the nighttime hours except sing in the nuns’ choir. I said to him, ‘Dear Lavrans,’ I said, ‘your daughter is a beautiful and healthy and lively young maiden, and the winter nights are long and cold here in this country. . . .’ ”

  Kristin pulled her wimple over her face. She was sobbing loudly and tried to get up, but Erlend pulled her back down in her seat.

  “Try to get hold of yourself,” he said vehemently. “Don’t pay any attention to Munan—you can see for yourself that he’s dead drunk.”

  She sensed that Fru Katrin and Fru Vilborg thought it pitiable that she didn’t have better command of herself. But she couldn’t stop her tears.

  Baard Petersøn said furiously to Munan, “Shut your rotten trap. You’ve been a swine all your days—but even so, you can spare an ill woman from that filthy talk of yours.”

  “Did you say swine? Yes, I do have more bastard children than you do, be that as it may. But one thing I’ve never done—and Erlend hasn’t either—we’ve never paid another man to be the child’s father for us.”

  “Munan!” shouted Erlend, springing to his feet. “Now I demand peace here in my hall!”

  “Oh, demand peace in your backside! My children call the man ‘father’ who sired them—in my swinish life, as you call it!” Munan pounded the table so the cups and small plates danced. “Our sons don’t go around as servants in the house of our kinsmen. But here sits your son across the table from you, and he’s sitting on the servants’ bench. That seems to me the worst of all shame.”

  Baard leaped up and threw his goblet into the other man’s face. The two fell upon each other so the table plank tipped onto its side, and food and vessels slid into the laps of those sitting on the outer bench.

  Kristin sat there white-faced, with her mouth agape. Once she stole a glance at Ulf—the man was laughing openly, crudely and maliciously. Then he tipped the table plank back into place and shoved it against the two combatants.

  Erlend leaped up onto the table. Kneeling in the middle of the mess, he seized hold of Munan’s arms, then grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him up next to him; he turned bright red in the face from the effort. Munan managed to give Baard a kick so that the old man began to bleed from the mouth—then Erlend flung Munan over the table and out onto the floor. He jumped down after him, and stood there huffing like a bellows.

  The other man got to his feet and rushed at Erlend, who slipped under his arms a couple of times. Then he fell on Munan and held him entangled in the grip of his long, supple limbs. Erlend was as agile as a cat, but Munan held his ground; strong and bulky, he refused to be forced to the floor. They whirled around and around the room while the serving women shrieked and screamed, and none of the men made a move to separate them.

  Then Fru Katrin stood up, heavy and fat and slow; she stepped onto the table as calmly as if she were walking up the storehouse stairs.

  “Stop that now,” she said in her husky, sated voice. “Let go of him, Erlend! It was wrong, husband—to speak that way to an old man and close kinsman.”

  The men obeyed her. Munan stood meekly and let his wife wipe his bloody nose with her wimple. She told him to go to bed, and he followed docilely when she led him away to the bed on the south wall. His wife and one of his servants pulled the clothes off him, toppled him into the bed, and closed the door.

  Erlend had walked over
to the table. He leaned past Ulf, who was still sitting as he had before.

  “Foster father,” said Erlend unhappily. He seemed to have completely forgotten his wife. Sir Baard sat and rocked his head back and forth, and the tears were dripping down his cheeks.

  “He didn’t have to become a servant, Ulf didn’t,” were the words that came out, but his sobs lodged, gasping, in his chest. “You could have taken the farm after Haldor, you know that’s what I intended. . . .”

  “It wasn’t a very good farm that you gave Haldor; you bought a cheap husband for your wife’s serving maid,” said Ulf. “He fixed it up and managed it well, and it seemed to me reasonable that my brothers should take it over after their father. That’s one thing. But I had no desire to end up as a farmer, either—and least of all up on the slope, staring down at the Hestnes courtyard. It seemed to me that I heard every day that Paal and Vilborg were going around saying vicious things about how you gave much too grand a gift to your bastard son.”

  “I offered to help you, Ulf,” said Baard, weeping. “When you wanted to go out traveling with Erlend. I told you everything as soon as you were old enough to understand. I begged you to return to your father.”

  “I call the man my father who looked after me when I was small. That man was Haldor. He was good to Mother and to me. He taught me to ride a horse and to fight with a sword—the way a farmer wields his club, I remember Paal once said.”

  Ulf flung the knife he was holding so that it clattered across the table. Then he got to his feet, picked up the knife, wiped it on the back of his thigh, and stuck it in its sheath. He turned to Erlend. “Put an end to this feast now and send the servants to bed! Can’t you see that your wife is still not used to the banquet customs we have in our family?”

  And with that he left the hall.

  Sir Baard stared after him. He seemed so pitifully old and frail as he sat slumped among the velvet cushions. His daughter, Vilborg, and one of his servants helped Baard to his feet and escorted him out.