Kristin Lavransdatter

by Sigrid Undset

  Simon had accompanied the last of his guests up to the main road. The evening sun was shining so beautifully on his estate, spread out over the hillside. He was warm and in high spirits from the drinking and noise of the feast. He walked back between the fences, homeward to the calm and pleasant goodwill that prevails when a small circle of close kin remains after a great banquet. He felt so light of heart and happier than he had been for a long time.

  Down in the field near the smithy they had lit another bonfire: Erlend’s sons, Sigrid’s older children, Jon Daalk’s sons, and his own daughters. Simon leaned over the fence for a moment to watch. Ulvhild’s scarlet feast day gown gleamed and rippled in the sun. She ran back and forth, dragging branches over to the fire, and suddenly she was stretched out full length on the ground! Her father shouted merrily, but the children didn’t hear him.

  In the courtyard two serving maids were tending to the smallest of the children. They were sitting against the wall of the women’s house, basking in the sun. Above their heads the evening light gleamed like molten gold on the small glass windowpane. Simon picked up little Inga Geirmundsdatter, tossed her high in the air, and then held her in his arms. “Can you sing for your uncle today, pretty Inga?” Then her brother and Andres both fell upon Simon, wanting to be tossed up in the air too.

  Whistling, he climbed the stairs to the great hall in the loft. The sun was shining into the room so splendidly; they had let the door stand open. A wondrous calm reigned over everyone. At the end of the table Erlend and Geirmund were bent over the harp, on which they were putting new strings. They had the mead horn standing near them on the table. Sigrid was in bed, nursing her youngest son. Kristin and Ramborg were sitting with her, and a silver mug stood on a footstool between the sisters.

  Simon filled his own gilded goblet to the brim with wine, went over to the bed, and drank a toast to Sigrid. “I see that all have quenched their thirst, except you, my sister!”

  Laughing, she propped herself up on her elbow and accepted the goblet. The infant began howling crossly at being disturbed.

  Simon sat down on the bench, still whistling softly, and listened with half an ear to what the others were saying. Sigrid and Kristin were talking about their children; Ramborg was silent, fiddling with a windmill that belonged to Andres. The men at the table were strumming the harp, trying it out; Geirmund picked out a melody on the harp and sang along. They both had such charming voices.

  After a while Simon went out to the gallery, leaned against the carved post, and gazed out. From the cowshed came the eternally hungry lowing. If this weather held on for a time, perhaps the spring shortages wouldn’t last as long this year.

  Kristin was approaching. He didn’t have to turn around; he recognized her light step. She stepped forward and stood at his side in the evening sun.

  So fair and graceful, she had never seemed to him more beautiful. And all of a sudden he felt as if he had somehow been lifted up and were swimming in the light. He let out a long breath. Suddenly he thought: It was simply good to be alive. A rich and golden bliss washed over him.

  She was his own sweet love. All the troubled and bitter thoughts he had had seemed nothing more than half-forgotten foolishness. My poor love. If only I could comfort you. If only you could be happy again. I would gladly give up my life if it would help you.

  Oh yes, he could see that her lovely face looked older and more careworn. She had an abundance of fine, little wrinkles under her eyes, and her skin had lost its delicate hue. It had become coarser and tan from the sun, but she was pale under the tan. And yet to him she would surely always be just as beautiful. Her big gray eyes, her fine, calm mouth, her round little chin, and her steady, subdued demeanor were the fairest he knew on earth.

  It was a pleasure to see her once again dressed in a manner befitting a highborn woman. The thin little silk wimple covered only half of her golden brown tresses; her braids had been pinned up so they peeked out in front of her ears. There were streaks of gray in her hair now, but that didn’t matter. And she was wearing a magnificent blue surcoat made of velvet and trimmed with marten fur. The bodice was cut so low and the sleeve holes so deep that the garment clung to her breast and shoulders like the narrow straps of a bridle. It looked so lovely. Underneath there was a glimpse of something sand yellow, a gown that fit snugly to her body, all the way up to her throat and down to her wrists. It was held closed with dozens of tiny gilded buttons, which touched him so deeply. God forgive him—all those little golden buttons gave him as much joy as the sight of a flock of angels.

  He stood there and felt the strong, steady beat of his own heart. Something had fallen away from him—yes, like chains. Vile, hateful dreams—they were just phantoms of the night. Now he could see the love he felt for her in the light of day, in full sunlight.

  “You’re looking at me so strangely, Simon. Why are you smiling like that?”

  The man gave a quiet, merry laugh but did not reply. Before them stretched the valley, filled with the golden warmth of the evening sun. Flocks of birds warbled and chirped metallically from the edge of the woods. Then the full, clear voice of the song thrush rang out from somewhere inside the forest. And here she stood, warmed by the sun, radiant in her brilliant finery, having emerged from the dark, cold house and the rough, heavy clothing that smelled of sweat and toil. My Kristin, it’s good to see you this way again.

  He took her hand, which lay before him on the railing of the gallery, and lifted it to his face. “The ring you’re wearing is so lovely.” He turned the gold ring on her finger and then put her hand back down. It was reddish and rough now, and he didn’t know how he could ever make amends to it—so fair it had once been, her big, slender hand.

  “There’s Arngjerd and Gaute,” said Kristin. “The two of them are quarreling again.”

  Their voices could be heard from underneath the loft gallery, shrill and angry. Now the maiden began shouting furiously, “Go ahead and remind me of that. It seems to me a greater honor to be called my father’s bastard daughter than to be the lawful son of yours!”

  Kristin spun on her heel and ran down the stairs. Simon followed and heard the sound of two or three slaps. She was standing under the gallery, clutching her son by the shoulder.

  The two children had their eyes downcast; they were red-faced, silent, and defiant.

  “I see you know how to behave as a guest. You do us such honor, your father and me.”

  Gaute stared at the ground. In a low, angry voice he said to his mother, “She said something . . . I don’t want to repeat it.”

  Simon put his hand under his daughter’s chin and tilted her face up. Arngjerd turned even brighter red, and her eyes blinked under her father’s gaze.

  “Yes,” she said, pulling away from him. “I reminded Gaute that his father was a condemned villain and traitor. But before that he called you . . . He said that you, Father, were the traitor, and that it was thanks to Erlend that you were now sitting here, safe and rich, on your own manor.”

  “I thought you were a grown-up maiden by now. Are you going to let childish chatter provoke you so that you forget both your manners and honor among kin?” Angrily he pushed the girl away, turned toward Gaute, and asked calmly, “What do you mean, Gaute, my friend, that I betrayed your father? I’ve noticed before that you’re cross with me. Now tell me: What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean!”

  Simon shook his head.

  Then the boy shouted, his eyes flashing with bitterness, “The letter they tortured my father on the rack for, trying to make him say who had put their seal on it—I saw that letter myself! I was the one who took it and burned it.”

  “Keep silent!” Erlend broke in among them. His face was deathly white, all the way to his lips; his eyes blazed.

  “No, Erlend. It’s better that we clear up this matter now. Was my name mentioned in that letter?”

  “Keep silent!” Furiously Erlend seized Gaute by the shoulder and chest. “I trusted you.
You, my son! It would serve you right if I killed you now.”

  Kristin sprang forward, as did Simon. The boy tore himself loose and took refuge with his mother. Beside himself with rage, he screamed furiously as he hid behind Kristin’s arm, “I picked it up and looked at the seals before I burned it, Father! I thought the day might come when I could serve you by doing so. . . .”

  “May God curse you!” A brief dry sob racked Erlend’s body.

  Simon too had turned pale and then dark red in the face, out of shame for his brother-in-law. He didn’t dare look in Erlend’s direction; he thought he would suffocate from the other’s humiliation.

  Kristin stood as if bewitched, still holding her arms protectively around her son. But one thought followed another, in rapid succession.

  Erlend had had Simon’s private seal in his possession for a short time during that spring. The brothers-in-law had jointly sold Lavrans’s dock warehouse at Veøy to the cloister on Holm. Erlend had mentioned that this was probably unlawful, but surely no one would question it. He had shown her the seal and said that Simon should have had a finer one carved. All three brothers had acquired a copy of their father’s seal; only the inscriptions were different. But Gyrd’s was much more finely etched, said Erlend.

  Gyrd Darre . . . Erlend had brought her greetings from him after both of his last journeys to the south. She remembered being surprised that Erlend had visited Gyrd at Dyfrin. They had met only once, at Ramborg’s wedding. Ulf Saksesøn was Gyrd Darre’s brother-in-law; Ulf had been part of the plot. . . .

  “You were mistaken, Gaute,” said Simon in a low, firm voice.

  “Simon!” Unawares, Kristin gripped her husband’s hand. “Keep in mind . . . there are other men than yourself who bear that emblem on their seal.”

  “Silence! Will you too—” Erlend tore himself away from his wife with a tormented wail and raced across the courtyard toward the stable. Simon set off after him.

  “Erlend . . . Was it my brother?”

  “Send for the boys. Follow me home,” Erlend shouted back to his wife.

  Simon caught up with him in the stable doorway and grabbed him by the arm. “Erlend, was it Gyrd?”

  Erlend didn’t reply; he tried to wrench his arm away. His face looked oddly stubborn and deathly pale.

  “Erlend, answer me. Did my brother join you in that plan?”

  “Perhaps you too would like to test your sword against mine?” Erlend snarled, and Simon could feel the other man’s body trembling as they struggled.

  “You know I wouldn’t.” Simon let go and sank back against the doorframe. “Erlend, in the name of Christ, who suffered death for our sakes: Tell me if it’s true!”

  Erlend led Soten out, and Simon had to step aside from the doorway. An attentive servant brought his saddle and bridle. Simon took them and sent the man away. Then Erlend took them from Simon.

  “Erlend, surely you can tell me now! You can tell me!” He didn’t know why he was begging as if for his very life. “Erlend, answer me. On the wounds of Christ, I beseech you. Tell me, man!”

  “You can keep on thinking what you thought before,” said Erlend in a low and cutting voice.

  “Erlend, I didn’t think . . . anything.”

  “I know what you thought.” Erlend swung himself into the saddle. Simon grabbed the harness; the horse shifted and pranced uneasily.

  “Let go, or I’ll run you down,” said Erlend.

  “Then I’ll ask Gyrd. I’ll ride south tomorrow. By God, Erlend, you have to tell me. . . .”

  “Yes, I’m sure he will give you an answer,” said Erlend scornfully, spurring the stallion so that Simon had to leap aside. Then Erlend galloped off from the estate.

  Halfway up the courtyard Simon met Kristin. She was wearing her cloak. Gaute walked at her side, carrying their clothing sack. Ramborg followed her sister.

  The boy glanced up for a moment, frightened and confused. Then he withdrew his gaze. But Kristin fixed her big eyes directly on Simon’s face. They were dark with sorrow and anger.

  “Could you truly believe that of Erlend? That he would betray you in such a manner?”

  “I didn’t believe anything,” said Simon vehemently. “I thought the boy was just babbling nonsense and foolishness.”

  “No, Simon, I don’t want you to come with me,” said Kristin quietly.

  He saw that she was unspeakably offended and grieved.

  That evening, when Simon was alone with his wife in the main house, as they undressed and their daughters were already asleep in the other bed, Ramborg suddenly asked, “Didn’t you know anything about this, Simon?”

  “No. Did you?” he asked tensely.

  Ramborg came over and stood in the glow of the candle standing on the table. She was half undressed, in her shift and laced bodice; her hair fell in loose curls around her face.

  “I didn’t know, but I had a feeling. . . . Helga was so strange . . .” Her features twisted into an odd sort of smile, and she looked as if she were freezing. “She talked about how new times would be coming to Norway. The great chieftains would acquire the same rights here as in other lands.” Ramborg gave a crooked, almost contorted smile. “They would be called knights and barons again.

  “Later, when I saw that you took up their affairs with such zeal, and you were away from home almost a whole year . . . and didn’t even feel that you could come north to be with me at Ringheim when I was staying on a stranger’s estate, about to give birth to your child . . . I thought perhaps you knew that it concerned others than Erlend.”

  “Ha! Knights and barons!” Simon gave an angry laugh.

  “Then was it merely for Kristin’s sake that you did it?”

  He saw that her face was pale, as if from frostbite; it was impossible to pretend that he didn’t understand what she meant. Out of spite and despair, he exclaimed, “Yes.”

  Then he thought that she must have gone mad, and he was mad too. Erlend was mad; they had all lost their wits that day. But now there had to be an end to it.

  “I did it for your sister’s sake, yes,” he said soberly. “And for the sake of the children who had no other man closer in family or kinship to protect them. And for Erlend’s sake, since we should be as loyal to each other as brothers. So don’t start behaving foolishly, for I’ve seen more than enough of that here on the estate to day,” he bellowed, and flung the shoe he had just taken off against the wall.

  Ramborg went over and picked it up; she looked at the timber it had struck.

  “It’s shameful that Torbjørg didn’t think of it herself, to wash off the soot in here before the feast. I forgot to mention it to her.” She wiped off the shoe. It was Simon’s best, with a long toe and red heel. She picked up its mate and put both of them into his clothes chest. But Simon noticed that her hands were shaking badly as she did so.

  Then he went over and took her in his arms. She twined her thin arms around her husband as she trembled with stifled sobs and whispered to him that she was so tired.

  Seven days later Simon and his servant rode through Kvam, heading north. They fought their way through a blizzard of great wet snowflakes. At midday they arrived at the small farm on the public road where there was an alehouse.

  The proprietress came out and invited Simon to come into their home; only commoners were shown into the tavern. She shook out his outer garment and hung it up to dry on the wall peg near the hearth as she talked. Such awful weather . . . hard on the horses . . . and he must have had to ride the whole way around . . . it wasn’t possible to go across Lake Mjøsa now, was it?

  “Oh yes, if a man was sick enough of his life . . .”

  The woman and her children standing nearby all laughed agreeably. The older ones went about their chores, bringing in wood and ale, while the younger ones huddled together near the door. They usually received a few penninger from Simon, the master of Formo, whenever he stayed there, and if he was bringing home treats for his own children from Hamar, he would often give them a t
idbit too. But today he didn’t seem to notice them.

  He sat on the bench, leaning forward, with his hands hanging over his knees, staring into the hearth fire, and replied with a word or two to the woman’s incessant chatter. Then she mentioned that Erlend Nikulaussøn happened to be at Granheim. It was the day on which the ancestral owners were to place the first payment in the hands of the former owners. Should she send one of the children over to his brother-in-law with a message so that they could ride home together?

  No, said Simon. She could give him a little food, and then he would lie down and sleep for a while.

  He would see Erlend in good time. What he had to say he wanted to say in front of Gaute. But he would prefer not to speak of the matter more than once.

  His servant, Sigurd, had sought refuge in the cookhouse while the woman prepared the food. Yes, it had been a wearisome journey, and his master had been like an angry bull almost the whole way. Normally Simon Andressøn liked to hear whatever news from his home district his servants could glean while they were at Dyfrin. He usually had one or more people from Raumerike in his service. Folks would come to him to ask for work whenever he was home, for he was known as a well-liked and generous man who was merry and not high-handed with his servants. But on this journey about the only answer that he, Sigurd, had received from his master was “Keep silent!”