by Herman Bang
“Yes, Mariane,” said Brandt, half asleep.
The carriages were already starting to drive in through the entrance, and Sofie ran back and forth to announce who they were. Mrs Brandt was in her underclothes, doing her hair, and the whole bedroom was awash with her white petticoats. She got her skirt on and her bodice buttoned while Brandt lay half asleep in bed, waking up and then dozing off again.
They could hear more and more carriages arriving and large numbers of footsteps on the gravel path.
“Here comes the band from Horsens,” shouted Sofie, running out to the fence in her stocking feet.
“And Brandt does nothing but lie there,” said Mrs Brandt as she put on her lace sleeves and best bonnet in the garden room.
The band sounded loud and high spirited, and there was the sound of many voices.
“Well, Brandt, here come the veterans,” said Mrs Brandt; she had his clothes over her arm and spoke all the time as though to shake him out of his lethargy.
“Where’s the child?” was all Brandt said.
Ida, who had been crying because her curlers were too tight, came in wearing a white dress.
“Now not too close to the bed,” said Mrs Brandt as she smoothed Ida’s skirt. But her father took hold of the tip of her belt and held it in his hands.
“Aye, I suppose I ought to get up,” he said, smiling at her all the time – but oh such a weak smile.
They continued to hear steps and instruments and a voice giving orders: that was Madsen. Then came the band again. It seemed to Brandt that they were so strangely far away.
“Here comes His Lordship,” shouted Sofie; she opened the door wide with her cotton apron in her hand, for it had come undone in her fright.
“Now we’ve got the County Council, Brandt,” said his wife, who had gone on walking to and fro more and more ponderously. She put the clothes down on a chair.
“Yes, Mariane,” said Brandt, sitting up in bed. But Mrs Brandt had run out to receive the guests: this was where they were to congregate.
“Ida, Ida,” she shouted.
Ida, who was still standing a little way from the bed, said as though to wake him up:
“Daddy, you must get up now.”
“Yes, dear. I’m coming.”
He heard His Lordship’s voice in the garden room, and he got up to sit on the edge of the bed. He had such a pain in his side.
Then the door opened. It was the forester in full dress.
“What the devil, Brandt,” he said; but he suddenly came to a halt. “What’s wrong? You look awful.”
“No,” said Brandt. ”I’m not well.”
“I can see that all right. And your wife said it was only the usual thing.”
Brandt sat there for a moment.
“No,” he said and his head sank on his chest. “I can’t go over there.”
The forester went out and fetched the doctor, who came in wearing tails and adorned with his decorations. “What’s wrong, old friend. Are you going to stay in bed on this happy day?” he said. But he suddenly became serious when he saw Brandt. “Lift him up,” he said to the forester and hurried to listen to Brandt’s chest and back.
The music had stopped outside, and Madsen’s voice could be heard through the noise.
“Now Madsen’s there with the flag,” said Brandt with a smile.
The doctor continued to listen to Brandt’s back while the forester stood at the foot of the bed, leaning forward as though he, too, wanted to listen. “I need someone to go to Brædstrup,” was all the doctor said, and he went out.
He sat down to write a prescription in the sitting room, surrounded by all the guests, while Mrs Brandt stood beside him and the members of the County Council were all talking in loud voices about the day and about the speakers and the festivities.
“If Brandt has anything wrong with him it is always bad,” said Mrs Brandt.
The doctor made no reply; from the bed, where he seemed to have settled down a little after seeing the doctor, Brandt said:
“And how are things going to be arranged this evening?” He was thinking about the fireworks.
They heard the members of the County Council go out through the garden. They had suddenly fallen quite silent.
“There’s no need for anyone to bother about me,” said Brandt. “I’m feeling better now.”
“All right,” said the forester.
He went into the sitting room, where his wife still sat on a chair.
“Let’s go then,” he said quietly. “We mustn’t frighten His Lordship.”
They went out together with the doctor, and their footsteps could be heard dying away in the corridor until all was quite quiet. Mrs Brandt went around tidying up in the sick man’s room, dressed in black, her full silk dress rustling.
“But one must never give up,” she said, tidying his pillows.
She stood by the bed for a moment and then in the same voice said:
“Now the pharmacist is going to present the candlesticks.”
The sick man only shook his head – perhaps it was a fly – and said:
“Aren’t you going to take the flowers over…?”
“We’ll have to, of course,” said his wife.
But out in the sitting room Ida started to cry because her father was not going to come.
“Come, come,” said Mrs Brandt, wiping her face; but the child continued to cry a little as they went through the garden.
Then it fell completely silent while Sofie sat knitting behind the door, and all that was to be heard was the buzzing of flies and the ticking of the grandfather clock, which suddenly sounded tough and hard.
The sick man lay there, moving about in the bed. Having a temperature made one so restless.
Now he could hear His Lordship’s voice – Sofie ran in stocking feet across to the fence – and he raised his head a little as though he was listening. Now he was welcoming His Excellency.
But Brandt could not hear anything, and there were so many images in his mind, coming and going, from all his days and from the time when he came here and Her Ladyship was still alive and from the time when Ida was a baby.
How fragile she was then and red and tiny…And she had known him before she knew her mother.
Brandt suddenly took hold of the rope hanging there for the purpose and pulled himself up; now they were shouting three cheers for His Lordship.
Then he fell back and dozed a little.
When he opened his eyes, Miss Rosenfeld was sitting by his bed with Ida on her lap. Ida was scared and held her tight.
“We just wanted to come across and see how you are, Mr Brandt,” said Miss Rosenfeld.
“Aye, Miss Rosenfeld,” he said, not taking his eyes off Ida, “this is where I am.”
“Yes.”
The sick man continued to smile and moved his burning hands over to where Ida sat.
“But won’t she be creasing her dress?” he said, shutting his eyes.
They heard the clock strike, slowly, as though not in a hurry, and Miss Rosenfeld gently took Ida’s hand out of that of the sick man. They tiptoed out, Ida holding on to Miss Rosenfeld’s dress, and they sat down on the sofa. There was nothing to be heard. Only the solid ticking of the clock.
“Miss Rosenfeld,” whispered Ida, “Is father going to die?”
“Oh dear, child, my dear child,” said Miss Rosenfeld. She stroked Ida’s hair; the child had started to weep, without a sound.
They heard footsteps on the garden path. It was Mrs Brandt, who entered in front of His Lordship. He was wearing the decorations betokening his knighthood and his cheeks were flushed.
“What’s this I hear?” he said in a rather loud voice. “Have we someone ill here?” And Mrs Brandt, who preceded him to the sickbed, said as though to wake her husband (there seemed to be a trace of anger in her voice throughout that day):
“Brandt, it’s His Lordship.”
Miss Rosenfeld heard His Lordship say, in a festive tone:
&n
bsp; “My dear Brandt…” But then he suddenly lowered his voice; he sat down on a chair, moved a little way away from the bed, vaguely troubled as all old people are when confronted with illness:
“But what on earth is wrong? What on earth is wrong?”
“Well…I suppose the pharmacist has presented the candlesticks,” said Brandt, attempting to take hold of his hand.
Ida had tiptoed gently out. Miss Rosenfeld was out among the redcurrant bushes and called softly to her, but there was no reply. Then she found her sitting on a wooden bench just outside the window, huddled up and quiet like a little dog. And Miss Rosenfeld sat down beside her, crouching in almost the same way.
They heard His Lordship return through the garden and Mrs Brandt go into the sickroom. Now she sat down at the foot of the bed, holding her broad cloak out in front of her as though in an attempt to block the way.
There came the sound of gentle footsteps in the living room, and Mrs Brandt rose. It was Mrs Lund, who came on tiptoe, hesitating at every step.
She stopped again and put her hands on Mrs Brandt’s hips.
“Lund and I think it’s so dreadful,” she said.
And when Mrs Brandt said nothing, she went on: “Couldn’t we help with something?”
“No, thank you,” said Mrs Brandt, who was still thinking of Miss Rosenfeld as she had sat over in the sofa before. “I think we can manage it ourselves.”
Mrs Lund left in a curiously hasty manner and went along the garden path to find her husband the forester waiting for her.
“Did you see him?” he asked.
“No,” was all she said; it was as though she was shedding silent tears. And (the two of them always understanding each other without uttering a word), Lund said:
“Yes, she’s as stiff-necked as they come.” He felt something like a desire to hit something with his clenched fists.
Mrs Lund had her handkerchief out.
“Oh, Lund,” she said. “I suppose that’s just the way she is.”
Mrs Brandt remained in the sitting room. She then closed all the windows firmly and went inside again – on guard.
Evening had fallen and it was dark in the sickroom, where a small lamp burned and the doctor came and went; there was a striking red glow on the curtains.
“It’s so bright,” said the sick man as he turned his head.
“It’s the torches,” said the doctor.
“Aye, it’s lovely,” said Brandt.
The forester was sitting outside on a bench. He had got himself drunk on the twentieth of August.
“How’s it going?” he said.
“Not very well,” said the doctor.
When they reached the avenue, they met Miss Adlerberg with Mr Feddersen from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
“We are taking a walk,” said Miss Adlerberg – it was rather dark in this avenue – “How is he?”
The doctor shrugged his shoulders.
“But it’s very unfortunate,” said Feddersen, “for His Excellency. In some way or other you can sense it everywhere in the house.”
It was quiet in the sickroom, and the only sound to be heard was that of Mrs Brandt’s knitting needles, as regular as the ticking of the clock, and occasionally the music from over where they were dancing.
Then Brandt called out.
“Mariane,” he said, taking her hand:
“It’s a pity for you…”
But it was as though his wife’s hand with her countless rings had weighed his down, and he let go of it as he closed his eyes.
“Sickness will take its course,” said Mrs Brandt as she tidied the sheet; Brandt still lay there clutching it with his thin fingers.
“I’ d like to speak to the lieutenant,” he said.
“Yes, all right,” said his wife, feeling down his legs, which were cold up above the knees. She stood there for a long time, motionlessly looking at the old man whose body was seen to be so thin beneath the blankets, and then she sat down again.
So now she was going to be left on her own.
…The lieutenant was running around down on the lawn; he was busy with the rockets. They were to be set off now after they had finished dancing. The music came to an end and Falkenstjerne shouted up to the bailiff, who was standing at a window: the first rocket went off like a thin red line that divided into two…
The guests stood at the open windows as the rockets whistled and made slender tracks up in the air, and the gentlemen from Horsens, standing with their hands in their trouser pockets and smoking big cigars, exclaimed in admiration and a dumpy little lady who had tied a handkerchief around her bare neck to protect her from draught, said:
“Good heavens, fancy stopping dancing just for that!”
At the upstairs window, Miss Rosenfeld had lifted Ida up in her arms. Ida stayed with her throughout the day, saying nothing, just following her, with cold hands, like a weak little shadow:
“Ooh, just look,” she said.
Another rocket went up as Feddersen came past with Miss Adlerberg.
“They are not going very high,” he said.
And Miss Adlerberg, laughing as she walked, with her train over her arms, said:
“They are a country product.”
Miss Rosenfeld turned round quickly with Ida, and she heard His Lordship say from over by the window:
“It is delightful, really delightful…” and, looking up in the air, he added:
“And he was such an excellent man.”
Miss Rosenfeld was walking with Ida across the open space when she suddenly felt tears on her hand.
“Why are you crying?” she asked.
The child made no reply.
The forester was up in the ballroom, standing in the corner by the bottom window: the rockets were still being let off in the night, for there were many of them, though they were only small.
“Oh dear, love,” he said. “How sad it all is.”
Quite quietly, Miss Rosenfeld took Ida into the sick man’s room, where Mrs Brandt sat enthroned in the same place.
“We just wanted to say good night,” she whispered.
And while Mrs Brandt got up, Ida bent down over her father (her eyes had the same expression as those of a sick child). Brandt opened his eyes.
“Is it Ida?” he said.
“Did she see the fireworks?”
∞∞∞
Ida slept in Miss Rosenfeld’s bed that night.
Miss Rosenfeld sat at her window. The guests had gone, and the night was dark. Then a carriage drove rapidly out of the bailiff’s gateway down over the road, through the darkness, like a shadow…
All the dogs barked furiously.
When they came down in the morning, His Lordship went across to the piano and quietly closed it and took away the key.
Old Brandt was dead.
All the guests dispersed, far into the woods and the garden. Miss Rosenfeld sat alone with Ida on her lap.
Over in the bailiff’s house, Mrs Brandt went around and took a large number of sheets out of her deep cupboards.
∞∞∞
Mrs Brandt was in her sitting room, pitch black and mighty, waiting for the carriage that was to bring Mrs Reck, the wife of the newly appointed bailiff, who was to inspect her house. The embroidered rugs were out on all the floors, and there was a garland of dried flowers around Brandt’s portrait. Ida was over at Schrøders.
Then Sofie opened the door out to the corridor:
“There she is,” she said. It sounded like a command to stand to attention, and she remained standing, tall and in black, behind her mistress, who opened the outer door.
“Yes, I’m Mrs Reck,” said a confused lady, who was small and slender and held the train of her dress in her hand.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” replied Mrs Brandt, slowly holding out her hand. She had retained the handshake of a peasant girl, merely touching the other’s hand. And now her hand was icy cold.
“Help Mrs Reck,” she said to Sofie.
> And Sofie took Mrs Reck’s cape with her bony hands.
They went into the rooms.
“Oh, aren’t they big!” Mrs Reck burst out. She blushed immediately. She had stood still for a moment, quite frightened in face of the long floors of a rural residence.
“Yes, the house is quite roomy,” said Mrs Brandt, offering Mrs Reck a seat opposite her. Mrs Reck was not herself aware that she twice dabbed her forehead with her handkerchief, while Mrs Brandt said something about the cold weather and about the drive there.
“Yes,” said Mrs Reck, “it was rather cold.”
She thought she had said something about Mr Brandt and that it would certainly not be easy for Reck (she was quite flustered, and somewhere in her head she was thinking about the floors).
“No, it certainly won’t be easy,” she said once more and heard Mrs Brandt say:
“Of course, Brandt and I were both born and brought up near here.”
Mrs Reck hesitated a moment.
“Of course,” she said then. “Reck and I are both townsfolk.”
Mrs Brandt had undoubtedly seen that, but all she said as she got up was:
“Can I offer you some refreshment?”
And they went into the dining room.
Mrs Reck thought she had never seen so much food, and she ate and ate as though she dared not do otherwise, while Mrs Brandt offered her more and more without taking anything herself, like someone barricaded behind her own food.
She spoke of the big debt they had incurred on alterations. “We have had to cope with it,” she said, continuing to offer refreshments in the same cold, dry voice and with her eyes never moving from Mrs Reck, as though she would have liked to choke her guest with the food.
“Yes,” said Mrs Reck, “we know a lot has been done here.”
Mrs Brandt replied:
“There were stone floors when we came.” Mrs Reck thought that there could well still be stone floors as far as she was concerned.
After the meal, they went around the house, Mrs Brandt leading, opening, closing, showing everything from downstairs room to downstairs room, bedroom to bedroom.
Mrs Reck, who was cold in her thin town dress, said:
“Thank you, I’ve seen it now…but thank you, I really have seen it now, Mrs Brandt.”