Peter Nansen

“ I can no longer bear to look over that wonderful spring landscape, which I am going to leave behind.
When again I gaze over the country it is wrapped in a grey mist. The shivering fruit-trees bend their flower arches to the ground and a black shadow steals the brightness from the meadow.
My eyes wander to the young girl in the flowered blouse. She stands with drooping arms; she does not feel the rain which is falling, nor the wind which sweeps through her thin dress. She looks at me with big eyes. She is crying.
Yet my heart was hardened. Marie's tears did not stop me. ”

“ It never dawns on you that in lonely hours your lover knows too well that vague terror which makes the heart tremble.
You dearest of all dear ones, I am a vain and obstinate fool, that I don't draw you close into my arms, lay your hand on my heart and say, 'Do you feel how restless it is here? Yes, your lover, who pretends to be so sure of you, is in fact so little sure after all, that he is ill of anxiety every time he expects you and every time you leave him.' Marie, my blessed one, in a few moments you will enter my door, and my foolish heart will hide all its trouble. ”

“ At first her tears fell sparingly, they forced their way in heavy drops, for Marie—with an effort which shook her whole body—fought to keep them back. But when at last she had to give up the struggle, they came rich and powerful as from a newly-opened spring.
From Marie I learned to understand that in tears there may be blissful healing for all wounds. Like a soft rain Marie's tears flowed soothingly over her burning despair and turned it into a gentle sorrow.
A sorrow so gentle that it even forgave the sinner whose hard heart was its cruel cause. ”

“ For the moment came, when Marie—blushing deeply, but like a true daughter of Eve, with mocking in her eyes—pulled my sleeve and said, 'Are you stupid?'
Some women imagine that men like them to put on pretty, terrified airs of being betrayed, to play the prude and pretend hysterical fears and tears. Such affectations may impress boys, or those green young men who think themselves criminals when a woman is lying in their arms. Men of the world, however, find no attraction in these airs and graces, which are seldom sincere, and are never original. ”

“ Your wicked confession would be for ever laughing at him from some corner of his heart, freezing his happiness with its icy mockery. "She has had a lover before, has she forgotten him." Is she still longing for him? Or if she has given him up, is she longing for another?" No, Marie, you are talking nonsense, and I warn you to beware of the false prophets who are crying "Truth" in the market-places. Truth is a two-edged sword which it is wisest to keep in its scabbard, and which, left in careless hands, causes more mischief than all the thundering lies ever told. ”

“ Surely Marie could not stoop so low as that. Marie, gracious one, step forth and teach these poor ignoramuses the gospel of love. Teach them that true love is set high above pride and honour, and that it cannot stoop at all. Love makes no question of thine and mine, it knows no difference between good and evil, between worthiness and unworthiness.
When Marie lay crying in my arms she knew only that she loved me, that she saw me perhaps for the last time and that not a moment was to be lost. Marie has never given me more passionate kisses than those which burned through her tears. ”

“ We lay hand in hand, each filled with our own thoughts, and staring open-eyed into the darkness. Your little warm hand, Marie, rested so cautiously in mine, it did not move at all, as if it feared to break the silence. It seemed to me as though we flew on great silent wings through space, far away from sorrow and pain, to a sphere where time is not, where reign the dreamless sleep and the darkness that knows no fears. ”

“ There was only one I always wished to enter my door, for she alone seemed ever fresh and new. There is only one with whom I would wish to live, for with her life takes on a golden meaning, a sunbright reality; there is only one I would wish to die with, for with her I know no fear. The name of my beloved is Marie. She is fairer than all other women. ”

“ A concertina never sounds so well as on the water in the open air, with the skies above and the deep stillness of nature around. Then no other instrument can so faithfully express the sigh of the lonely heart for the home that is far away, for the father, the mother, and the sweetheart. The concertina should be played by strong, tanned hands. It holds no more subtle poetry than that of a seafarer's heart, throbbing with the simplest joys and sorrows. ”

“ With Marie I am safe. She is like a quiet summer evening, soothing and exciting at the same time. Sweet harmonies of peace fill one's soul, everything seems bright and lightsome, worries vanish from the brains like clearing mists, courage and hope expand the heart. When Marie laid her hand on my brow she swept away all my troubles, and life lay before me as on some quiet summer evening, rich in beauty and peace. Never has she set a nerve shrieking with pain or anger or disgust. ”

“ When one evening Marie undressed in front of the mirror there was the loathsome beast on her white neck.
XIMarie is as white and pure as any girl in the whole world. She has a fragrance sweeter than any flower. Her breath is pure, her whole body is without a fault. From head to foot she is sheer delight. She is one of those women who without shame can step before Nature's tribunal. She dare even show her feet. ”

“ The poets have many lies on their consciences. But on no subject do they romance so shamelessly as on the feet of their beloved. A traditional gallantry constrains the poets to praise the feet of women. Yet a well-formed foot in our high- heeled Chinese days is as seldom seen as the blue flower of poetry itself.
The first time I saw Marie undress, I watched her with fear and misgiving. I know some of the loveliest women, who never, except perhaps when they are alone, take off their stockings. Like the peacocks and the mermaids, they are shy of revealing their lower parts. ”

“ A flower is beautiful, it cannot help being beautiful, but it does not know its own charm. Joyfully it unfolds its petals when the sun smiles upon it, but at any touch of the cold wind it shrinks up frightened and makes itself as tiny as it can. Marie was a girl who loved without knowing the art of love. ”

“ I know some dear comrades who in a like case have not hesitated to pretend that their infidelities were but desperate attempts at finding forgetfulness in dissipation.
I did not wish to forget—I had forgotten.
Where was Marie? How should I know? Weeks had gone and I had neither seen nor heard of her. I confess I had expected a letter. Experience has taught me that one's lost loves, even when they have said the last definite good-bye, always discover that there is still one thing or another on their minds, which they must let out in letters. But round Marie there was the silence of the tomb. ”

“ She is an innocent young girl, to whom love seems as natural as fragrance to the rose, as song to the nightingale. But though so deeply in love, she is none the less a very wise and clever little girl. She can sew and knit and embroider. She knows several languages and is rich in knowledge. She is even a good cook.
Therefore, you see, dear proper men and matrons, to call Marie a pattern of a well-bred young lady is but to do her justice. Neither must you believe that when we were together we had nothing to think of but kisses and caresses. ”

“ Nearly all of them have an inherited instinct which makes them feel that they are born to be the weak and the yielding. They like to feel themselves under a man's strong and masterful will. Quite involuntarily they despise the men who meekly sue for their favours. How often in their hearts must they have cried 'Fool,' after the man who has been frightened away by those barricades of virtue, behind which they entrench themselves, only because they love to be taken by force of arms.
But with Marie there was no need for extreme measures. ”

“ I have seen women cry before. As a rule their tears leave me cold and indifferent, sometimes they make me hard. They flow too easily and their source is seldom deep and pure. There are women who weep only with their eyes, weep only because their lachrymal glands have become inflamed. And there are other women whose tears mean only obstinacy and vanity, bad temper and bad manners.
But Marie's tears came from her heart, and never have I seen a woman cry so beautifully. ”

“ Marie's suitor knew that Marie did not love him as surely as he knew that he loved her. Yet he did not release her. He was content with the crumbs that fell from her lover's table.
But the man who is 'content' is not a man.
Marie is the most fascinating woman in the world, and I love her, but were I to suspect that she dreamed of any greater happiness than to be mine, then I would leave her on the instant. ”

“ In my silent lonely rooms, where the memory of Marie is everywhere, I have spent the time in telling the story of Marie as it is written in this book. It is not a novel artistically composed. It is only a bundle of loose leaves from a love-story for which only one art is necessary, that of being in love. It is a book about the way in which I learned that simple and yet so difficult art.
LVIIIMarie, my holy one! See! a sinner is kneeling at your feet and he asks nothing. He who could never ask enough wants nothing now but only to lie at your feet and look up into your lovely face. ”

“ There are women who believe they can best win men by a coquettish game of hide-and-seek, now approaching, now fleeing, meanwhile dispersing smiles to right and left, and pretending that there are arms stretched out ready to catch them on every hand, if only they could make up their mind whose arms to prefer. For such poor make-believe Marie thought herself too good, and she was wise. Only weak men care to tread that foolish dance. Marie loved me — nothing more. ”

“ What is the wonderful magic wand which changes the wild rose into a gorgeous La France? Marie, found again, had developed into a clever woman, who fully understood her own beauty, who knew how to express her personality in many a subtle variation. ”

“ But the old houses with the white pointed gables are lit up. In some of the windows the lights are softened by crimson curtains, while through others I can see straight into the rooms. There, a family is gathered for supper; here, a young girl is seated at the piano.
I am resting my head on my hand, and my thoughts are wandering hither and thither. I know not what I am thinking, but my heart is hammering away in uneven measure, hammering so loud that I can hear the throb of its beating right up in my head.
Then some one starts playing on a concertina. The music comes from one of the ships. ”

“ My white hind is free to play in the woods and over strange meadows, but should it ever happen that a huntsman would try to catch you, should it happen that a huntsman would tempt you from my meadow and set you in his own, and teach you to eat out of his hand—then, my white hind, would I prove that you are mine, I would tear you from his grasp at the very moment he made sure of his prey. ”

“ When a little girl has stolen her hand round a man's heart, then let him have a care. The hand is so soft and warm, it feels as though a tiny child were nestling there.
How easily it all happens! Bless my soul, had not my weakness grown out of nothing more important than the trifling accident of Marie wearing a simple flowered blouse at our first meeting, a blouse on which she had spilt some drops of wine. ”

“ To begin our old relationship all over again was impossible—on that we were agreed. Those days when Marie was in very truth my little girl had passed for ever, and of course Marie was perfectly right when she said that, quite apart from all common sense had to say, it would be silly to expose herself over again to the chance of misery, now that she had gone through all the wretchedness of parting, and after an heroic struggle, had conquered her own heart. ”

“ But I know that every true lover can distinguish between false and true love-words as easily as the diamond-merchant can distinguish real stones from imitation. Love weighs everything on the most delicate scales, never a letter, never a stroke too much. ”

“ Every true woman dreams of a brigand who would wildly desire her and carry her away by force in his strong arms. Don't tell me those cloister legends about young virgins who preferred prison and torture, yea, even death by their own hand, rather than endure a brigand's passionate embrace. These are tales for the nursery, not for my lady's bower, where the birds are impatient for flight. The more rudely I carried off Marie, the more intense grew her love. ”

“ No doubt it is stupid and unjust, but it cannot be helped; it has been so through all the ages and will go on being so as long as marriage exists, and perhaps it is not so stupid after all, for the wife's infidelity bears fruit within the home, the husband's outside.
'Shame on the women who thus make their husbands the laughing-stock of the town!
'But not a whit better, Marie, are those, who, without being actually faithless, show themselves in society, at theatres, in public thoroughfares, surrounded by a troupe of admirers, while the husband walks behind like a molly-coddle. ”

“ On this my wise Marie said:—
'In my opinion it is because women, as a rule, think too much of themselves, just because they are women. Thanks to you silly men, with your servile adoration of women, merely because they are female, they have really come to think that they are the special favourites of nature, miraculously endowed with beauty, wit, and charm. ”

“ These young poets have made the remarkable discovery that they are moulded of too fine a clay for love. Passion is degrading for them, it distracts their minds from their high calling, and soils the virgin soul of which they seem to think heaven has such desperate need. ”

“ Of course, Marie, if you marry a man who is hard and who treats you badly, then—as a revenge—tell him that you have had a real lover, a lover who spoiled you in every possible way, and who taught you the joy of love. ”

“ As the gardener loves to watch a rare flower grow and develop, and, without touching the bud, will carefully remove a sprig or softly uncover a leaf, taking care that it has enough light and warmth and water, so did I love to see Marie develop into full-grown womanhood, into full-grown love. ”