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Updated: June 8, 2025
Does in them lie the same strange air The same wonderful elfin air, As in mine own? Are they filled with whispers and sobbing and sighing Amid radiance slumbering and fragrances dying, Amid trembling ringing, amid rising singing: In longing, In longing, I live." Then silence fell again. Mogens drew a long breath and listened intently: no more singing; up in the house a door was heard.
She looked up at him with radiant, moist eyes, smiled and whispered: "Heaven be praised!" Mogens stayed another week. The arrangement was that the wedding was to take place in midsummer. Then he left, and winter came with dark days, long nights, and a snowstorm of letters.
It had been seen.... She stopped suddenly, surprised that Mogens who had at first been somewhat taken aback at all this information, now looked quite pleased. He wasn't to sit there, and laugh at her! She turned quite red. "Are you very much interested in politics?" she asked timidly. "Not in the least." "But why do you let me sit here talking politics eternally?"
There was a swishing of wind in the gable-windows, in the poplars of the manor-house; the wind whistled through tattered bushes on the green hill of Bredbjerg. Mogens lay up there, and gazed out over the dark earth. The moon was beginning to acquire radiance, and mists were drifting down on the meadow. Everything was very sad, all of life, all of life, empty behind him, dark before him.
Thora stood there and happily looked upward; Mogens was restless and stared now and then unhappily at her, and then up into the foliage. "Listen," Thora said gayly, "I think, I am now beginning to understand what you said the other day on the hill about form and color." "And you understood nothing besides?" Mogens asked softly and seriously.
Very, very slowly the upper part of her body fell forward, her long, beautiful hair swept the floor; a short violent flash of flame, and it was gone, the next moment she plunged down into the flames. Mogens uttered a moaning sound, short, deep and powerful, like the roar of a wild beast, and at the same time made a violent movement, as if to get away from the abyss.
At last the peasant stopped near a small path leading down to the country-house, and Mogens slid down from the cart and began to brush away the bits of straw while the cart slowly creaked away over the gravel on the road.
Camilla sat at the window and sewed, and she and the Graces on the mantle were quite enveloped in a reddish light from the red curtains Mogens walked slowly up and down the room, and passed every moment in and out of slanting beams of light of pale rainbow-colored dust. He was in talkative mood. "Yes," he said, "they are a curious kind of people, these with whom you associate.
All the windows of the manor-house were lighted, leaves and flowers were above every door, friends and acquaintances in a dense crowd stood on the large stone stairway, all looking out into the dusk. Mogens had driven off with his bride. The carriage rumbled and rumbled. The closed windows rattled.
Mogens crept over the ruins and fragments of the fallen wall towards the edge of the abyss, from which cold and hot blasts of air alternately struck his face; on the other side so much of the wall had fallen, that he could look into Camilla's room, while the part that hid the councilor's office still stood.
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