Bildungsromans; Norway -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
and I received the gift."--"No, how splendid! Tell more, more!" broke
in Petra, for her imagination already pictured the Spanish feast, with
the Spanish colours and songs, and the dusky Spaniards, standing under
the vines in the evening sunlight, sending their thoughts to the most
beautiful woman in the land of snow. He did as she requested; he
increased her longing with new recitals, and, as if transported to that
wonderful land, she began humming the Spanish song she had just heard,
and, little by little, to move her feet to its time. "What! You can
dance the Spanish dance?" he cried.--"Yes, yes--yes!" she sang in
dancing time, snapping her fingers to imitate the castanets, and making
some rapid steps upon the spot where she stood, for she had seen the
Spanish sailors dance!--"You shall have the gift of the Spanish
Cavaliers," cried he, in ecstacy, "you are the most beautiful woman I
have met." He had taken the gold chain from his own neck, and had
lightly thrown it once or twice round hers before she came to
understand it. But, when she understood it, she was suffused with the
deep scarlet, peculiarly her own, and the tears were about to burst
forth, so that he, falling from one surprise into another, did not know
what more to do, but felt that he ought to go, and went.
At twelve o'clock with the chain in her hand, she still stood at the
open window of her little room. The summer night lay gently over town
and fiord and distant mountains; from the street the Spanish song
sounded again, for the club had gone home with young Yngve Vold. Word
for word it could be heard, about a beautiful wreath. Two voices only
sang the words, the rest hummed the guitar accompaniment.
Take up the wreath, dearest, it is for thee,
Take up the wreath, dearest, thinking of me;
Here is the rarest
Of grass for the fairest,
Here is the whitest
Of flowers for the brightest.
Here is a swelling
Bud for the lovely one,
Here is a telling
Leaf for the faithful one.
Take up the wreath, dearest, it is for thee,
Take up the wreath, dearest, thinking of me!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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