# Mårbacka/Part 3, Chapter 6

Mamselle Lovisa Lagerlöf used to dress the brides. Not all the girls in the parish who married came to her to be decked, only the daughters of the best peasant families. Some years there were two or three brides, and some none at all.
Formerly, when Mårbacka was a parsonage, it had been the duty of the pastor's womenfolk to deck the brides, especially those who were to be married in the church.
Mamselle Lovisa's mother and maternal grandmother and great-grandmother before her had performed this same service. It was an old custom which had been handed down.
She had inherited all the old bridal trumpery which in the course of time had accumulated at Mårbacka. She had a large old cupboard, in a drawer of which were treasured long strings of glass, coral, and amber beads, a collection of tortoise-shell combs that stood up eight inches from the head, and half-round pasteboard forms, covered either with stiff white satin or hand-painted flowers, in use at the period when coifs were worn. ​She had also a high pasteboard bridal-crown, the points of which were covered partly with gilt paper and partly with pink-and-green taffeta. There were wreaths of artificial roses and yards on yards of green satin ribbon sewn with flowers of pink satin. In the same drawer there were Jenny-Lind-ringlets, to be fastened on so as to fall against the face, hair pins with dangle-buttons, long ear-pendants of imitation pearls, an assortment of brass brooches, bracelets, and shoe buckles set with glass rubies, amethysts, and sapphires.
In the days when these things were in vogue it was a responsible and laborious task to deck a bride. For days before the wedding the bride dresser had to sit sewing flowered satin bands round the skirt and sleeves of the wedding dress. Sometimes the crown had to have fresh gilt paper and there were paper flowers to be made, and all the brass things had to be polished till they shone like gold.
Though all the gewgaws were shoddy stuff, a peasant-bride with a high crown and a broad flower wreath on her head, with strand on strand of multi-colored beads hanging down from her neck, with flowered satin sash round her waist, with a band of gay ribbon bordering her skirt, with bangled wrists and buckled shoes, must have been the most dazzling sight one could behold.
And it was also the most becoming array for a tall, bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked peasant lass, whose figure had been developed by hard toil and whose skin was tanned by sun and wind. Thus arrayed, she carried ​herself with dignity and pride, as if for a space she were exalted above her kind. To the bridegroom on the wedding day she looked a queen, a veritable goddess of riches. She was the most gorgeous flower in all the meadow, and to his eyes she glittered like a jewelled casket.
When Mamselle Lovisa dressed brides the old frippery was no longer in use. Now it had to be a natty little crown of myrtle, a thin wreath, also of myrtle, and a long white veil. Sometimes she would put a band of red satin ribbon round the waist of a plain black dress, and lend her brides her own gold brooch, gold bracelets, and watch and chain, to relieve at least a little the severity of the attire.
She must indeed have sighed for the olden times, and felt that something was lost by being so sparing with colours and ornaments, by concealing the rugged, and sometimes rather coarse, features of the peasant brides behind a sheer, white veil. That mode suited better the pale delicate city maiden, who wished to appear before the bridegroom as something ethereal and dreamlike. She conceded that this, too, was a pretty fashion; but certainly the peasant brides would have looked much better in the old, characteristic array.
Besides, it was difficult to procure fresh myrtle for the wreath and crown. Mamselle Lovisa tried to raise a little myrtle herself, but somehow it never seemed to grow for her, and the brides rarely had any to help out with.
​Once Mamselle Lovisa got into trouble. A middle-aged woman, one Kaisa Nilsdotter, came and asked her if she would not dress her as bride. The woman was of the poorer peasant class, while the prospective husband was a schoolmaster. She felt that since she was making such an advantageous marriage no less a person than Mamselle Lagerlöf should deck her. And Mamselle Lovisa was quite willing. All she asked was that the bride should help her find the myrtle.
"I am nearly out of myrtle," she said, "and do not know where to procure any."
The woman agreed to furnish the myrtle for both crown and wreath. The day before the wedding she sent a few twigs with leaves so blackened and damaged they could hardly be used for a bridal crown.
Here was a dilemma! Mamselle Lovisa stripped her own myrtles of every bit of green; but this did not go very far. The maids ran over to see what they could find on the neighbouring farms, and came back with only a few poor sprigs. All the myrtle seemed to be sick that year; the leaves were black, and dropped off if one but touched them.
It would never do to bind any green but myrtle into a bridal-crown. Nice, fresh whortleberry is very like myrtle; but to wear a bridal-crown of whortleberry green would be a terrible disgrace. The bride might actually think she was not properly married.
Mamselle Lovisa laid the miserable little twigs in water to freshen them a bit, and worked far into the ​night on the wreath and crown. It looked a hopeless task, but she made the best of it. In the morning she quietly slipped out to the woods, but returned as she had gone—empty handed. Passing through the kitchen to her room she averred that never had she had such difficulty trying to bind a pretty bridal-crown. The maids felt sorry for her, and offered to run to still other cottages to beg myrtle.
"No, thank you," she said, "it's too late now. The bride and groom may be here at any moment."
She went into her room and stuck a few more leaves into the crown and wreath where they were the barest, then showed her work to the housekeeper and the maids.
"How in the world did you do it, Mamselle Lovisa!" one exclaimed. "Why, that wreath and crown are just as pretty as those you usually make, though 'twas mostly bare sprigs and black leaves you had."
Mamselle Lovisa then explained that she had freshened the leaves in water, it was only smoke and dust that had blackened them.
Shortly afterwards the bridal pair arrived. The bride was decked in Mamselle Lovisa's room. Though no longer young, the woman had a good and pleasing appearance. When she was all ready Mamselle Lovisa conducted her into the parlour, that she might view herself in the large mirror. And she was delighted.
"I never would have thought I could look that well!" she said. Then she took out a bottle of cologne and ​a pretty box—gifts from the groom. The box was filled with small candies, loaf-sugar, raisins, and lozenges. These she passed round—first to Mamselle Lovisa, then to the others. All had to dab themselves with a few drops of the cologne and take a piece of candy or a raisin from the box. She looked more pleased and happy than the young brides usually did, and every one complimented her on her appearance.
In a few moments she and the bridegroom drove off to the parsonage to be married, and from there to the bride's home, to celebrate.
For a time Kaisa Nilsdotter was very happy in her married life. Although her husband was much older than she, her respect for his learning was so great that she took special pride in ministering to his comfort and in making him a pleasant home. Then a rumour got afloat. It must have been started by some person at Mårbacka; but who the author was none could say. At all events, it travelled round the whole parish. At last some kind friend no doubt whispered it into the ear of Kaisa Nilsdotter.
"Mamselle Lovisa Lagerlöf bound your bridal-crown with whortleberry green."
At first she would not believe it. Such a thing was beyond credence. But after a while she began to think back. Her bridal-crown had been as pretty as anyone else's. It had looked so fresh and green on her head. She remembered how proud she had been because a fine Mamselle had put it on her. But was ​the crown not much too green? The spring she was married the myrtle had all been poor, she remembered, for she had tried in vain to find some green sprays. Maybe Mamselle Lovisa had thought it was not necessary to be so very particular with one who came of such humble folk? She would never have dared offer a crown of whortleberry to the daughter of a squire.
She brooded over this and talked with her husband about it. She wondered whether they were really married, in case it was true that her crown had been of whortleberry green.
The husband tried to reason with her, but she wept and was utterly wretched, thinking herself disgraced and humiliated. Mamselle Lovisa had thought she was not fine enough to be dressed by her, so she had made her a crown of whortleberry, and now she and all the parish were laughing at her. Her husband finally advised her to go to Mårbacka and ask Mamselle Lovisa herself about it.
She chanced to come at a most inopportune time. There was a grand party that day at Mårbacka, and when she stepped into the kitchen the maids were too busy to give her more than a short how-do-you-do. She asked for Mamselle Lovisa, who was inside with her guests, and they would not call her out. She would have to excuse them, too, for there was such a lot of company to serve. But, if she liked, she might step into Mamselle Lovisa's room, and wait there for her; which she did.
​It was here the crown had been placed on her head. She remembered how happy she was that day, and now it was hard to believe there had been any deception.
Presently two maids passed through the room, each carrying a tray of filled wine glasses. They left the door ajar so that she could see into the dining room and parlour, which were full of people. It was indeed a big party, she thought. In there were not only the gentry of Ämtervik, but the Dean's and the Doctor's folk from Sunne and Pastor Hammargren of Karlstad—the husband of Mamselle Lovisa's sister. Feeling rather embarrassed, she went to shut the door, when she caught a few words that made her stop and listen.
Lieutenant Lagerlöf, with wine glass in hand, stood in the middle of the floor announcing the betrothal of his sister Lovisa to Pastor Milén, the clergyman at Ämtervik.
Then there was much toasting and congratulating. Everyone looked happy and pleased, which was not surprising. Mamselle Lovisa was a woman of forty, and her relatives had hardly expected that she would marry. Pastor Milén was a widower with four small children who needed a mother's care. It was all so right and fitting.
Kaisa Nilsdotter had heard that when Mamselle Lovisa was young she would not marry because she had not the heart to leave her parents. But now that they were dead she wanted a home of her own. She had also heard that Mamselle Lovisa did not care to go far from ​Mårbacka, and, happily, the parsonage was but five minutes' walk from there.
It sort of cut into Kaisa Nilsdotter that everything should go so well for Mamselle Lovisa—she who had made a whortleberry crown for her. Stepping back from the doorway, she saw the old housekeeper, who had come in to hear the betrothal announcement, standing just behind her. Kaisa Nilsdotter laid a heavy hand on the housekeeper's shoulder.
"I came here to find out whether Mamselle Lovisa made my bridal-crown of whortleberry green," she said. "But maybe 'twouldn't do to ask her about it on a day like this?"
The housekeeper was rather startled, but she was not one to be easily thrown off her guard.
"How can you say anything so idiotic, Kaisa!" she flouted. "Everyone in the house knows what a lot of bother Mamselle Lovisa had with your bridal-crown. We all ran about to every cottage around here, and begged the myrtle."
Kaisa stared at her as if searching her very soul to get at the truth. "But the whole parish says so," she declared.
The old housekeeper, whose sole thought was to pacify the woman and get her out of the house, lest she disturb Mamselle Lovisa on this of all days, said:
"But I tell you, Kaisa, that as sure as Mamselle Lovisa's own bridal-crown will be of myrtle was yours of myrtle, and of nothing else."
​"I'll bear those words in mind," said Kaisa. "And when I see what Mamselle Lovisa's bridal-crown is bound with, then I'll know how it was with mine."
"You can rest easy as to that," the housekeeper assured her.
The two then went into the kitchen, and Kaisa, looking quite calm now, put out her hand in farewell.
"I may as well be going," she said. "Anyhow, I don't suppose I could see Mamselle Lovisa to-day to speak to."
With that she was off. The housekeeper went back to her work, and, in the rush and excitement, forgot about the woman. It was not till a day or two afterward that she told Mamselle Lovisa what Kaisa Nilsdotter had said and what she herself had replied.
Mamselle Lovisa went white as a sheet.
"Oh, Maja!" she cried, "how could you say that! It would have been better to tell her that I put a few little sprays of whortleberry green in her crown."
"I had to ease her mind to get her to go," the housekeeper explained.
"And so you said my crown would be of myrtle as surely as hers was. Now you'll see, Maja, there will be no bridal-crown for me!"
"Oh, you'll be married right enough, Mamselle Lovisa. Pastor Milén is not the man to jilt you."
"Who knows? Something else might come up to prevent it."
Mamselle Lovisa worried over this a few days, and ​then let it pass out of mind. She had other things to think of. In six months the wedding was to take place, and she must begin at once on the household linens and the trousseau.
She set up looms, sewed, and worked monograms. She finally went to Karlstad to shop, and returned with the fabric for a wedding dress and a little wire frame of a crown, to be bound with myrtle. She did not wish to use the old frame worn by so many brides, but wanted a bridal-crown of her own.
But these purchases had no sooner been made than the unexpected happened. Pastor Milén became ill and was confined to his bed a long time. When he recovered sufficiently to be up and about he seemed strangely changed. People noticed that he did not care to talk with his betrothed, and never went the short distance to Mårbacka to see her. When summer came he went away to a health resort. During his long absence he never once wrote to Mamselle Lovisa. It was a time of anxiety and distress for her. She inferred from his silence that he wished to break with her, and sent him back his ring. The day this happened she said to the old housekeeper:
"Now you see, Maja, that my bridal-crown will not be bound with myrtle, either."
One day, many years later, one of the young daughters of Lieutenant Lagerlöf asked her Aunt Lovisa to ​lend her some of the old peasant bridal things to dress up in. Mamselle Lovisa gave her the key to the cupboard where the old treasures were kept and which had long since been removed to the storeroom upstairs.
The young girl unlocked the cupboard and pulled out a drawer. She gazed at the contents in astonishment. Before her lay not the usual gaudy trumpery, but only a parcel of tulle, some coloured satin fabric, and a little wire form of a bridal-crown. She saw at once that she had opened the wrong drawer, the bridal things were in the next one. Just the same, she stood a moment looking into the drawer. It wrung her heart to think that poor, unhappy Aunt Lovisa had never come to use the things lying there. She knew that for years her aunt had grieved in silence, and would not be comforted. Then something came back to memory. One day during the saddest period of her aunt's unhappiness she had gone into her room and had found her sitting before a heap of whortleberry green, a little wire crown in her hand. Her aunt had cut off a few sprays and was binding them round the crown, when Fru Lagerlöf came in.
"Why, Lovisa, whatever are you doing?" she had asked with a frightened look on her face.
"I was thinking," Mamselle Lovisa had said, dreamily, "that if I would be content with a crown of whortle—— But that's stupid!"
Then she had quickly jumped up, brushed aside the crown and the leaves, and cried out: "I know it's all ​ended." Then pacing the floor and wringing her hands the while, she had moaned: "There's no help for it now."
"But, my dear Lovisa, it was only on account of his illness," Fru Lagerlöf had answered.
Mamselle Lovisa had continued to pace up and down, up and down, in anguish and despair.
"If only I hadn't put whortleberry in Kaisa Nilsdotter's bridal-crown!" she had wailed.
"Come, come, Lovisa, you mustn't think that." Just then Fru Lagerlöf had caught sight of the child standing there, wide-eyed.
"Go into the other room, Selma," she had said. "Aunt Lovisa has a sorrow, and you children must not come here and disturb her."