Ida Brandt by Herman Bang Page B

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.”
    But Mrs Brandt went on, showing everything: cellar, milk cellar, potato cellar, lofts, the whole house, refusing to let go of Mrs Reck – the entire perfect house that she had built up and which she, the widow, was now to leave.
    She talked about the beds, their own beds, the servants’ beds, the beds for visitors. Mrs Reck said:
    “Yes, it means buying a lot.”
    “Here are the cupboards,” said Mrs Brandt when they came down into the corridor.
    She opened her cupboards, showing the linen, the pillows, the pillowcases, the curtains, making a show of her peasant affluence, speaking a little louder, her mouth twitching a little in a sudden attack of widow-like playful malice.
    Mrs Reck was thinking to herself:
    “No, she shall never cross my threshold,” and said:
    “Well, Mrs Brandt, if only I were half as