Malla Trap

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Title:     Malla Trap
Author: Anthon B. E. Nilsen [More Titles by Nilsen]

Forty years earlier the corner premises occupied by the firm of Knut G. Holm had belonged to Melchior Trap, who had his business there. Melchior Trap was one of the great traders of the place in his day, and a man looked up to by all.

He was supposed to have made a fortune in the Crimean War, but lost most of it later, though enough remained for him to leave his daughter and only child, Malla Trap, a comfortable income after his death.

Knut Holm, as a lad of fifteen, had entered the service of Melchior Trap, starting in the shop, and gradually working his way up, until, when the old man died, he was able to take over the business himself.

Malla Trap was then a friend of old standing; some, indeed, of the older generation declared that Holm in his young days had been in love with his master's daughter, but that the old patrician would not hear of the match.

However this might be, Malla Trap was a regular visitor at the Holms', and as far back as the children could remember, Aunt Trap had always come round to dinner every Sunday, where a special place was laid for her at table.

She was now about sixty, tall, thin, and with greyish hair that hung in two heavy curls on either side of her forehead.

But Malla Trap was no ordinary old maid with black crochet mittens and knitting-needle, sitting roasting apples over a stove in an over-heated room.

No; on a fine winter's day, with clean, smooth ice across the fjord, one might see Malla Trap's slender figure skimming along on skates as gaily as any girl of seventeen.

She had a splendid constitution and physique--weakness was a thing unknown to her. And she had carefully hardened herself from youth up, for she had a dread of becoming old and invalid.

As an instance of her prowess of endurance it was stated as a reliable fact that she had set out one bitterly cold morning to skate across the fjord, and, falling through a patch of thin ice a couple of miles out, had not only managed to extricate herself, but instead of making at once for home, continued on her way to Strandvik. There, arriving at the house of her old friend Prois, she declared she was frozen so stiff that anyone might have broken her across the middle like a sugar-stick.

A slight cold was the sole effect of her bath, which otherwise seemed to have been merely refreshing!

She had always had leisure and means to arrange her mode of life as she pleased, and had made the most of her opportunities in that direction. Her whole existence was conducted in a casual, easy-going fashion, not tied down to habit, rule and order.

Her idea of charity, and manner of exercising the same, were no less eccentric.

One Christmas, for instance, she had presented each of the old derelicts at the Seamen's Home with a pair of ski, declaring that with a little practice they would soon learn to use them, and that the exercise would give them a new lease of life. The poor old gouty invalids were hard put to it to hobble along on their feet with the aid of sticks, and had certainly never dreamed of running about on ski.

When Pastor Arff, who was extremely stout, complained of heartburn, she gave him a skiff, with oars complete, on the express condition that he should get up at six every morning and row a couple of miles up and down the river.

"I assure you, my dear Pastor, you'll feel as lively as a fish if you do!"

She would go to meetings in the afternoon, and sit among the earnest sisterhood, taking an interested part in discussions as to mission work among the heathen, and then go on in the evening to see the latest and riskiest pieces at the theatre, which she thoroughly enjoyed. It was a known fact that she had tried to enliven the work of the local soup-kitchen by introducing raisins as an ingredient in the pea-soup, but the old ladies on the committee had put their foot down--that was going too far. Malla Trap urged them to try it--it was delicious, she declared--but without avail.

The townsfolk were so used to her eccentricities that no one ever took much notice of them, for all knew she was a thoroughly good soul, who in her unobtrusive way had brought happiness to many a home in distress. It was not always by direct gifts that she effected this; her confident and encouraging manner gave new hope and strength to many who were sinking under the burden of their struggle. Her tall, erect figure came like a breath of the fresh north-west wind, sweeping clouds from the sky.

Not many knew that it was Malla Trap who had given Bertelsen the idea of starting a paper shop when the firm in which he was cashier failed, and he found himself thrown out, with a wife and children to look after, and no means of support.

The scene would probably have been something like this:

"Now, my dear man, it's no good giving up like that."

"But what am I to do?--there's nowhere to turn--only the workhouse. That's what it'll be--the workhouse."

"Nonsense, Bertelsen! pull yourself together, do. Look here! I've an idea. There's that shop in the square, next to Holm; it's vacant, and you could get it cheap. Start a little business there with paper, cardboard, wall-papers and that sort of thing. It'll be a success--it must!"

He looked up a little--paper--business--his thoughts took a definite direction. Hope began to dawn, and Malla Trap had accomplished a piece of the finest missionary work a human soul ever can--she had made a sunny thought to grow in a tortured and despairing mind.

Her best friend was Miss Strom, a woman of considerable wit and education, and daughter of the late governor of the province.

When the pair of them were together, Beate Strom would lecture at length, pointing out to Malla Trap the necessity of paying some regard to public opinion; it really would not do to go on acting in that independent fashion.

"It's no good, my dear," Malla Trap would say. "If I can't do things my own way, which is at least honest and decent enough, why, I might as well give up altogether."

"Not at all," said Beate Strom earnestly; "one must consider what people say."

"Nonsense, Beate! You're far too well brought up, my dear, that's the trouble."

And when Malla Trap gave a supper-party, with lobster mayonnaise and black pudding, Beate Strom gave her up as hopeless. There was a limit, she declared, to the extent to which innovations should be permitted.

But Malla Trap simply pleaded that they were her favourite dishes--and why shouldn't she? Was she to sit and eat plain bread and cheese when she felt like lobster mayonnaise and could get it? No, thank you!

As already mentioned, Miss Trap was a regular visitor at Holm's, and had her own place at table.

The children were fond of her, and she of them. Whenever anything went wrong, or they were in trouble, both William and Marie would go to Aunt Trap for advice.

After his last conversation with his father, William was at a loss what to make of the affair. It was natural, therefore, he should confide in Aunt Trap.

He told her that he could not be certain himself as to the state of Betty's feelings towards him, but was almost sure she was favourably inclined at least.

Malla Trap asked him earnestly if it were not after all only a passing fancy on his part; she was very sceptical as to the nature of men's tender feelings.

William, of course, declared emphatically that it was true and enduring love, and that he would be blighted for ever if he could not make Betty his wife.

At last Malla Trap believed him, and promised to do what she could to put matters right.

She decided first of all to go and talk to Mrs. Rantzau, with whom she had some slight acquaintance; but on the way she encountered Mrs. Rantzau herself walking with Hermansen, and from the manner in which the pair appeared absorbed in each other's society, Malla Trap judged it best to postpone the call for the present. Immediately after, Vindt, her cousin, came strolling along, and stopped to speak.

"Well, Mrs. Mallaprop, how's things with you?"

"Very well, thanks, rude boy."

Vindt stood a moment pointing with his stick to the pair that had just passed.

"What do you say to that, my lanky cousin--pretty bit of goods the banker's got hold of there. Who is she?"

"Mrs. Rantzau, the music teacher."

"Oho! So that's the lady, is it! Well, I must say, she looks quite smart."

"When are you coming to see me?"

"My dear child, think of your reputation! What would the world say if I were to go visiting a love-lorn female without a chaperon in the world?"

"Don't talk nonsense. Come home and have dinner. I've a nice piece of fish."

"And apple sauce, what? No, thank you; I was ill for a fortnight last time I sampled your new-fangled menus. But I mustn't take up your valuable time. Addio, cara mia!"

And Vindt strode off, in time to see Hermansen and Mrs. Rantzau disappear round the corner. He began to wonder what it could mean.

Banker Hermansen running off in business hours with a lady all dressed up--this was something altogether unprecedented, and enough to set others beside Vindt agape. Hermansen, a man devoid of all tender feeling, whose heart was popularly supposed to be made of rhinoceros hide--surely he could not be going that way like any other mortal?

Vindt was so occupied with the phenomenon that he walked full tilt into Listad and the schoolmaster, the former of whom buttonholed at once and began delivering a long harangue about the new Ministry and the political situation.

"... Such a state of things, my dear sir, is more than gloomy; it is desperate. And the fons et origo of the whole trouble lies in the fact that...."

"That there's too many amateurs poking their fingers into the business as it is, and an ungodly mess they're making of it, instead of sticking to their work and doing something useful."

Listad thought he had never met a ruder fellow than this unceremonious broker; never encountered a citizen with a more callous disregard to higher political aims, and the needs of the country.

"But what--what is to become of a nation if its individual units allow themselves to be swallowed up in mere material strivings, deaf to the call of lofty ideals, blind to the moral welfare of the land, and of humanity at large? I ask you, how will such a people fare?"

"First-rate, if you ask me," said Vindt, and walked off.

Meantime Malla Trap had come to the conclusion that she might as well take up the business in hand with Holm himself at once; it would have to be done sooner or later.

She went up to the drawing-room, and told the maid to go down and ask if Mr. Holm could spare a few minutes.

Holm was somewhat surprised at the message; Malla Trap did not often come round like this of her own accord in the middle of the week.

"Well, my dear Miss Trap, is there anything special the matter since we have the pleasure of seeing you to-day? Or were you feeling lonely, perhaps?"

"Lonely enough I am at times, Knut Holm."

"Why, yes, I suppose--when one is all by oneself--er--one feels that way now and then. I know myself I often feel the want of company, someone to confide in----"

"Ah, but you've memories, Knut Holm, happy memories."

"That's true--but even then--it's apt to be dull all the same in the long-run, with nothing but memories."

"I hear you are thinking of marrying again."

"And who's been kind enough to tell you that?"

"Oh, I had it from a reliable source. But honestly, Knut Holm, I think you will do well to reflect before you do."

"I've put in quite enough reflection over it already, my dear Malla Trap, worked it out all round. I know it means a lot of extra expense and bother, with new arrangements and all that, but seeing I can't reasonably expect to live more than another twenty years or so, I fancy there'll be enough to manage it."

"So that's what you call working it out, is it? Working out sums of money! I thought you were a man of loftier ideals than that."

"I was, in my younger days, Malla Trap. Do you remember the time when we two were fond of each other?"

"I don't think I've forgotten it."

"We were as good as engaged, weren't we?"

"I had your promise, Knut Holm, and I trusted you. I waited and waited, but you never came."

"Yes, it was a pity, I know. But, you see, your father was so furious when he heard about it, and treated me in such a manner, that I simply couldn't put up with it. And then, afterwards, there were those affairs with Maggie and Mrs. Gronlund--but I'm sure I don't know what we want to go dragging up all that for. We've got along quietly and comfortably now together these many years; let bygones be bygones, say I."

"Oh, I've forgiven you everything long ago. But I haven't forgotten, and I've my own reasons for reminding you of it all to-day for the first and last time. So go on."

Holm walked up and down restlessly, wondering what Malla Trap could have in mind. It did not occur to him for the moment that she might be acting on William's behalf, or he might have been less frank. As it was, he went on with a touch of forced gaiety:

"Well, well, my dear Malla Trap, if you must have the old story set out in detail, don't mind me. I'll tell you all about it. I had to marry Maggie, you see; as a gentleman I could do nothing else. And as for Mrs. Gronlund, why, seeing she wouldn't give up the boy, I had to take her as well. Altogether, you see, it's been the boy's fault all along. If it hadn't been for him, you and I might have fixed things up after all."

"Best as it was, I dare say. But I ask you now, for the sake of our old friendship, do not make another woman unhappy."

"But, my dear soul, Maggie and Mrs. Gronlund were as happy as could be. I really think I've a sort of gift for making women happy, when I love them."

"Ha, ha! Excuse my laughing, but really, Knut Holm, I can't help it. You loved me once, or so you said, at least."

"Oh, we were only children then."

"But I can't say you ever made me happy in that way."

"I assure you, Malla Trap, I've been more sorry than you know about that business."

"Oh, I don't think you ever troubled much to think what a forsaken woman feels, what misery it means to her."

"Well, honestly, I don't find it easy to put myself in her place, as it were--no, I can't say---- It must be very unpleasant, of course.... H'm. But you seem to have got along pretty comfortably all the same, as far as one can see."

"As far as one can see, yes." Her voice was earnest now. "Has it never occurred to you to think why Malla Trap grew into the eccentric, half-foolish creature people turn to smile at now? Do you know what it means to lose one's whole objective in life? Ah, no, you wouldn't understand; no one else, perhaps, could understand how a woman's life can be made empty, aimless, a mere chaos of existence--though, Heaven be thanked, there have been little rays of sun-light here and there. And when the whole poor comedy is ended, why, I hope there may be some few that will spare a kindly thought for Malla Trap."

"If I knew how I could help you, Malla Trap, I'd do it gladly. But, honestly, I can't see what you're driving at just now."

"I want your son to be happy, that's all."

"Oh--so that's where the trouble lies, is it? Very sensible of him, I'm sure, to get you on his side, but if you'll excuse my saying so, Malla Trap, you'd better leave things alone."

He strode up and down, and the casual, easy-going air he had assumed gave way to a more serious expression. At last he stopped, and stood facing her.

"There are critical moments in every man's life," he began, "and, and--I reckon I've had my share. I've been on the verge of bankruptcy...."

"In 1875, yes."

"Why--how did you know?"

"Oh, I knew how matters stood then, well enough."

"There wasn't a soul that knew it except C. Henrik Pettersen."

"You think so, do you?"

"There was Hermansen at the bank, he had some idea, I dare say, but nobody else."

"I knew." She drew off her gloves and smoothed them out on the table. Holm stood still, looking earnestly at her.

"Was it--was it you, then, that sent me the hundred and fifty pounds?"

"You've guessed it at last, then? Yes, it was I. I knew you were in desperate straits, that you would be ruined if you did not get help from somewhere."

"After I'd treated you so badly?"

"A woman's heart's a strange thing."

"But why did you never tell me before to-day?"

"I should never have told you at all, if it hadn't been for William's sake. I'm proud of the boy; he's been good to me, and a homeless old woman's grateful for a little kindness. Well, now you know it--and now I ask you again to give up Betty Rantzau; there'll be nothing but trouble come of it, if you go on. And they're fond of each other, I may as well tell you that at once."

"That boy--that boy! It's as I said before; he's been the trouble all along."

"This time, at least, it's for your own good."

"That remains to be seen. But I can't get over that business of the hundred and fifty pounds."

"Say no more about it, Knut Holm."

"And that artful old rascal of a Pettersen; to think I should have wasted a wreath on his grave every blessed year since he died. Eleven wreaths at four shillings a time--true, I left out the ribbon last time, that was so much saved. But he shouldn't have had a single flower out of me, if I'd known."

"Then it's agreed that you let William marry Betty?

"I never said anything of the sort. But the hundred and fifty--my head's all going round. How am I to pay you back again? Really, I'm sorry--you must excuse me...."

And he strode out of the room. Miss Trap sat smoothing out her gloves on the table. Thinking matters over, she came to the conclusion that Holm would give in, but the way did not seem quite clear as yet.

A little later William looked in.

"Has he gone?"

"Just this minute."

"What did he say? Did you manage it, Auntie Trap?"

"He's obstinate, my boy, but I think we shall get him round all right. Your father only wanted to try you, William. He's a strange man, is Knut Holm."

"Do you think that was all it was?"

"Yes, I should say so. He could hardly find a better way of making you serious about it, than by playing the part of a rival."

"Oh, we must have Betty up--we've settled it all between us, now." And before Miss Trap could say a word, he was gone. Two minutes later he came back, leading Betty by the hand.

"This is Auntie Trap--yes, you must call her Auntie now, for it's she that's managed it all. Though it was really only a sort of trial father got up, so Auntie says--he's a wonder, the old man, what?"

"May I call you Auntie as well, Miss Trap? I've never had an aunt myself, and it's nice. Mother and I have always been alone."

"I know, my child. Call me Auntie by all means, and God bless you both. It's all to be for the best. I'm sure father was only wanting to try you. I know Knut Holm of old; he's his own queer ideas at times, but his heart's in the right place."

And she put her arm round Betty's neck and kissed her.

"Lovely it must be for you two young people on the threshold of the promised land. But remember, as you look towards it, that it only comes once in a lifetime--just this one moment, when the mists have cleared away, and the future is bright before you. I wish you happiness, children."

She walked out, erect as ever, but with her wise eyes, as it were, veiled. William and Betty watched her a little way up the street.

They stood hand in hand by the window, looking out over the river; Betty laid her head on his shoulder. Never before had the river and the hillside seemed so beautiful as to-day.

There came into Betty's mind the memories of her childhood, like dark shadows gliding by. The high-walled courtyard in Hamburg and the rooms in a narrow street in Copenhagen stood out clearest of all. She shivered a little, and put her arms round her lover's neck.

"Come, William, let us go and tell mother. She will be so happy."

[The end]
Anthon B. E. Nilsen's short story: Malla Trap

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