Absaloms Hair | Page 4

woods and compose ballads. At twelve she insisted on wearing silk
dresses, and, in the teeth of an aunt all curls and lace and with a terrible
flow of words, she carried her point. She held herself erect and prim in
her silks, and still remained NUMBER ONE. She composed verses
about Sir Adge and Maid Else, about birds and flowers and sad things.
On reaching the age at which other girls, who have the means, begin to
wear silk dresses, she left them off. She was tired, she said, of the
"smooth and glossy."
She now grew enthusiastic for fine wool and expensive velvet of every
shade. Dresses in the Renaissance style became her favourites, and the
subject of her studies. She puffed out her bodices like those in
Leonardo's and Rafael's portraits of women, and tried in other ways as
well to resemble them.

She left off writing verses, and wrote stories instead; the style was good,
though they were anything rather than spontaneous.
They were short, with a more or less clear pointe. Stories by a girl of
eighteen do not as a general rule make a sensation, but these were
particularly audacious. It was evident that their only object was to
scandalise. Instead of her own name she used the nom-de-plume of
"Puss." This, however, was only to postpone the announcement that the
author who scandalised her readers most, and that at a time when every
author strove to do so, was a girl of eighteen belonging to one of the
first families in the country.
Soon every one knew that "Puss" was she of the tumbled red locks, "the
tall Renaissance figure with the Titian hair."
Her hair was abundant, glossy, and slightly curling; she still wore it
hanging loose over her neck and shoulders, as she had done as a child.
Her great eyes seemed to look out upon a new world; but one felt that
the lower part of her face was scarcely in harmony with the upper. The
cheeks fell in a little; the prominent nose made the mouth look smaller
than it actually was; her neck seemed only to lead the eye downward to
her bosom, which almost appeared to caress her throat, especially when
her head was bent forward, as was generally the case. And very
beautiful the throat was, delicate in colour, superb in contour, and
admirably set upon the bust. For this reason she could never find in her
heart to hide this full white neck, but always kept it uncovered. Her
finely moulded bust surmounting a slender waist and small hips, her
rounded arms, her long hands, her graceful carriage, in her
tightly-fitting dress, formed such a striking picture that one did more
than look--one was obliged to study her, When the elegance and beauty
of her dress were taken into account, one realised how much
intelligence and artistic taste had here been exercised.
She was friendly in society, natural and composed, always occupied
with something, always with that wondering expression. She spoke
very little, but her words were always well chosen.
All this, and her general disposition, made people chary of opposing

her, more especially those who knew how intelligent she was and how
much knowledge she possessed.
She had no friends of her own, but her innumerable relations supplied
her with society, gossip, and flattery, and were at once her friends and
body-guard. She would have had to go abroad to be alone.
Among these relations she was a princess: they not only paid her
homage, but had sworn by "Life and Death" that she must marry
without more ado, which was absolutely against her wish.
From her childhood she had been laying by money, but the amount of
her savings was far less than her relations supposed. This rather
mythical fortune contributed not a little to the fact that "every one" was
in love with her. Not only the bachelors of the family, that was a matter
of course, but artists and amateurs, even the most blase, swarmed round
her, la jeunesse doree (which is homely enough in Norway), without an
exception. A living work of art, worth more or less money, piquante
and admired, how each longed to carry her home, to gloat over her, to
call her his own!
There was surely more intensity of feeling near her than near others, a
losing of oneself in one only; that unattainable dream of the
world-weary.
With her one could lead a thoroughly stylish life, full of art and taste
and comfort. She was highly cultivated, and absolutely
emancipated--our little country did not, in those days, possess a more
alluring expression.
When face to face with her they were uncertain how to act, whether to
approach her diffidently or boldly, smile or look serious, talk or