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Marie Grubbe was at Nürnberg. After the parting from Sti
Högh, she had roamed about from place to place for almost
a year, and had finally settled there. She was very much
changed since the night she danced in the ballet at
Frederiksborg park. Not only had she entered upon her thirtieth
year, but the affair with Sti Högh had made a strangely deep
impression upon her. She had left Ulrik Frederik, urged on
partly by accidental events, but chiefly because she had kept
certain dreams of her early girlhood of the man a woman
should pay homage to, one who should be to her like a god
upon earth, from whose hands she could accept, lovingly
and humbly, good and evil according to his pleasure. And
now, in a moment of blindness, she had taken Sti for that
god, him who was not even a man. These were her thoughts.
Every weakness and every unmanly doubt in Sti she felt
as a stain upon herself that could never be wiped out. She
loathed herself for that short-lived love and called it base
and shameful names. The lips that had kissed him, would
that they might wither! The eyes that had smiled on him,
would that they might be dimmed! The heart that had loved
him, would that it might break! Every virtue of her soul—she
had smirched it by this love; every feeling—she had
desecrated it. She lost all faith in herself, all confidence in
her own worth, and as for the future, it kindled no beacon
of hope.
Her life was finished, her course ended. A quiet nook
where she could lay down her head, never to lift it again,
was the goal of all her desires.
Such was her state of mind when she came to Nürnberg.
By chance, she met the golden Remigius, and his fervent
though diffident adoration,—the idolatrous worship of fresh
youth,—his exultant faith in her and his happiness in this
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