The Trial of Sören Qvist

Five

48 Five the man who painted the sign of the red horse inn at vejlby was a realist rather than a theorist. he painted what he saw, like an artist, rather than what he knew, like a child or a farmer. therefore the red horse of the sign stood with his forelegs close together, one obscuring the other, and his hind legs properly apart, as had stood the model for the sign. it was something of a joke in the surrounding country, but the painter had long since gone his wandering way, and even had he been at hand when the criticism began to accumulate, the owner of the inn would not have cared to spend more money to add another leg to his horse. “Call it the three-legged horse if you like,” he said to the customers who commented adversely upon the painter’s work. “it serves as a sign either way, and the drinks are as good under a three-legged horse as a red one.” he made the remark patiently once again on May eve, 1625, to niels Bruus, a young man in a peasant’s blouse and short leather breeches, who was loafing in the taproom by the open window. although niels had a nose that was pointed and foxlike, his mouth was wide and rather foolishly good-natured . he had hit upon the joke of the three-legged horse a year since and had never let it go. the innkeeper knew that niels was slow in the head and was forbearing. 49 T H E T R I A L O F S Ö R E N Q V I S T “aye, the drinks are good,” said niels. “trust me for one more. you can always get the money out of Morten, if not out of me.” “in a fine way i can get the money out of Morten,” said the innkeeper. “neither will you get anything out of him but a cuff on the ear, if you don’t begin to move. he’s waiting for you this quarter hour to bring him round his horse.” “he works me like a servant, just because i’m his brother,” said niels, but he took the innkeeper’s warning and went out by the back door into the innyard. Morten’s horse was there, a big bay mare with which niels was on the best of terms. it irked him that Morten owned her and that he almost never had the chance to ride her himself. She put her head down and nibbled at his shoulder with her lips while he adjusted her bridle. he checked the girth and refastened the buckle above a stirrup, and led her across the innyard to the market street, where, under the sign of the red horse, his brother Morten waited for him. Slighter and darker than niels, older and better dressed, Morten Bruus resembled his brother so strongly that the most casual observer would have guessed the relationship. the brow was narrow and high, the nose pointed, with a curiously long and narrow nostril, but the mouth, unlike that of niels, was fine-lipped and sensuously curved, and the expression of the eyes was far more penetrating . it was natural that niels should be the one to hold the bridle and Morten the one to mount; but as Morten put his foot into the stirrup and took the reins from his brother, niels, dropping behind him, gave the mare a resounding slap on the rump, which caused the mare to start suddenly to one side and left Morten precariously off balance, standing in one stirrup and clutching at the mane with both hands. it was as awkward a mounting as a man could have made. niels 50 Janet Lewis guffawed, and the sudden heavy sound of his laughter was echoed, as Morten swung his leg over the mare’s back and settled himself in the saddle, by a laugh as light and sharp and clear as the falling and breaking of a thin sheet of ice from a steep roof under the first heat of the sun. Morten twisted in the saddle to see whence came this springlike, crystal sound. a girl had come out of the door across the street from the inn, and stood, still on the threshold, with the door closed behind her. against the blackened oak, with the western sunlight full upon...