“Regina, sovereign queen of my heart; … hidden in the deepest privacy of my bosom.”
SØREN KIERKEGAARD
“When Søren proposed, I was quite overwhelmed.”
REGINE OLSEN
Regina stayed indoors for the rest of the day, trembling, waiting for her father to come home. She avoided Olga’s eyes, not wanting her sister to pick up on her agitation.
At five o’clock, Regina heard the front door open and slam shut. She heard her father’s heavy steps, heard her mother’s greeting, heard him take off his coat. When he entered the drawing room where she sat sewing with Cornelia, she couldn’t meet his gaze. She kept seeing Søren on his knees before her in this very room, and the image impeded her.
Her father walked over to the sofa. She could sense his presence towering over her. “Hello, young ladies,” he said.
Cornelia greeted him, but Regina kept her eyes on his black boots, her mouth sewed shut. He sat on a chair across from them and kept looking in her direction. She couldn’t bring herself to speak. She was afraid that if he began to probe, he would discover the wellspring of her heart, and she didn’t want to divulge that to anyone, especially not her father.
By the time the family had finished supper and gathered in the drawing room, she could tell that her siblings knew about her afternoon because everyone became very quiet. They kept looking at her and then away. She felt sure that someone, probably Olga, would mention Fritz. Every time anyone spoke, she jumped, expecting an attack.
But no one said a thing. She was surprised that here, in the most important moment of her life, no one offered advice. It was as if they expected her to make her own decision.
When Olga suggested a game of cards, Regina bolted from the room carrying a lit candle. She walked upstairs, put the candle on her bedside table, and shut her bedroom door.
She threw herself, fully clothed, on her bed. Her body was still trembling. A husband, babies, happiness—all of it was within her grasp. She could hardly stand herself. Would her children look like Søren? Would they have wild blond hair? Piercing blue eyes? Would they be sharp as tacks? Gadflies? Her sons might be, but not her daughters. They would be kind and thoughtful, brown-haired and brown-eyed.
Think it through. Slowly, now.
She leapt off her bed and peered out her window. Søren’s face loomed in front of her, pinched and yearning. Through the glimmer of his face in the glass, she saw a man far below, tottering on a ladder as he lit the street lamps. People in cloaks and shawls thronged the streets. A night watchman swung his spiked mace and lantern. The sea, dark and empty, rocked beside the pier as a full moon cast a thin, white trail along the water.
She forced herself to conjure Fritz’s face in the window. Her muscles tensed as she pictured his brown, trusting eyes gazing at her in confusion. The bones of his face jutted out at sharper and sharper angles every second that she pictured him.
Stop it! It wasn’t her fault. Who would choose someone out of pity?
She bolted across the room and threw herself onto the chair of her vanity. She stared at herself in the mirror. Does he think this face is pretty? She touched her cheek. Does he really? The crescent ache in her stomach curved sharper.
She closed her eyes and fell into fervent prayer. Tell me if I can say yes, Lord. Give me a sign. Opening her eyes, she looked about the room. She saw only the yellow curtains, opaque in the light of the single candle. She prayed faster, harder. I hear no answer. What’s wrong? What have I done? Why won’t You speak to me? Tell me, Lord. I’m waiting. I’m here. I’m listening. I’m really listening.
The flurry of words fell from her like so many paper snowflakes, each saying the same thing, over and over: I want this, Lord. I deserve this. I’m going to grasp it now, quickly, before it spills through my fingers.
And she bowed her head in submission to herself.
The next morning, Regina awoke to harsh sunlight streaming through her curtains. She felt as if she’d missed something. Her eyes flew open.
Did I imagine it? Was it real? She felt a rush of anticipation in the hollow of her stomach, followed swiftly by the sharp punch of panic. Why didn’t I talk to Father last night? I must speak to him now, before it’s too late.
Resentfully, she remembered she was supposed to read her Bible before breakfast. Then a thought came to her, loud and insistent. What if Father leaves before I can speak to him? Another thought trembled beneath the wings of the first. And what if the Bible tells me something I don’t want to hear?
Regina threw off her quilts and raced over to her wardrobe. She slipped on her white stockings, buttoned the garters, and eyed the silk stays of her corset with disdain. Forget about lacing up that thing. You’ll be here all day. She pulled on the horsehair crinoline, squeezed into a buttercup-yellow dress, and called out for Olga, who was trudging up the stairs. Olga came in and began to fumble at the line of silk-covered buttons on Regina’s back.
“Please hurry,” Regina said. Oh, why do dressmakers have to sew on so many buttons?
“Stop fidgeting,” Olga said. “Why aren’t you wearing a corset? It makes my job much harder. Father’s waiting for you. Of course he told us. We’re all in shock. Who would have guessed? We’re all dying to talk to—”
“Are you done yet?” Regina interrupted.
“I’m doing my best,” Olga said in a snippy voice. She finished the last button and left Regina’s room without another word.
Regina sat at her vanity, ran her fingers through her side curls, slipped on her butter-yellow silk shoes, wrapped the ribbons of the slippers around her ankles, and tied them tight. Then she bolted to the stairs, smoothing the high-waisted dress down around her stomach. Calm down. Don’t look so nervous. She forced herself to walk more slowly. She could picture her father sitting at the breakfast table, waiting for her. To steady herself as she turned the corner of the staircase, she placed her hand in its usual place against the wall, comforted by the knowledge that she was leaving her imprint in the very place she had left so many imprints before.
The Councilor sat alone in the dining room in front of a boiled egg. He looked up at her and nodded. She felt his eyes upon her as she went to the sideboard and took an egg from a covered porcelain dish. The shell of the egg felt hot and vulnerable. She set it in a blue and white china eggcup and crossed over to the table, the egg rattling against the sides of the cup as she walked. When she sat down across from her father, his eyes darkened then brightened. His prominent nose, high cheekbones, and curling sideburns looked soft in the clear morning light. In fact, he seemed younger, uncertain—more like a suitor than a father.
The silver bell sat beside Regina, ready to summon Anna. Fine, yellow farm butter lay in a dish. The blue and white tiles lining the walls, the crisp white tablecloth, the sparkling crystal, and the yellow flowers of the dining room hummed to her a familiar, cheerful tune that began to chase the anxiety from her thoughts.
“I assume you know what I want to talk to you about,” the Councilor said.
Regina nodded. A bright winter-like light filtered in through the tall windows. A candle flickered on the table, black smoke rising from its pale flame. The candlelight seemed out of place, theatrical almost, in the morning sun.
“Søren visited me yesterday,” the Councilor said. Regina stiffened, then tried to lower her shoulders. “I wasn’t surprised, the way he’s been hanging around here so much. The man is clearly in love with you.”
He’s in love with me? They were words that Regina had not dared let herself believe. But as her father said them, and made them true by saying them, Regina felt herself become lighter and more solid, all at the same time.
She looked at her father—fascinated, curious. Had permission been asked and granted, the transaction sealed?
“I haven’t answered him yet,” the Councilor said. “I told him I needed to talk to you first.” The Councilor watched Regina. She looked down at her empty teacup, and the Councilor resumed. “He would make a good husband, in some ways. He has inherited his father’s wealth, so supporting you is not an issue.” The Councilor paused. “There is another who also loves you. He would make a very different sort of husband.”
The ordinary sort. The echo of her father’s words about the Schlegels in the snowbound garden reverberated in Regina’s head.
“The choice is yours,” her father said. “In my opinion neither of these men is good enough for you. But that is because I am your father.” The Councilor looked at Regina more tenderly than ever before. And in the moment in which she had the power to leave him forever, Regina loved him more than she ever had.
The Councilor cleared his throat, as if dislodging a flock of birds that had nested there. Regina looked down and tapped on the egg with the back of her spoon until tiny cracks formed.
“I told him he could call on you tomorrow,” the Councilor continued, his voice thick. “He will come in the morning.”
Regina almost knocked her egg out of the cup. She put two fingers around it, leveled the back of her spoon on the eggshell, and whacked it. Then she pulled the shell off its glutinous seal and picked at the egg with a tiny teaspoon. But when she put it in her mouth, she felt like retching. She put down the spoon. Who could eat at a time like this anyway?
“Only one thing matters, Regina,” the Councilor said, his voice retreating.
She looked up.
“Is Søren Kierkegaard a Christian?”
Regina reached for the teapot. It was so full she had to grip the handle with one hand to keep the flow steady while she poured. “A Christian?”
“You know what I mean, Regina. God’s Word is very clear.
Believers may not marry unbelievers. There are always consequences for disobedience. One of those consequences is being miserable. And I don’t want to see you miserable.”
Regina lifted the blue and white china teacup to her lips. The handle was so delicate, she felt it might snap. The scented steam rose into her face. She blew on the surface of the liquid, stirring up fissures.
“He must be a Christian,” she said, wrinkling her brow to show her sincerity. “He thinks of nothing else.”
“Even the demons knew Jesus was God’s Son. That didn’t mean they obeyed Him.”
The image came to her of Søren’s father—of the hard, unyielding look in his eyes, of his anger, his unassuaged guilt. Perpetual punishment. Graceless.
“Is Søren a believer?” she repeated softly, looking out the window. The pale September light glowed with a wan beauty that spoke of something deep and eternal that she knew she had found in Søren Kierkegaard. How could he make me feel so beautiful if he were not tapped into the divine?
“Oh yes,” she said. “I feel sure of it.” She took a tiny sip of scented tea.
“Then why did he say two weeks ago that he should have told Fritz he wasn’t a Christian?”
“He didn’t want to sound smug. You know what he’s like, Father.” She put down the cup.
“I do. And there’s something off, there. I just can’t put my finger on what it is.”
Regina stared straight into her father’s face, hardened her heart, and delivered the truth. “It’s melancholy, Father. He has a melancholy way of looking at things.”
The Councilor’s face registered guilt and fear at the same time, and Regina’s stomach squirmed in agony. Take it back, she told herself. He might say no, now.
“Do you want to be married to a depressive, Regina? They can be very difficult.” The Councilor’s eyes focused inward.
“I wouldn’t call him—he’s not that—he means—” She began to play with pieces of her eggshell. “Do you think he’s very depressed?”
Her father nodded. “I think you’re right. At heart, I think he’s very lonely.”
“That’s why he needs me.”
Her father’s eyes flickered toward her and then away. “I don’t agree with everything Søren says about Christianity. Several things I find offensive. I want you to assure me that before you actually accept him, you will make sure he really believes in God. With all his heart. That he’s saved. That the Holy Spirit resides in him.”
Regina nodded. “I will Father, I will,” she said, trying not to make the words tumble out. “I’ll find out before I answer him. I promise.” She rolled her tiny teaspoon around and around in her fingers.
The Councilor smiled. The bloom in his cheeks, the sparkle in his eyes, whispered the message she wanted to hear: “I like Søren, I approve. He is suitable, he is wealthy, it is a good match. I’m going to believe whatever you tell me.”
Regina picked up her cup again and smiled into her scented tea. She began to count the seconds until she could leave the table. Be polite, she told herself. Sit with him until he finishes. Wait calmly. Don’t let him know that you’re dying to leave.
The Councilor glanced over at her. “Go ahead,” he said with a smile.
She grinned back. “Thank you,” she said, bolting from the table. She swung open the door to the hall and knocked into Olga, who was leaning against the crack in the dining room door.
“Were you eavesdropping?” Regina asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Of course! But I could hardly hear a thing. What did Father say?”
“He said Søren is coming back tomorrow.” Regina shut the door behind her and tried to lead Olga further down the hall.
“So tell me. Did Søren actually propose?” Olga’s tiny brown eyes gleamed.
“Of course. Did you think I made it up?”
“No, I mean, did Søren really ask you? Outright? Or did he tell you how he’d thought of asking you, but wasn’t sure, then reconsidered, but couldn’t help himself, but then—”
“He asked.”
“How long did it take him? An hour? Two?” Olga raised her sharp eyebrows.
“Five seconds,” Regina said, picturing the flying sheet music.
“It must have been the only straightforward thing he’s ever done in his entire life,” Olga said.
“You may be right about that,” Regina said. And the two sisters grinned, enjoying a brief, uncustomary moment of complicity.
“So what are you going to tell him?” Olga asked.
Regina tilted her chin in the air and said in her most priggish voice. “I have to find out if he’s a Christian first.”
Olga snorted with laughter. “I’d like to hear that conversation. Søren Kierkegaard likes to be pinned down as much as a butterfly. How are you going to find out?”
“I’ll ask him.”
“Regina. You know he’ll say no.”
“Shhhh!” Regina flapped her hand in angry waves toward the dining room.
Olga rolled her eyes and lowered her voice. “He’ll say no. He’ll say that considering the cavalier way people claim to be Christians these days, even the cats and dogs in Copenhagen are saved.”
The sisters stared at each other, and then they burst out laughing.
“You’re right,” Regina said. “But I don’t have a choice.” She tapped her finger against her chin. “I just hope he can be straightforward with me.”