CHAPTER VWHENNorby drove off the next morning, his wife sat by his side. He always wanted her with him when anything serious was going on.It was a grey winter’s day, and the snow was falling fast. As they turned out of the yard, the old man’s thought was: “I wonder how things will be when we drive in here again.”At last the day was come of which he had once stood in such fear, but which had gone on inexorably approaching. He was not afraid now; he was only impatient to begin, like the excited gambler, who only thinks of winning. A slight suspicion that some enemy or other had had something to do with Einar’s behaviour the day before, only increased his inward excitement. They didn’t know what shame was, those people! They bought witnesses like that Sören Kvikne. They tried to make the son rise against his father. But just let them wait!The court-house lay near the sound, which is the centre of the parish, and near which the magistrates lived upon their farms. Along the narrow lines that ran across the stretches of snow and representedroads, people could be seen like black dots moving in the direction of the court-house. The body of the court would be full enough to-day.The first person Norby saw when he got there was Herlufsen, in his great wolf-skin coat; and the first thing he did when he got out of the sledge was to go up and shake hands with him. Herlufsen also advanced to meet him, drawn like steel to magnet. The handshake was warm, and the two smiling faces shone with pleasure at meeting one another. Both were thinking: “I wouldn’t be in your shoes to-day for something!” So Herlufsen invited Norby to take a cup of coffee with him at the hotel, but Norby protested that on this occasion he would stand treat.The doors were almost too narrow to admit the big, fur-clad men. At the coffee-table they were soon warmly united in speaking evil of one and another whom they both hated. The great case they only ventured to mention very carefully, for fear that the one should see through the other.Outside there was a bitter east wind blowing, which swept the smoke from the neighbouring factories through the driving snow. People walked about beating their hands together to warm them; and some went into the baker’s shop and bought bread as an excuse to warm themselves. At length the magistrate arrived, the court was opened, and the people streamed in, stamping the snow from their boots as they went up the stairs.When Marit Norby entered, she saw the pastor’s wife and Fru Thora of Lidarende among the audience. They both gave her a friendly recognition, and made room for her between them.When Wangen stood at the bar and protested his innocence, the pastor’s wife turned towards Marit Norby with a sigh and a look, which said: “Poor man, how foolish he is!”Thora of Lidarende already felt as if she must burst into tears. Wangen was so pale and emaciated; his throat was so thin inside his collar, and the back of his head seemed so big. His back was actually bent. Poor man! If only he would confess!It never occurred to Fru Thora that her opinion of Wangen’s guilt could be wrong, since she sat there and pitied him. From the very first this opinion had fostered a number of beautiful, charitable thoughts in her mind; and she therefore never considered how she had arrived at it. It was a view that had made her willing to make some sacrifice, for instance, to adopt one of Wangen’s children; and a conviction for which one sacrifices something, not only becomes a certainty, but grows so dear that it actually acquires a moral value.“Poor Wangen!” she thought. “Who can say whether all this is not really the outcome of an unfortunate inheritance from his father? But the human tribunal does not take that into consideration; it is merciless;” and at that thought she seemed tosee before her a community with tribunals that were different.Knut Norby was called as the first witness in the case. The moment had come for which he had previously felt such terror. He had to go in and say that he had not put his name to any paper for Wangen.When he entered the corridor he felt the excitement of the card-player who has good cards in his hand, and is impatient to play them. His one thought was that he must not for the world forget anything. As his hand touched the handle of the door, a far-off voice seemed to say: “Turn back! There is still time!” But the voice was far too distant. “Did you really defraud that widow?” said another voice; and this filled him with a desire to knock Wangen down. As he entered the court, he raised his shoulders a little, as he was accustomed to do when he knew that a number of people were looking at him. The first thing he saw was Wangen in the dock; and when their eyes met in a flash, the old man felt a dull anger rising within him. He remembered all the reports that Wangen had spread about him. “You wait!” he thought.On his way to the witness-box he saw both the pastor’s wife and Fru Thora nodding to him, and it gave him encouragement. When he saw that it was not the magistrate himself, but his head clerk who was conducting the inquiry, he was offended. The magistrate might send his clerk to unimportantcases; but it was Knut Norby that this concerned. When the young man with the eye-glasses and the downy moustache adjured him to speak the truth, the old man felt a desire to laugh. Fancy that whipper-snapper acting magistrate! He had heard that this very gentleman had been as drunk as a lord at Lawyer Basting’s last Saturday evening. And there sat Basting, too, that pauper, trying to look like a sage! He had come already to help Wangen, the fool! Yes, this was a court to inspire respect!The questioning began. Norby found it easy to answer, just because Basting was on the watch. He had been on the watch, too, when he had tried to agitate for Norby’s removal from the bank board, and to get appointed himself. The poor wretch’s goods were distrained for the poor-rate, and he was thankful to get a bill for two krones to collect. And that man was on the watch against Knut Norby? Supposing it were he who had got hold of Einar!“Wangen asserts that he distinctly remembers the place where the signing took place,” said the clerk.“Well, perhaps I might be allowed to know where it was, too,” said Norby, innocently.The clerk turned towards Wangen. “Wasn’t it at the Grand Café?”Wangen rose, and his eyes shone as brightly now when he said it took place at the Grand as when he said he was innocent.To Norby this gave a welcome touch of comicality, and he answered with deep conviction: “That document was not signed by me.”At these words he heard a little sarcastic laugh from Wangen, which made him boil with rage. “I’ll give him something to laugh at,” he thought. “Wait a little!”Then something happened, which came quite unexpectedly upon Norby. The clerk took out a paper and handed it to him. “Here is the document,” he said, “and there is your name. Will you see whether it resembles your signature? You might possibly have forgotten the matter.”For a moment Norby saw his name, as he himself had written it. It had the effect of a ghost. He would not look at it. He looked at Lawyer Basting, who was looking askance at him, and this made him quite angry, and he threw the document upon the table, saying: “I don’t need to look at that thing. I know what I’ve done.”At this Basting asked permission to put a question, and rising, came nearer to the witness-box. “Has Wangen never asked you to be surety for him?” he asked.Norby looked contemptuously at the greasy-looking, bald-headed old man. He was about to laugh or give a scornful answer; but a voice whispered! “Take care not to let the cat out of the bag!” and he said with a smile:“A great many people have asked me to be suretyfor them; but I can’t remember them all.” Then, irritated at again hearing Wangen’s sarcastic laugh, he added casually: “He must have asked me, however; for latterly he was running about and asking every blessed soul he knew.”This time he heard Marit laugh.When his examination was over, he remembered the declaration from Haarstad’s widow, and asked to be recalled when Sören Kvikne had given evidence. When he came out of the room he stood on the stairs for a little while to cool himself before putting on his cap. There was a voice far away, crying: “You have lied!” But it was too far away, and powerful voices rose against it. It was true, was it, that he had defrauded that widow?He still seemed to hear Wangen’s laughter, and he thought once more: “Wait a little, and I’ll give you something to laugh at!” He still had his best cards in his hand.“It’s too bad all the same,” he thought, as he sauntered across the yard, “that one should be exposed to the attacks of such riff-raff. You have both to circumvent them and to wriggle away from them; but I’ll be d——d if that man doesn’t have to leave the parish now!”Suddenly the old man stood still. A young man in overcoat and fur cap was coming towards him. Was he mistaken? No; it was Einar.Norby was excited already; and now when Einarcame, too, perhaps to interfere, he felt inclined to give the boy a thrashing.They both stopped within a few steps of one another. Einar was very pale.“Is that you?” said the old man, attempting to laugh. He knew that people could see them from the window.“Yes, father!” said Einar, as he dug his stick into a snow-drift, “and it isn’t very pleasant to be myself just now.”At this the old man laughed scornfully, and shrugged his shoulders. “No, of course not,” he said. “Is a hundred and fifty krones a month too little? You have a family in Christiania, perhaps?”Einar pressed his lips together, and his voice shook as he said, looking calmly at his father: “I wanted to follow the dictates of my conscience, and do what was right.”“Yes, of course!” said the old man, coming a step nearer, and laughing again. “Does any one forbid you to do so?”“I shall have to go in and save the innocent man,” said Einar, “no matter what it costs me.” But he involuntarily retreated a step, and gazed at his father in fear. The old man still tried to smile, because people could see them from the windows; but he suddenly turned pale.“Yes, I thought so,” he said, breathing heavily; “but who has put you up to this?”At this Einar flushed, and drew a step nearer.“Father!” he said, and his voice was indignant; “you must tell me what you mean by that.”The old man, however, resented the authoritative tone, and began to gesticulate, while he shouted: “Go in and give evidence then, confound you! Don’t stand there and torture your father! Go at once, do you hear?”He caught his breath and gesticulated with his arms, but no more words came; and he turned abruptly and tramped away, while Einar began mechanically to walk towards the court-house. Suddenly he heard his name called: “Einar!” He turned. “Yes, father?” His father was standing looking after him, but made a sudden movement with his hand. “Nothing!” he said, and went on. Pride had conquered.Einar stood upon the steps of the court-house. There were a few steps to be made. “The fact is that father himself is the best proof that Wangen is innocent,” he thought. “But can I? Am I cowardly or courageous? All I have to do is to tell the truth and save an innocent man. Is that so dreadful? Perhaps it’s the only time in my life that a brave action will be required of me. I must be a man!” And he went on with slower steps into the passage, and knocked at the door.
WHENNorby drove off the next morning, his wife sat by his side. He always wanted her with him when anything serious was going on.
It was a grey winter’s day, and the snow was falling fast. As they turned out of the yard, the old man’s thought was: “I wonder how things will be when we drive in here again.”
At last the day was come of which he had once stood in such fear, but which had gone on inexorably approaching. He was not afraid now; he was only impatient to begin, like the excited gambler, who only thinks of winning. A slight suspicion that some enemy or other had had something to do with Einar’s behaviour the day before, only increased his inward excitement. They didn’t know what shame was, those people! They bought witnesses like that Sören Kvikne. They tried to make the son rise against his father. But just let them wait!
The court-house lay near the sound, which is the centre of the parish, and near which the magistrates lived upon their farms. Along the narrow lines that ran across the stretches of snow and representedroads, people could be seen like black dots moving in the direction of the court-house. The body of the court would be full enough to-day.
The first person Norby saw when he got there was Herlufsen, in his great wolf-skin coat; and the first thing he did when he got out of the sledge was to go up and shake hands with him. Herlufsen also advanced to meet him, drawn like steel to magnet. The handshake was warm, and the two smiling faces shone with pleasure at meeting one another. Both were thinking: “I wouldn’t be in your shoes to-day for something!” So Herlufsen invited Norby to take a cup of coffee with him at the hotel, but Norby protested that on this occasion he would stand treat.
The doors were almost too narrow to admit the big, fur-clad men. At the coffee-table they were soon warmly united in speaking evil of one and another whom they both hated. The great case they only ventured to mention very carefully, for fear that the one should see through the other.
Outside there was a bitter east wind blowing, which swept the smoke from the neighbouring factories through the driving snow. People walked about beating their hands together to warm them; and some went into the baker’s shop and bought bread as an excuse to warm themselves. At length the magistrate arrived, the court was opened, and the people streamed in, stamping the snow from their boots as they went up the stairs.
When Marit Norby entered, she saw the pastor’s wife and Fru Thora of Lidarende among the audience. They both gave her a friendly recognition, and made room for her between them.
When Wangen stood at the bar and protested his innocence, the pastor’s wife turned towards Marit Norby with a sigh and a look, which said: “Poor man, how foolish he is!”
Thora of Lidarende already felt as if she must burst into tears. Wangen was so pale and emaciated; his throat was so thin inside his collar, and the back of his head seemed so big. His back was actually bent. Poor man! If only he would confess!
It never occurred to Fru Thora that her opinion of Wangen’s guilt could be wrong, since she sat there and pitied him. From the very first this opinion had fostered a number of beautiful, charitable thoughts in her mind; and she therefore never considered how she had arrived at it. It was a view that had made her willing to make some sacrifice, for instance, to adopt one of Wangen’s children; and a conviction for which one sacrifices something, not only becomes a certainty, but grows so dear that it actually acquires a moral value.
“Poor Wangen!” she thought. “Who can say whether all this is not really the outcome of an unfortunate inheritance from his father? But the human tribunal does not take that into consideration; it is merciless;” and at that thought she seemed tosee before her a community with tribunals that were different.
Knut Norby was called as the first witness in the case. The moment had come for which he had previously felt such terror. He had to go in and say that he had not put his name to any paper for Wangen.
When he entered the corridor he felt the excitement of the card-player who has good cards in his hand, and is impatient to play them. His one thought was that he must not for the world forget anything. As his hand touched the handle of the door, a far-off voice seemed to say: “Turn back! There is still time!” But the voice was far too distant. “Did you really defraud that widow?” said another voice; and this filled him with a desire to knock Wangen down. As he entered the court, he raised his shoulders a little, as he was accustomed to do when he knew that a number of people were looking at him. The first thing he saw was Wangen in the dock; and when their eyes met in a flash, the old man felt a dull anger rising within him. He remembered all the reports that Wangen had spread about him. “You wait!” he thought.
On his way to the witness-box he saw both the pastor’s wife and Fru Thora nodding to him, and it gave him encouragement. When he saw that it was not the magistrate himself, but his head clerk who was conducting the inquiry, he was offended. The magistrate might send his clerk to unimportantcases; but it was Knut Norby that this concerned. When the young man with the eye-glasses and the downy moustache adjured him to speak the truth, the old man felt a desire to laugh. Fancy that whipper-snapper acting magistrate! He had heard that this very gentleman had been as drunk as a lord at Lawyer Basting’s last Saturday evening. And there sat Basting, too, that pauper, trying to look like a sage! He had come already to help Wangen, the fool! Yes, this was a court to inspire respect!
The questioning began. Norby found it easy to answer, just because Basting was on the watch. He had been on the watch, too, when he had tried to agitate for Norby’s removal from the bank board, and to get appointed himself. The poor wretch’s goods were distrained for the poor-rate, and he was thankful to get a bill for two krones to collect. And that man was on the watch against Knut Norby? Supposing it were he who had got hold of Einar!
“Wangen asserts that he distinctly remembers the place where the signing took place,” said the clerk.
“Well, perhaps I might be allowed to know where it was, too,” said Norby, innocently.
The clerk turned towards Wangen. “Wasn’t it at the Grand Café?”
Wangen rose, and his eyes shone as brightly now when he said it took place at the Grand as when he said he was innocent.
To Norby this gave a welcome touch of comicality, and he answered with deep conviction: “That document was not signed by me.”
At these words he heard a little sarcastic laugh from Wangen, which made him boil with rage. “I’ll give him something to laugh at,” he thought. “Wait a little!”
Then something happened, which came quite unexpectedly upon Norby. The clerk took out a paper and handed it to him. “Here is the document,” he said, “and there is your name. Will you see whether it resembles your signature? You might possibly have forgotten the matter.”
For a moment Norby saw his name, as he himself had written it. It had the effect of a ghost. He would not look at it. He looked at Lawyer Basting, who was looking askance at him, and this made him quite angry, and he threw the document upon the table, saying: “I don’t need to look at that thing. I know what I’ve done.”
At this Basting asked permission to put a question, and rising, came nearer to the witness-box. “Has Wangen never asked you to be surety for him?” he asked.
Norby looked contemptuously at the greasy-looking, bald-headed old man. He was about to laugh or give a scornful answer; but a voice whispered! “Take care not to let the cat out of the bag!” and he said with a smile:
“A great many people have asked me to be suretyfor them; but I can’t remember them all.” Then, irritated at again hearing Wangen’s sarcastic laugh, he added casually: “He must have asked me, however; for latterly he was running about and asking every blessed soul he knew.”
This time he heard Marit laugh.
When his examination was over, he remembered the declaration from Haarstad’s widow, and asked to be recalled when Sören Kvikne had given evidence. When he came out of the room he stood on the stairs for a little while to cool himself before putting on his cap. There was a voice far away, crying: “You have lied!” But it was too far away, and powerful voices rose against it. It was true, was it, that he had defrauded that widow?
He still seemed to hear Wangen’s laughter, and he thought once more: “Wait a little, and I’ll give you something to laugh at!” He still had his best cards in his hand.
“It’s too bad all the same,” he thought, as he sauntered across the yard, “that one should be exposed to the attacks of such riff-raff. You have both to circumvent them and to wriggle away from them; but I’ll be d——d if that man doesn’t have to leave the parish now!”
Suddenly the old man stood still. A young man in overcoat and fur cap was coming towards him. Was he mistaken? No; it was Einar.
Norby was excited already; and now when Einarcame, too, perhaps to interfere, he felt inclined to give the boy a thrashing.
They both stopped within a few steps of one another. Einar was very pale.
“Is that you?” said the old man, attempting to laugh. He knew that people could see them from the window.
“Yes, father!” said Einar, as he dug his stick into a snow-drift, “and it isn’t very pleasant to be myself just now.”
At this the old man laughed scornfully, and shrugged his shoulders. “No, of course not,” he said. “Is a hundred and fifty krones a month too little? You have a family in Christiania, perhaps?”
Einar pressed his lips together, and his voice shook as he said, looking calmly at his father: “I wanted to follow the dictates of my conscience, and do what was right.”
“Yes, of course!” said the old man, coming a step nearer, and laughing again. “Does any one forbid you to do so?”
“I shall have to go in and save the innocent man,” said Einar, “no matter what it costs me.” But he involuntarily retreated a step, and gazed at his father in fear. The old man still tried to smile, because people could see them from the windows; but he suddenly turned pale.
“Yes, I thought so,” he said, breathing heavily; “but who has put you up to this?”
At this Einar flushed, and drew a step nearer.“Father!” he said, and his voice was indignant; “you must tell me what you mean by that.”
The old man, however, resented the authoritative tone, and began to gesticulate, while he shouted: “Go in and give evidence then, confound you! Don’t stand there and torture your father! Go at once, do you hear?”
He caught his breath and gesticulated with his arms, but no more words came; and he turned abruptly and tramped away, while Einar began mechanically to walk towards the court-house. Suddenly he heard his name called: “Einar!” He turned. “Yes, father?” His father was standing looking after him, but made a sudden movement with his hand. “Nothing!” he said, and went on. Pride had conquered.
Einar stood upon the steps of the court-house. There were a few steps to be made. “The fact is that father himself is the best proof that Wangen is innocent,” he thought. “But can I? Am I cowardly or courageous? All I have to do is to tell the truth and save an innocent man. Is that so dreadful? Perhaps it’s the only time in my life that a brave action will be required of me. I must be a man!” And he went on with slower steps into the passage, and knocked at the door.