CHAPTER XAFTERthe sweets came coffee, and the conversation was soon being carried on through clouds of tobacco-smoke.“Do you know who Norby is like?” said Fru Thora to her neighbour, who was the magistrate.The magistrate looked up with his cigar in his mouth, and answered: “No—at least, yes——”“Don’t you see he’s like Garibaldi?”“Well, now you say it,” said the magistrate.All down the table the talk was exclusively of Norby. It came naturally. Two farmers told of the King’s last journey through the district, when Norby quietly went up and took him by the hand, and bade him welcome to the district. Einar had to tell the bailiff’s wife about his grandfather, Ingeborg was questioned about her mother; the magistrate praised the old man for his skill in the game of boston; an estate administrator told about a probate case in which Norby was arbitrator, and how clever he was in bringing people to reason; the doctor sat and talked about the shape of the old man’s head, and especially the sign of race in the forehead.There was a buzz of homage in the form of little sympathetic touches unearthed from the memories of all present and held up to view; and at last the old man was raised higher and higher, borne as it were by all that was wept, said, sung, and felt there this evening—elevated upon a golden cloud of sympathy and admiration.Einar alone had grown coldly serious at the pastor’s speech, and various questions thronged in upon him. Through all the rosy clouds that enveloped this table he seemed to get a glimpse into—something different.The best feelings and ideals of every one seemed to have met this evening to pay homage to his father; and he no longer dared to think whether his father were the guilty one or not. But if— Could it be that the most sacred human feelings and ideals were completely blind, so that they could just as easily lend themselves to glorify a crime, a black lie? Could it be? Surely not! Was it no guarantee when people’s words were glowing with the whole warmth of their heart, when their eyes were wet and their voice trembled with emotion? Was that so? Surely not! But if— Was it no excuse to have done a thing in all good faith? For the fact remained that if people crowned the criminal, and threw the innocent into prison, good faith was the most terrible thing of all; for it committed its bad actions with divine good conscience, and every one laid down their arms before it. Was it so? And did all suchforces as God, one’s country, philanthropy, Christianity, lend themselves as garments to adorn the wrong-doer and honour the lie? No, no! it must not, could not, be so. But that was why there was so much wrong done in the world. The wet eyes, the warm tones, the glowing hearts, always formed a defensive covering for that which was bad. Was it so?And what about himself? Had not his best feelings for his parents made him a— He dared not think the word.It must not, it could not, be so! He involuntarily wished there were strong drink in his glass, and that he could drink himself into a happy mood with wine as the others did with their speeches.He raised his glass, and tried to smile at Ingeborg. She raised hers in return, while she thought, “Thank God that Einar was undeceived!”Suddenly some one said: “Oh, look out there!” Several rose from the table and went to the windows. Against the dark fjord, that reflected the starry sky, a gleaming rocket rose into the air, while another was already raining down in fiery sparks of many colours. A new one rose, and in its first brilliant blaze Laura could be seen bare-headed and in her silk dress, and by her side the bailiff’s son.There were several exclamations, and Ingeborg said: “Oh indeed! That was why Laura had a headache and had to go out!”A fresh rocket blazed up and illuminated the twostanding in the dark, just as Laura took hold of the young man’s arm to draw him a little way from the rocket. It was her first tender care for him. Then it was dark once more about them, while the fiery sparks rained down from the sky, reflected all the time in the dark, still fjord, into which they finally fell.“Look!” cried those at the windows. “Oh, look!” “Oh, that was lovely!” “Both blue and red!” And all the time momentary flashes of light gleamed upon the two young people, who stood there and sent up bright messengers into the sky in the still evening.When at last this was over the lamps in the hall were suddenly extinguished. A tittering was heard, and a few indignant ladies’ voices; but suddenly a curtain was drawn aside, and revealed a Norwegian mountain landscape illuminated by paraffin lamps.“Goodness me!” thought Einar. “Are we going to have that old play that everybody knows?”But all at once a young girl in Norwegian costume came forward and began to talk to an old man. It was—Einar gazed in perplexity—it was she! It was the doctor’s young daughter. That was why she had not been at the dinner, then. She had perhaps been rehearsing up to the last moment.Sore and despondent and disturbed as Einar was already, this surprise threw him into the greatest agitation. His heart beat, and something warmbegan to run through his limbs. There she was! And how lovely she was in that dress! And gradually the oil-lamps turned into sunshine, and the ridiculous decorations into actual wood and mountain; and the good patriotic moral of the play acted upon him with a wonderful power.But when the young girl went off the stage the piece seemed to lose its interest, and he turned to Fru Thora with the question whether there was to be dancing afterwards. “Yes,” she said. Good! He would ask the doctor whether his daughter might stay, if he promised to see her home. Perhaps it might turn out a wonderful evening for him yet.
AFTERthe sweets came coffee, and the conversation was soon being carried on through clouds of tobacco-smoke.
“Do you know who Norby is like?” said Fru Thora to her neighbour, who was the magistrate.
The magistrate looked up with his cigar in his mouth, and answered: “No—at least, yes——”
“Don’t you see he’s like Garibaldi?”
“Well, now you say it,” said the magistrate.
All down the table the talk was exclusively of Norby. It came naturally. Two farmers told of the King’s last journey through the district, when Norby quietly went up and took him by the hand, and bade him welcome to the district. Einar had to tell the bailiff’s wife about his grandfather, Ingeborg was questioned about her mother; the magistrate praised the old man for his skill in the game of boston; an estate administrator told about a probate case in which Norby was arbitrator, and how clever he was in bringing people to reason; the doctor sat and talked about the shape of the old man’s head, and especially the sign of race in the forehead.There was a buzz of homage in the form of little sympathetic touches unearthed from the memories of all present and held up to view; and at last the old man was raised higher and higher, borne as it were by all that was wept, said, sung, and felt there this evening—elevated upon a golden cloud of sympathy and admiration.
Einar alone had grown coldly serious at the pastor’s speech, and various questions thronged in upon him. Through all the rosy clouds that enveloped this table he seemed to get a glimpse into—something different.
The best feelings and ideals of every one seemed to have met this evening to pay homage to his father; and he no longer dared to think whether his father were the guilty one or not. But if— Could it be that the most sacred human feelings and ideals were completely blind, so that they could just as easily lend themselves to glorify a crime, a black lie? Could it be? Surely not! Was it no guarantee when people’s words were glowing with the whole warmth of their heart, when their eyes were wet and their voice trembled with emotion? Was that so? Surely not! But if— Was it no excuse to have done a thing in all good faith? For the fact remained that if people crowned the criminal, and threw the innocent into prison, good faith was the most terrible thing of all; for it committed its bad actions with divine good conscience, and every one laid down their arms before it. Was it so? And did all suchforces as God, one’s country, philanthropy, Christianity, lend themselves as garments to adorn the wrong-doer and honour the lie? No, no! it must not, could not, be so. But that was why there was so much wrong done in the world. The wet eyes, the warm tones, the glowing hearts, always formed a defensive covering for that which was bad. Was it so?
And what about himself? Had not his best feelings for his parents made him a— He dared not think the word.
It must not, it could not, be so! He involuntarily wished there were strong drink in his glass, and that he could drink himself into a happy mood with wine as the others did with their speeches.
He raised his glass, and tried to smile at Ingeborg. She raised hers in return, while she thought, “Thank God that Einar was undeceived!”
Suddenly some one said: “Oh, look out there!” Several rose from the table and went to the windows. Against the dark fjord, that reflected the starry sky, a gleaming rocket rose into the air, while another was already raining down in fiery sparks of many colours. A new one rose, and in its first brilliant blaze Laura could be seen bare-headed and in her silk dress, and by her side the bailiff’s son.
There were several exclamations, and Ingeborg said: “Oh indeed! That was why Laura had a headache and had to go out!”
A fresh rocket blazed up and illuminated the twostanding in the dark, just as Laura took hold of the young man’s arm to draw him a little way from the rocket. It was her first tender care for him. Then it was dark once more about them, while the fiery sparks rained down from the sky, reflected all the time in the dark, still fjord, into which they finally fell.
“Look!” cried those at the windows. “Oh, look!” “Oh, that was lovely!” “Both blue and red!” And all the time momentary flashes of light gleamed upon the two young people, who stood there and sent up bright messengers into the sky in the still evening.
When at last this was over the lamps in the hall were suddenly extinguished. A tittering was heard, and a few indignant ladies’ voices; but suddenly a curtain was drawn aside, and revealed a Norwegian mountain landscape illuminated by paraffin lamps.
“Goodness me!” thought Einar. “Are we going to have that old play that everybody knows?”
But all at once a young girl in Norwegian costume came forward and began to talk to an old man. It was—Einar gazed in perplexity—it was she! It was the doctor’s young daughter. That was why she had not been at the dinner, then. She had perhaps been rehearsing up to the last moment.
Sore and despondent and disturbed as Einar was already, this surprise threw him into the greatest agitation. His heart beat, and something warmbegan to run through his limbs. There she was! And how lovely she was in that dress! And gradually the oil-lamps turned into sunshine, and the ridiculous decorations into actual wood and mountain; and the good patriotic moral of the play acted upon him with a wonderful power.
But when the young girl went off the stage the piece seemed to lose its interest, and he turned to Fru Thora with the question whether there was to be dancing afterwards. “Yes,” she said. Good! He would ask the doctor whether his daughter might stay, if he promised to see her home. Perhaps it might turn out a wonderful evening for him yet.