PART IICHAPTER IINa room in a Christiania boarding-house a young man was sitting with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. In front of him lay a large open book, with certain passages underlined with red; but he was not reading. It was Einar Norby, Knut’s only surviving son; and he was a student of philology, and was reading for his final examination.The window was open to the warm March sun, but now he rose, and went to shut it, as the noise from the street disturbed his thoughts. He began to pace up and down the floor, now and then passing his hand across his forehead with a pained movement. “What shall I do about this?” he thought. “For things have taken a different aspect now.”He was a tall, slim, fair young man of about five-and-twenty. His not yet having taken his degree was not owing to laziness. He had first studied theology for a couple of years; but one day he had gone home and had appeared before his father in his office to say privately that he could not go on with it anylonger, that his conscience would not let him be a priest.His father sat gnawing the end of his pipe, and when he had listened to his son’s explanation, said:“Well, well, you’re quite right, my boy, to give it up if you are so sure of what you’re doing. It’ll be worse for your mother; but I must try and talk to her.” So Einar went abroad to travel for a year and look about him, and on his return he had taken up philology.A week earlier he had heard in a letter from his mother of Wangen’s forgery, and it had at once excited his greatest astonishment, for he remembered with perfect distinctness how one day three or four years ago his father had come up to him and said: “Wangen’s got the better of me nicely to-day!” And then he had told him about the guarantee, but begged him not to tell any one, not even his mother. This had surprised him at the time, and perhaps it was for that very reason that he remembered it so distinctly.“What shall I do?” he asked himself over and over again. It was possible there was some misunderstanding, but he nevertheless thought it best to write to his father about it.He had had an answer to-day. The old man wrote that Einar was talking nonsense. He had never had anything to do with Wangen.“Is it nonsense!” thought Einar as he paced his room. His father wrote quite confidently that it wasall nonsense; but Einar took heaven to witness that it was not. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that he remembered accurately.“But what shall I do?” he said again; for he felt that he could not at once give in about it. “Suppose Wangen is innocent and I am the only person who can save him. Mother wrote too that Wangen had no witnesses. What shall I do?”The inquiry was to take place in a few days, so he could not put off acting any longer.“And father writes that he has never had anything to do with Wangen; so it cannot refer to some other matter than the one I remember. Is it possible that father is so forgetful, or——?”Certain of his father’s ways in business matters had often jarred upon Einar. But this? No!“But suppose that Wangen is punished for what he is innocent of? Could I ever be happy again?”He threw himself upon the sofa and covered his eyes with his hand. Supposing he went home and put things to his father? What a row there would be! And if his father had really embarked upon something wrong, he supposed it was too late now to turn back, at any rate from the old man’s point of view.“But what am I to do? Shall I not do anything at all?”The thought of what it would involve, namely, his going before the court and giving evidence against his father, made him dizzy. But if he were to interfereat all in the matter, he must be prepared for all that it involved. On the one side stood his father, and on the other the impulse to do what was right; and he heard a mocking voice within him say: “There, now you can see how easy it is to rise above family considerations! What if it had been some one else and not your father?”Einar Norby had often been guilty of judging harshly, especially in the case of public men. He belonged to the generation of young men who, through bitter disappointments, have conceived a deep suspicion both of the ideas and of the men who had once aroused the enthusiasm of their early youth.While he lay upon the sofa with his hand over his eyes, the mocking voice within him went on: “Now you must show what one ought to do. Be sure you don’t show any family considerations; don’t be a party to any corruption, like public men! Do what is right! How you have been applauded in the Students’ Club when you have spoken of public men who float about on vague sentiments, and whose conscience is kept entirely by relations and friends. You once said that their meaning well was no defence; for they made their judgment drunk with sentiments that did not concern them, and thought they were honest, like the drunkard who believes that he alone is sober. Take care! Don’t be a coward! Be sure you do what is right! It cannot be such a dreadful thing to come forward and giveevidence against your father when you are in the right!”It seemed to take him by the throat. There appeared to be no choice between the two things, either to be a coward, or to go home and bring unhappiness upon all those he loved.At moments such as these, when a momentous decision has to be made, perhaps at great cost, there are always certain voices that lull and weaken. “You are a fool!” they said. “What in the world do you want to meddle with that matter for? Your father has one son living, and that son now wants to get his father sent to prison. Do you know anything about the matter? You talk a lot of twaddle about remembering this, that, and the other; but what about your father? Do you suppose he doesn’t remember what he did? Does he generally act like a scoundrel? In any case, stick to your last! Leave to the courts of justice that which belongs to them, and see if you really can manage to be ready for your examination!”This relieved him for a time, but when he rose and began to walk up and down, he once more saw the funny, white-bearded mask that somewhere in his inner consciousness began to grin. “Of course not, don’t have anything to do with it! You might risk something this time, for this time it affects yourself, your own people. But talk in a loud voice when it’s about persons that you don’t know! Declaim then, and bring tears into people’s eyes; but now? Besilent! Sneak off! Hide yourself! And start again to-morrow, when you take aim at some poor person who doesn’t belong to you! Be one of those champions of truth for whom you have always shown such contempt!”He grew more and more agitated. He sat down and passed his hand again and again across his brow, then started up once more and paced the floor, with his head in a whirl. He had scarcely slept all night owing to the same thoughts.“I must come to a decision! There are only two days left! And if I sneak out of it now, it will not exactly be a heroic deed, and ever after I shall have to keep quiet when anything is said about justice and truth.”He looked at his watch. There was a train in a couple of hours. But just as he was about to get out his bag and pack it, he was once more seized with uncertainty. Suppose his father would not be persuaded? “What should I do then! I ought to have some plan of what I am going to do, if Iamgoing to interfere.”He seemed to see his father, and Norby Farm in the summer, waving cornfields, and the calm waters of Lake Mjösen. Go and give evidence? Break with them all? Bring unhappiness upon them? Never more have a home at Norby? He sank upon a chair and sighed heavily. “No, I can’t do it!”
INa room in a Christiania boarding-house a young man was sitting with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. In front of him lay a large open book, with certain passages underlined with red; but he was not reading. It was Einar Norby, Knut’s only surviving son; and he was a student of philology, and was reading for his final examination.
The window was open to the warm March sun, but now he rose, and went to shut it, as the noise from the street disturbed his thoughts. He began to pace up and down the floor, now and then passing his hand across his forehead with a pained movement. “What shall I do about this?” he thought. “For things have taken a different aspect now.”
He was a tall, slim, fair young man of about five-and-twenty. His not yet having taken his degree was not owing to laziness. He had first studied theology for a couple of years; but one day he had gone home and had appeared before his father in his office to say privately that he could not go on with it anylonger, that his conscience would not let him be a priest.
His father sat gnawing the end of his pipe, and when he had listened to his son’s explanation, said:
“Well, well, you’re quite right, my boy, to give it up if you are so sure of what you’re doing. It’ll be worse for your mother; but I must try and talk to her.” So Einar went abroad to travel for a year and look about him, and on his return he had taken up philology.
A week earlier he had heard in a letter from his mother of Wangen’s forgery, and it had at once excited his greatest astonishment, for he remembered with perfect distinctness how one day three or four years ago his father had come up to him and said: “Wangen’s got the better of me nicely to-day!” And then he had told him about the guarantee, but begged him not to tell any one, not even his mother. This had surprised him at the time, and perhaps it was for that very reason that he remembered it so distinctly.
“What shall I do?” he asked himself over and over again. It was possible there was some misunderstanding, but he nevertheless thought it best to write to his father about it.
He had had an answer to-day. The old man wrote that Einar was talking nonsense. He had never had anything to do with Wangen.
“Is it nonsense!” thought Einar as he paced his room. His father wrote quite confidently that it wasall nonsense; but Einar took heaven to witness that it was not. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that he remembered accurately.
“But what shall I do?” he said again; for he felt that he could not at once give in about it. “Suppose Wangen is innocent and I am the only person who can save him. Mother wrote too that Wangen had no witnesses. What shall I do?”
The inquiry was to take place in a few days, so he could not put off acting any longer.
“And father writes that he has never had anything to do with Wangen; so it cannot refer to some other matter than the one I remember. Is it possible that father is so forgetful, or——?”
Certain of his father’s ways in business matters had often jarred upon Einar. But this? No!
“But suppose that Wangen is punished for what he is innocent of? Could I ever be happy again?”
He threw himself upon the sofa and covered his eyes with his hand. Supposing he went home and put things to his father? What a row there would be! And if his father had really embarked upon something wrong, he supposed it was too late now to turn back, at any rate from the old man’s point of view.
“But what am I to do? Shall I not do anything at all?”
The thought of what it would involve, namely, his going before the court and giving evidence against his father, made him dizzy. But if he were to interfereat all in the matter, he must be prepared for all that it involved. On the one side stood his father, and on the other the impulse to do what was right; and he heard a mocking voice within him say: “There, now you can see how easy it is to rise above family considerations! What if it had been some one else and not your father?”
Einar Norby had often been guilty of judging harshly, especially in the case of public men. He belonged to the generation of young men who, through bitter disappointments, have conceived a deep suspicion both of the ideas and of the men who had once aroused the enthusiasm of their early youth.
While he lay upon the sofa with his hand over his eyes, the mocking voice within him went on: “Now you must show what one ought to do. Be sure you don’t show any family considerations; don’t be a party to any corruption, like public men! Do what is right! How you have been applauded in the Students’ Club when you have spoken of public men who float about on vague sentiments, and whose conscience is kept entirely by relations and friends. You once said that their meaning well was no defence; for they made their judgment drunk with sentiments that did not concern them, and thought they were honest, like the drunkard who believes that he alone is sober. Take care! Don’t be a coward! Be sure you do what is right! It cannot be such a dreadful thing to come forward and giveevidence against your father when you are in the right!”
It seemed to take him by the throat. There appeared to be no choice between the two things, either to be a coward, or to go home and bring unhappiness upon all those he loved.
At moments such as these, when a momentous decision has to be made, perhaps at great cost, there are always certain voices that lull and weaken. “You are a fool!” they said. “What in the world do you want to meddle with that matter for? Your father has one son living, and that son now wants to get his father sent to prison. Do you know anything about the matter? You talk a lot of twaddle about remembering this, that, and the other; but what about your father? Do you suppose he doesn’t remember what he did? Does he generally act like a scoundrel? In any case, stick to your last! Leave to the courts of justice that which belongs to them, and see if you really can manage to be ready for your examination!”
This relieved him for a time, but when he rose and began to walk up and down, he once more saw the funny, white-bearded mask that somewhere in his inner consciousness began to grin. “Of course not, don’t have anything to do with it! You might risk something this time, for this time it affects yourself, your own people. But talk in a loud voice when it’s about persons that you don’t know! Declaim then, and bring tears into people’s eyes; but now? Besilent! Sneak off! Hide yourself! And start again to-morrow, when you take aim at some poor person who doesn’t belong to you! Be one of those champions of truth for whom you have always shown such contempt!”
He grew more and more agitated. He sat down and passed his hand again and again across his brow, then started up once more and paced the floor, with his head in a whirl. He had scarcely slept all night owing to the same thoughts.
“I must come to a decision! There are only two days left! And if I sneak out of it now, it will not exactly be a heroic deed, and ever after I shall have to keep quiet when anything is said about justice and truth.”
He looked at his watch. There was a train in a couple of hours. But just as he was about to get out his bag and pack it, he was once more seized with uncertainty. Suppose his father would not be persuaded? “What should I do then! I ought to have some plan of what I am going to do, if Iamgoing to interfere.”
He seemed to see his father, and Norby Farm in the summer, waving cornfields, and the calm waters of Lake Mjösen. Go and give evidence? Break with them all? Bring unhappiness upon them? Never more have a home at Norby? He sank upon a chair and sighed heavily. “No, I can’t do it!”