The sun on the strangers' gallery lost its brilliancy and a storm burst out in the Chamber.
Like a flash Count Splint was on his legs:
"Quosque tandem, Catilina!It has come to that! Members are forgetting themselves so far as to dare to criticize Government! Yes, gentlemen, criticize Government, or, what is even worse, make a joke of it; for this motion cannot be anything but a vulgar joke. Did I say joke? It is treason! Oh! My poor country! Your unworthy sons have forgotten the debt they owe you! But what else can we expect, now, that you have lost your knightly guard, your shield and your arms! I request the blackguard Per Andersson, or whatever his name may be, to withdraw his motion or, by Gad! he shall see that King and country still have loyal servants, able to pick up a stone and fling it at the head of the many-headed hydra of treason."
Applause from the strangers' gallery; indignation in the Chamber.
"Ha! Do you think I'm afraid?"
The speaker made a gesture as if he were throwing a stone, but on every one of the hydra's hundred faces lay a smile. Glaring round, in search of a hydra which did not smile, the speaker discovered it in the reporters' gallery.
"There! There!"
He pointed to the pigeon house and in his eyes lay an expression as if he saw all hell open.
"That's the crows' nest! I hear their croaking, but it doesn't frighten me! Arise, men of Sweden! Cut off the tree, saw through the boards, pull down the beams, kick the chairs to pieces, break the desks into fragments, small as my little finger—he held it up—and then burn the blackguards until nothing of them is left. Then the kingdom will flourish in peace and its institutions will thrive. Thus speaks a Swedish nobleman! Peasants, remember his words!"
This speech which three years ago would have been welcomed with acclamations, taken down verbatim and printed and circulated in national schools and other charitable institutions, was received with universal laughter. An amended version was placed on the record and, strange to say, it was only reported by the opposition papers which do not, as a rule, care to publish outbursts of this description.
The Upsala bench again craved permission to speak. The speaker quite agreed with the last speaker; his acute ear had caught something of the old rattling of swords. He would like to say a few words. He would like to speak of theideaof a joint-stock company as an idea, but begged to be allowed to explain to the Chamber that a joint-stock company was not an accumulation of funds, not a combination of people, but a moral personality, and as such not responsible....
Shouts of laughter and loud conversation prevented the reporters from hearing the remainder of the argument, which closed with the remark that theinterests of the country were at stake, conformable to the idea, and that, if the motion were rejected the interests of the country would be neglected and the State in danger.
Six speakers filled up the interval until dinner-time by giving extracts from the official statistics of Sweden, Nauman's Fundamental Statutes, the Legal Textbook and the Göteberg Commercial Gazette: the conclusion invariably arrived at was that the country was in danger if his Majesty were to be jointly and severally liable for all joint-stock companies the statutes of which he had sanctioned; and that the interests of the whole country were at stake. One of the speakers was bold enough to say that the interests of the country stood on a throw of the dice; others were of the opinion that they stood on a card, others again that they hung on a thread; the last speaker said they hung on a hair.
At noon the proposition to go into Committee on the motion was rejected; that was to say, there was no need for the country to go through the Committee-mill, the office-sieve, the Imperial chaff-cutter, the club-winnower and the newspaper-hubbub. The country was saved. Poor country!
Some time after Arvid Falk's first experience as a reporter Charles Nicholas Falk and his beloved wife were sitting at the breakfast table. He was, contrary to his custom, not in dressing-gown and slippers, and his wife was wearing an expensive morning-gown.
"Yes, they were all here yesterday," said Mrs. Falk, laughing gaily, "all five of them, and they were extremely sorry about the matter."
"I wish the deuce...."
"Nicholas, remember you are no longer standing behind the counter."
"What am I to say then if I lose my temper?"
"One doesn't lose one's temper, one gets annoyed! And it's permissible to say: 'It's very extraordinary!'"
"Very well, then, it's very extraordinary that you have always something unpleasant up your sleeve. Why can't you refrain from telling me things you know will irritate me?"
"Vex you, old man! You expect me to keep my vexations to myself; but you lie——"
"Lay, old girl!"
"I saylieyour burdens on my shoulders too. Was that what you promised me when we got married?"
"Don't make a scene, and don't let's have any of your logic! Go on! They were all here, mamma and your five sisters?"
"Four sisters! You don't care much for your family!"
"No more do you!"
"No more do I!"
"And they came here to condole with you on account of my brother's discharge? Is that so?"
"Yes! And they were impertinent enough to say that I had no longer any reason to be stuck up...."
"Proud, old girl!"
"They saidstuck up. Personally I should never have condescended to make use of such an expression."
"What did you say? I expect you gave them a piece of your mind?"
"You may depend on that! The old lady threatened never again to cross our threshold."
"Did she really? Do you think she meant it?"
"No, I don't! But I'm certain that the old man...."
"You shouldn't speak of your father in that tone! Supposing somebody heard you!"
"Do you think I should run that risk? However, the old man—between you and me—will never come here again."
Falk pondered; after a while he resumed the conversation.
"Is your mother proud? Is she easily hurt? I'm always so afraid of hurting people's feelings, as you know; you ought to tell me about her weak points, so that I can take care."
"You ask me whether she is proud? You know; she is, in her own way. Supposing, for instance, she was told that we had given a dinner-party without asking her and my sisters, she would never come here again."
"Wouldn't she really?"
"You may depend upon it."
"It's extraordinary that people of her class——"
"What's that?"
"Oh, nothing; women are so sensitive! How's your association getting on? What did you call it?"
"The Association for the Promotion of Women's Rights."
"What rights do you mean?"
"The wife shall have the right of disposing of her own property."
"Hasn't she got it already?"
"No, she hasn't."
"May I ask what your property is of which you are not allowed to dispose?"
"Half of your's, old man! My dowry."
"The devil! Who taught you such rubbish?"
"It's not rubbish; it's the spirit of the age, my dear. The new law should read like this: 'When a woman marries she becomes the owner of half her husband's property, and of this half she can dispose as she likes.'"
"And when she has run through it, the husband will have to keep her! I should take jolly good care not to."
"Under the new law you would be forced to do so, or go to the poor-house. This would be the penalty for a man who doesn't keep his wife."
"Take care! You are going too far! But, have you any meetings? Who were the women present? Tell me?"
"We are still busy with the statutes, with the preliminaries."
"But who are the women?"
"At present only Mrs. Homan, the controller's wife, and Lady Rehnhjelm."
"Rehnhjelm? A very good name! I think I've heard it before. But didn't you tell me you were going to float a Dorcas Society as well?"
"Founda Dorcas Society! Oh, yes, and what d'you think? Pastor Skore is coming one evening to read a paper."
"Pastor Skore is an excellent preacher and moves in good society. I'm glad that you're keeping away from the lower classes. There's nothing so fatal to man or woman as to form low connexions. My father always said that; it was one of his strictest principles."
Mrs. Falk picked up the bread-crumbs from thetablecloth and dropped them into her empty cup. Mr. Falk put his fingers into his waistcoat pocket and brought out a tooth-pick with which he removed some tiny atoms of coffee grounds lodged between his teeth.
Husband and wife felt self-conscious in each other's company. Each guessed the thoughts of the other, and both realized that the first who broke the silence would say something foolish and compromising. They cast about for fresh subjects of conversation, mentally examined them and found them unsuitable; every one of them had some connexion with what had been said, or could be brought into connexion with it. Falk would have liked to have reason for finding fault with the breakfast, so as to have an excuse for expressing indignation; Mrs. Falk looked out of the window, feebly hoping that there might be a change in the weather—in vain.
A maid-servant entered and saved the situation by offering them a tray with the newspapers, at the same time announcing Mr. Levin.
"Ask him to wait," said the master curtly.
For a few moments his boots squeaked up and down the room, preparing the visitor who was waiting in the corridor for his arrival.
The trembling Levin, greatly impressed by the newly invented waiting in the corridor, was ultimately conducted into the master's private room, where he was received like a petitioner.
"Have you brought the bill of exchange with you?" asked Falk.
"I think so," replied the crestfallen Levin, producing a bundle of guarantees and blank bills of various values. "Which bank do you prefer? I have bills on all with the exception of one."
In spite of the grave character of the situation Falk could not help smiling as he looked at the incomplete guarantees on which the name was missing; the bills fully filled up with the exception of an acceptor's name, and those completely filled up, which had not been accepted.
"Let's say the Ropemakers' Bank," he said.
"That's the one impossible one—I'm known there."
"Well, the Shoemakers' Bank, the Tailors' Bank, any one you like, only do be quick about it."
They finally accepted the Joiners' Bank.
"And now," said Falk, with a look as if he had bought the other's soul, "now you had better go and order a new suit; but I want you to order it at a military tailor's, so that they will supply you later on with a uniform on credit."
"Uniform? I don't want——"
"Hold your tongue, and do as you are told! It must be finished on Thursday next, when I'm going to give a big party. As you know, I've sold my shop and warehouse, and to-morrow I shall receive the freedom of the city as a wholesale merchant."
"Oh! I congratulate you!"
"Hold your tongue when I'm speaking! You must go and pay a call now. With your deceitful ways, your unrivalled capacity for talking nonsense, you have succeeded in winning the good graces of my mother-in-law. I want you to ask her what she thought of the party I gave on Sunday last."
"Did you...."
"Hold your tongue and do as I tell you! She'll be jealous and ask you whether you were present. Of course you weren't, for there was no party. You'll both express discontent, become good friends and slander me; I know you're an expert at it. But you must praise my wife. Do you understand?"
"No; not quite."
"Well, it's not necessary that you should; all you've got to do is to carry out my orders. Another thing—tell Nyström that I've grown so proud that I don't want to have anything more to do with him. Tell him that straight out; you'll be speaking the truth for once! No! Hold on! We'll postpone that! You'll go to him, speak of the importance of next Thursday; paint for him the great advantages,the many benefits, the brilliant prospects, and so on. You understand me!"
"I understand."
"Then you take the manuscript to the printers' and—then...."
"We'll kick him out!"
"If you like to call it that, I have no objection."
"And am I to read the verses to your guests and distribute them?"
"Hm—yes! And another thing! Try to meet my brother; find out all you can about his circumstances and friends! Make up to him, worm yourself into his confidence—the latter's an easy job—become his friend! Tell him that I've cheated him, tell him that I am proud, and ask him how much he'll take for changing his name."
A tinge of green, representing a blush, spread over Levin's pale face.
"That's ugly," he said.
"What? And besides—one thing more! I'm a business man and I like order in all my transactions. I guarantee such and such a sum; I must pay it—that's clear!"
"Oh, no!"
"Don't talk rubbish! I have no security in case of death. Just sign this bond made out to the holder and payable at sight. It's merely a formality."
At the wordholdera slight tremor shook Levin's body, and he seized the pen hesitatingly, although he well knew that retreat was impossible. In imagination he saw a row of shabby, spectacled men, carrying canes in their hands, their breast-pockets bulging with stamped documents; he heard knocking at doors, running on stairs, summonses, threats, respite; he heard the clock on the town hall striking as the men shouldered their canes and led him—with clogged feet—to the place of execution, where he himself was finally released, but where his honour as a citizen fell under the executioner's axe amid the delighted shouts of the crowd. He signed. The audience was over.
For forty years Sweden had worked for the right which every man obtains when he comes of age. Pamphlets had been written, newspapers founded, stones thrown, suppers eaten and speeches made; meetings had been held, petitions had been presented, the railways had been used, hands had been pressed, volunteer regiments had been formed; and so, in the end, with a great deal of noise, the desired object had been attained. Enthusiasm was great and justifiable. The old birchwood tables at the Opera Restaurant were transformed into political tribunes; the fumes of the reform-punch attracted many a politician, who, later on, became a great screamer; the smell of reform cigars excited many an ambitious dream which was never realized; the old dust was washed off with reform soap; it was generally believed that everything would be right now; and after the tremendous uproar the country lay down and fell asleep, confidently awaiting the brilliant results which were to be the outcome of all this fuss.
It slept for a few years, and when it awoke it was faced by a reality which suggested a miscalculation. There were murmurs here and there; the statesmen who had recently been lauded to the skies were now criticized. There were even, among the students, some who discovered that the whole movement had originated in a country which stood in very close relationship to the promoter of the Bill, and thatthe original could be found in a well-known handbook. But enough of it! Characteristic of these days was a certain embarrassment which soon took the form of universal discontent or, as it was called, opposition. But it was a new kind of opposition; it was not, as is generally the case, directed against the Government, but against Parliament. It was a Conservative opposition including Liberals as well as Conservatives, young men as well as old; there was much misery in the country.
Now it happened that the newspaper syndicateGrey Bonnet, born and grown up under Liberal auspices, fell asleep when it was called upon to defend unpopular views—if one may speak of the views of a syndicate. The directors proposed at the General Meeting that certain opinions should be changed, as they had the effect of decreasing the number of subscribers, necessary to the continuance of the enterprise. The General Meeting agreed to the proposition, and theGrey Bonnetbecame a Conservative paper. But there was abut, although it must be confessed that it did not greatly embarrass the syndicate; it was necessary to have a new chief editor to save the syndicate from ridicule; that no change need be made so far as the invisible editorial staff was concerned, went without saying. The chief editor, a man of honour, tendered his resignation. The editorial management, which had long been abused on account of its red colour, accepted it with pleasure, hoping thereby, without further trouble, to take rank as a better class paper. There only remained the necessity of finding a new chief editor. In accordance with the new programme of the syndicate, he would have to possess the following qualifications: he must be known as a perfectly trustworthy citizen; must belong to the official class; must possess a title, usurped or won, which could be elaborated if necessity arose. In addition to this he must be of good appearance, so that one could show him off at festivals and on other publicoccasions; he must be dependent; a little stupid, because true stupidity always goes hand in hand with Conservative leanings; he must be endowed with a certain amount of shrewdness, which would enable him to know intuitively the wishes of his chiefs and never let him forget that public and private welfare are, rightly understood, one and the same thing. At the same time he must not be too young, because an older man is more easily managed; and finally, he must be married, for the syndicate, which consisted of business men, knew perfectly well that married slaves are more amenable than unmarried ones.
The individual was discovered, and he was to a high degree endowed with all the characteristics enumerated. He was a strikingly handsome man with a fairly fine figure and a long, wavy beard, hiding all the weak points of his face, which otherwise would have given him away. His large, full, deceitful eyes caught the casual observer and inspired his confidence, which was then unscrupulously abused. His somewhat veiled voice, always speaking words of love, of peace, of honour and above all of patriotism, beguiled many a misguided listener, and brought him to the punch table where the excellent man spent his evenings, preaching straightforwardness and love of the Mother Country.
The influence which this man of honour exerted on his evil environment was marvellous; it could not be seen, but it could be heard. The whole pack, which for years had been let loose on everything time-honoured and venerable, which had not even let alone the higher things, was now restrained and full of love—not only for its old friends—was now—and not merely in its heart—moral and straightforward. They carried out in every detail the programme drawn up by the new editor on his accession, the cardinal points of which, expressed in a few words, were: to persecute all good ideas if they were new, to fight for and uphold all bad ones if theywere old, to grovel before those in power, to extol all those on whom fortune was smiling, to push down all those who strove to rise, to adore success and abuse misfortune. Freely translated the programme read: to acknowledge and cheer only the tested and admittedly good, to work against the mania of innovation, and to persecute severely, but justly, everybody who was trying to get on by dishonest means, for honest work only should be crowned with success.
The secret of the last clause which the editorial staff had principally at heart was not difficult to discover. The staff consisted entirely of people whose hopes had been disappointed in one way or another; in most cases by their own fault—through drinking and recklessness. Some of them were "college geniuses," who in the past had enjoyed a great reputation as singers, speakers, poets or wits, and had then justly—or according to them unjustly—been forgotten. During a number of years it had been their business to praise and promote, frequently against their own inclination, everything that was new, all the enterprises started by reformers; it was, therefore, not strange that now they seized the opportunity to attack—under the most honourable pretexts—everything new, good or bad.
The chief editor in particular was great in tracking humbug and dishonesty. Whenever a delegate opposed a Bill which tended to injure the interests of the country for the sake of the party, he was immediately taken to task and called a humbug, trying to be original, longing for a ministerial dress-coat; he did not say portfolio, for he always thought of clothes first. Politics, however, was not his strong, or rather his weak point, but literature. In days long past, on the occasion of the Old Norse Festival at Upsala, he had proposed a toast in verse on woman, and thereby furnished an important contribution to the literature of the world; it was printed in as many provincial papers as the author considered necessary for his immortality. This hadmade him a poet, and when he had taken his degrees, he bought a second-class ticket to Stockholm, in order to make his début in the world and receive his due. Unfortunately the Stockholmers do not read provincial papers. The young man was unknown and his talent was not appreciated. As he was a shrewd man—his small brain had never been exuberantly imaginative—he concealed his wound and allowed it to become the secret of his life.
The bitterness engendered by the fact that his honest work, as he called it, remained unrewarded specially qualified him for the post of a literary censor; but he did not write himself: his position did not allow him to indulge in efforts of his own, and he preferred leaving it to the reviewer who criticized everybody's work justly and with inflexible severity. The reviewer had written poetry for the last sixteen years under a pseudonym. Nobody had ever read his verses and nobody had taken the trouble to discover the author's real name. But every Christmas his verses were exhumed and praised in theGrey Bonnet, by a third party, of course, who signed his article so that the public should not suspect that the author had written it himself—it was taken for granted that the author was known to the public. In the seventeenth year, the author considered it advisable to put his name to a new book—a new edition of an old one. As misfortune would have it, theRed Cap, the whole staff of which was composed of young people who had never heard the real name, treated the author as a beginner, and expressed astonishment, not only that a young writer should put his name to his first book, but also that a young man's book could be so monotonous and old-fashioned. This was a hard blow; the old "pseudonymus" fell ill with fever, but recovered after having been brilliantly rehabilitated by theGrey Bonnet; the latter went for the whole reading public in a lump, charging it with being immoral and dishonest, unable to appreciate an honest, sound, and moral book which could safely be put into the handsof a child. A comic paper made fun of the last point, so that the "pseudonymus" had a relapse, and, on his second recovery, vowed annihilation to all native literature which might appear in future; it did, however, not apply to quite all native literature, for a shrewd observer would have noticed that theGrey Bonnetfrequently praised bad books; true, it was often done lamely and in terms which could be read in two ways. The same shrewd observer could have noticed that the miserable stuff in question was always published by the same firm; but this did not necessarily imply that the reviewer was influenced by extraneous circumstances, such as little lunches, for instance; he and the whole editorial staff were upright men who would surely not have dared to judge others with so much severity if they themselves had not been men of irreproachable character.
Another important member of the staff was the dramatic critic. He had received his education and qualified at a recruiting bureau in X-köping; had fallen in love with a "star" who was only a "star" in X-köping. As he was not sufficiently enlightened to differentiate between a private opinion and a universal verdict, it happened to him when he was for the first time let loose in the columns of theGrey Bonnetthat he slated the greatest actress in Sweden, and maintained that she copied Miss——, whatever her name was. That it was done very clumsily goes without saying, and also that it happened before theGrey Bonnethad veered round. All this made his name detested and despised; but still, he had a name, and that compensated him for the indignation he excited. One of his cardinal points, although not at once appreciated, was his deafness. Several years went by before it was discovered, and even then nobody could tell whether or no it had any connexion with a certain encounter, caused by one of his notices, in the foyer of the Opera House, one evening after the lights had been turned down. After this encounter he tested the strength of his arm only on quite young people; and anybodyfamiliar with the circumstances could tell by his critique when he had had an accident in the wings, for the conceited provincial had read somewhere the unreliable statement that Stockholm was another Paris, and had believed it.
The art critic was an old academician who had never held a brush in his hand, but was a member of the brilliant artists club "Minerva," a fact which enabled him to describe works of art in the columns of his paper before they were finished, thereby saving the reader the trouble of forming an opinion of his own. He was invariably kind to his acquaintances, and in criticizing an exhibition never forgot to mention every single one of them. His practice, of many years' standing, of saying something pretty about everybody—and how would he have dared to do otherwise—made it child's play to him to mention twenty names in half a column; in reading his reviews one could not help thinking of the popular game "pictures and devices." But the young artists he always conscientiously forgot, so that the public, which, for ten years had heard none but the old names, began to despair of the future of art. One exception, however, he had made, and made quite recently, in an unpropitious hour; and in consequence of this exception there was great excitement one morning in the editorial office of theGrey Bonnet.
What had occurred was this: Sellén—the reader may remember this insignificant name mentioned on a former, and not a particularly important occasion—had arrived with his picture at the exhibition at the very last moment. When it had been hung—in the worst possible place—for the artist was neither a member of the Academy nor did he possess the royal medal—the "professor of Charles IX" arrived; he had been given this nickname because he never painted anything but scenes from the life of Charles IX; the reason again for this was that a long time ago he had bought at an auction a wine glass, a tablecloth, a chair, and a parchment from the periodof Charles IX; these objects he had painted for twenty years, sometimes with, sometimes without, the king. But he was a professor now and a knight of many orders, and so there was no help for it. He was with the academician when his eye fell on the silent man of the opposition and his picture.
"Here again, sir?" He put up his pince-nez. "And this, then, is the new style! Hm! Let me tell you, sir! Believe the word of an old man: take that picture away! Take it away! It makes me sick to look at it. You do yourself the greatest service if you take it away. What do you say, old fellow?"
The old fellow said that the exhibition of such a picture was an impertinence, and that if the gentleman would take his kindly meant advice, he would change his profession and become a sign-board painter.
Sellén replied mildly, but shrewdly, that there were so many able people in that profession, that he had chosen an artistic career where success could be obtained far more easily, as had been proved.
The professor was furious at this insolence; he turned his back on the contrite Sellén with a threat which the academician translated into a promise.
The enlightened Committee of Purchases had met—behind closed doors. When the doors were opened again, six pictures had been bought for the money subscribed by the public for the purpose of encouraging native artists. The excerpt from the minutes which found its way into the columns of the newspapers, was worded as follows:
"The Art Union yesterday bought the following pictures: (1) 'Water with Oxen,' landscape by the wholesale merchant K. (2) 'Gustavus Adolphus at the Fire of Magdeburg,' historical painting by the linen draper L. (3) 'A Child blowing its Nose,' genre-picture by lieutenant M. (4) 'S. S. Bore in the Harbour,' marine picture by the shipbroker N. (5) 'Sylvan Scene with Women,' landscape by theroyal secretary O. (6) 'Chicken with Mushrooms,' still-life by the actor P."
These works of art, which cost a thousand pounds each on an average, were afterwards praised in theGrey Bonnetin two three-quarter columns at fifteen crowns each; that was nothing extraordinary, but the critic, partly in order to fill up the space, and partly in order to seize the right moment for suppressing a growing evil, attacked a bad custom which was beginning to creep in. He referred to the fact that young, unknown adventurers, who had run away from the academy without study, were trying to pervert the sound judgment of the public by a mere running after effect. And then Sellén was taken by the ears and flogged, so that even his enemies found that his treatment was unfair—and that means a great deal. Not only was he denied every trace of talent and his art called humbug; even his private circumstances were dragged before the public; the article hinted at cheap restaurants where he was obliged to dine; at the shabby clothes he was forced to wear; at his loose morals, his idleness; it concluded by prophesying in the name of religion and morality that he would end his days in a public institution unless he mended his ways while there was yet time.
It was a disgraceful act, committed in indifference and selfishness; and it was little less than a miracle that a soul was not lost on the night of the publication of that particular number of theGrey Bonnet.
Twenty-four hours later theIncorruptibleappeared. It reflected on the way in which public moneys were administered by a certain clique, and mentioned the fact that at the last purchase of pictures, not a single one had been bought which had been painted by an artist, but that the perpetrators had been officials and tradesmen, impudent enough to compete with the artists, although the latter had no other market; it went on to say that these pirates lowered the standard and demoralized the artists, whose sole endeavourwould have to be to paint as badly as they did if they did not want to starve. Then Sellén's name was mentioned. His picture was the first soulfully conceived work within the last ten years. For ten years art had been a mere affair of colours and brushes; Sellén's picture was an honest piece of work, full of inspiration and devotion, and entirely original; a picture which could only have been produced by an artist who had met the spirit of nature face to face. The critic enjoined the young artist to fight against the ancients, whom he had already left a long way behind, and exhorted him to have faith and hope, because he had a mission to fulfil, etc.
TheGrey Bonnetfoamed with rage.
"You'll see that that fellow will have success!" exclaimed the chief editor. "Why the devil did we slate him quite so much! Supposing he became a success now! We should cover ourselves with ridicule."
The academician vowed that he should not have any success, went home with a troubled heart, referred to his books and wrote an essay in which he proved that Sellén's art was humbug, and that theIncorruptiblehad been corrupted.
TheGrey Bonnetdrew a breath of relief, but immediately afterwards it received a fresh blow.
On the following day the morning papers announced the fact that his Majesty had bought Sellén's "masterly landscape which, for days, had drawn a large public to the Exhibition."
TheGrey Bonnetreceived the full fury of the gale; it was tossed hither and thither, and fluttered like a rag on a pole. Should they veer round or steer ahead? Both paper and critic were involved. The chief editor decided, by order of the managing director, to sacrifice the critic and save the paper. But how was it to be done? In their extremity they remembered Struve. He was a man completely at home in the maze of publicity. He was sent for. The situation was clear to him in a moment, and hepromised that in a very few days the barge should be able to tack.
To understand Struve's scheme, it is necessary to know the most important data of his biography. He was a "born student," driven to journalism by sheer poverty. He started his career as editor of the SocialistPeople's Flag. Next he belonged to the ConservativePeasants' Scourge, but when the latter removed to the provinces with inventory, printing plant and editor, the name was changed intoPeasants' Friend, and its politics changed accordingly. Struve was sold to theRed Cap, where his knowledge of all the Conservative tricks stood him in good stead; in the same way his greatest merit in the eyes of theGrey Bonnetwas his knowledge of all the secrets of their deadly foe, theRed Cap, and his readiness to abuse his knowledge of them.
Struve began the work of whitewashing by starting a correspondence in thePeople's Flag; a few lines of this, mentioning the rush of visitors to the Exhibition, were reprinted in theGrey Bonnet. Next there appeared in theGrey Bonnetan attack on the academician; this attack was followed by a few reassuring words signed "The Ed." which read as follows: "Although we never shared the opinion of our art critic with regard to Mr. Sellén's justly praised landscape, yet we cannot altogether agree with the judgment of our respected correspondent; but as, on principle, we open our columns to all opinions, we unhesitatingly printed the above article."
The ice was broken. Struve, who had the reputation of having written on every subject—except cufic coins—now wrote a brilliant critique of Sellén's picture and signed it very characteristically Dixi. TheGrey Bonnetwas saved; and so, of course, was Sellén; but the latter was of minor importance.
It was seven o'clock in the evening. The band at Berns' was playing the Wedding March from "A Midsummer Night's Dream," when to the accompaniment of its inspiriting strains Olle Montanus made his entry into the Red Room. None of the members had yet arrived. Olle looked imposing. For the first time since his confirmation he was wearing a high hat. He was dressed in a new suit, and his boots were without holes; he had had a bath, had been newly shaved, and his hair was waved as if he were going to a wedding. A heavy brass chain ornamented his waistcoat, and his left waistcoat pocket bulged visibly. A sunny smile lit up his features; he radiated kindness; one might have thought that he wanted to help all the world with little loans. Taking off his overcoat, no longer cautiously buttoned up, he took the centre of the sofa in the background, opened his coat and tugged at his white shirt front so that it rose with a crackle and stood out like an arch; at every movement the lining of his waistcoat and trousers creaked. This seemed to give him as much pleasure as the knocking of his boot against the leg of the sofa. He pulled out his watch, his dear old turnip, which for a year and a month's grace had been in the pawnbroker's hands, and the two old friends both seemed to enjoy its liberty.
What had happened that this poor fellow should be so inexpressibly happy? We know that he had not drawn the winner in a lottery, that he had notinherited a fortune, that he had not been "honourably mentioned," that he had not won the sweet happiness which baffles description. What had happened then? Something very commonplace: he had found work.
Sellén was the next to arrive. He wore a velvet jacket and patent-leather boots; he carried a rug, a field-glass on a strap, and a cane; a yellow silk handkerchief was knotted round his throat; his hands were covered by flesh-coloured gloves and a flower blossomed in his buttonhole. He was, as usual, cheerful and calm; his lean, intelligent face betrayed no trace of the emotions undergone during the last few days.
Sellén was accompanied by Rehnhjelm; the lad was unusually subdued; he knew that his friend and patron was leaving him.
"Hallo! Sellén," said Olle, "you are happy at last, aren't you, old chap?"
"Happy? What nonsense you are talking! I've sold a piece of work! The first in five years! Is that so overwhelming?"
"But you must have read the papers! Your name's made!"
"Oh! I don't care the toss of a button for that! Don't imagine that I care for such trifles. I know exactly how much I still have to learn before I shall be anybody. Let's talk of it again in ten years' time, Olle."
Olle believed half of what Sellén said and doubted the rest; his shirt front crackled and the lining creaked so that Sellén's attention was aroused.
"By the Lord Harry!" he burst out, "you are magnificent!"
"Think so? You look like a lion."
Sellén rapped his patent-leather boots with his cane, shyly smelt the flower in his buttonhole, and looked indifferent. Olle pulled out his watch to see whether it was not yet time for Lundell to arrive, which gave Sellén an opportunity of sweeping the galleries with his field-glass. Olle was permitted to feel the softtexture of the velvet coat, while Sellén assured him that it was an exceptionally good quality at the price; Olle could not resist asking the cost. Sellén told him, and admired Olle's studs, which were made of shells.
Presently Lundell appeared; he, too, had been given a bone at the great banquet; he was commissioned to paint the altar-piece for the church of Träskola for a small sum; but this had not visibly affected his outward appearance, unless, indeed, his fat cheeks and beaming face hinted at a more generous diet.
Falk was with Lundell. He was grave, but he rejoiced, in the name of the whole world sincerely rejoiced, that merit had found its just reward.
"Congratulations, Sellén!" he said, "but it's no more than your due."
Sellén agreed.
"I have been painting just as well these last five years and all the world has jeered; they were still jeering the day before yesterday, but now! It's disgusting! Look at this letter which I received from the idiot, the professor of Charles IX!"
All eyes opened wide and became keen, for it is gratifying to examine the oppressor closely, have him—on paper at least—in one's hands, at one's mercy.
"'My dear Mr. Sellén,'—Fancy that!—'Let me welcome you among us'—he's afraid of me, the blackguard—'I have always appreciated your talent'—the liar!—let's tear up the rag and forget all about him."
Sellén invited his friends to drink; he drank to Falk, and hoped that his pen would soon bring him to the front. Falk became self-conscious, blushed and promised to do his best when his time came; but he was afraid that his apprenticeship would be a long one, and he begged his friends not to lose patience with him if he tarried; he thanked Sellén for his friendship, which had taught him endurance and renunciation. Sellén begged him not to talk nonsense; where was the merit of endurance when there was no other alternative? And where was the virtue in renouncing what one had no chance of obtaining?
But Olle smiled a kindly smile, and his shirt front swelled with pleasure, so that the red braces could be plainly seen; he drank to Lundell and implored him to take an example from Sellén, and not forget the Land of Promise in lingering over the fleshpots of Egypt. He assured him that his friend, Olle, believed in his talent, that was to say, when he was himself and painted according to his own light; but whenever he humbugged and painted to please others he was worse than the rest; therefore he should look upon the altar-piece as a pot boiler which would put him into a position to follow his own inspiration in art.
Falk tried to seize the opportunity of finding out what Olle thought of himself and his own art, a puzzle which he had long vainly attempted to solve, when Ygberg walked into the Red Room. Everybody eagerly invited him to be his guest, for he had been forgotten during the last hot days, and everyone was anxious to show him that it had not been out of selfishness. But Olle searched in his right waistcoat pocket, and with a movement which he was anxious to hide from all eyes he slipped a rolled-up banknote into Ygberg's coat pocket; the latter understood and acknowledged it by a grateful look.
Ygberg drank to Sellén; he said that one might consider, in one way, that Sellén's fortune was made; but, on the other hand, one might consider, with equal justification, that it was not so. Sellén was not sufficiently developed; he still wanted many years' study, for art was long, as he, Ygberg, had himself experienced. He had had nothing but ill-luck, therefore nobody could suspect him of envying a man of Sellén's reputation.
The envy which peered through Ygberg's words slightly clouded the sunny sky; but it was only for a moment, for everybody realized that the bitterness of a long, wasted life, must be held responsible for it.
All the more gladly Ygberg handed Falk a small newly printed essay, on the cover of which he beheld with consternation the black portrait of Ulrica Eleonora. Ygberg stated that he had delivered the manuscript on the day stipulated. Smith had taken Falk's refusal with the greatest calm, and was now printing Falk's poems.
To Falk's eyes the gas-jets lost their brilliancy; he sat plunged in deep thought; his heart was too full to find vent in words. His poems were to be printed at Smith's expense. This was proof that they were not without merit! The thought was sufficient food for the whole evening.
The evening passed quickly for the happy circle; the band ceased playing and the light was turned out; they were obliged to leave, but, finding the night far too young for breaking up, they strolled along the quays, amid endless conversation and philosophical discussions, until they were tired and thirsty. Lundell offered to take his friends to see Marie, where they could have some beer.
They turned towards the north and came to a street which gave on a fence; the fence enclosed a tobacco field, bordering on the open country. They stopped before a two-storied brick-house with a gable facing the street. From above the door grinned two sandstone faces whose ears and shins were lost in fantastic scrolls. Between the heads hung a sword and an axe. It was formerly the house of the executioner.
Lundell, apparently quite familiar with the neighbourhood, gave a signal before one of the windows on the ground floor; the blind was drawn up; the window opened, and a woman's head looked out; a voice asked whether the caller was Albert? No sooner had Lundell owned to this, hisnom de guerre, than a girl opened the door and, on the promise of silence, admitted the party. As the promise was readily given, the Red Room was soon in her apartment, and introduced to her under fictitious names.
The room was not a large one; it had once been the kitchen, and the range was still standing in its place. The furniture consisted of a chest of drawers, of a pattern usually found in servants' rooms; on the drawers stood a looking-glass, swathed in a piece of white muslin; above the glass hung a coloured lithograph, representing the Saviour on the Cross. The chest was littered with small china figures, scent bottles, a prayer book, and an ash tray, and with its looking-glass and two lighted tallow candles seemed to form a little house altar. Charles XV, surrounded by newspaper cuttings, mostly representing police constables, those enemies of the Magdalenes, was riding on horseback on the wall above the folding sofa, which had not yet been converted into a bed. On the window-sill stood a stunted fuchsia, a geranium and a myrtle—the proud tree of Aphrodite in the poor dwelling. A photograph album lay on the work-table. On the first leaf was a picture of the King, on the second and third papa and mamma—poor country folk; on the fourth a student, the seducer; on the fifth, a baby; and on the sixth the fiancé, a journeyman. This was her history, so like the history of most of them. On a nail, close to the range, hung an elegant dress, a velvet cloak, and a hat with feathers—the fairy disguise in which she went out to catch young men. The fairy herself was a tall, ordinary looking young woman of twenty-four. Recklessness and vigils had given her face that white transparency which as a rule distinguishes the untoiling rich, but her hands still showed traces of hard work. In her pretty dressing-gown, with her flowing hair down her back, she was the picture of a Magdalene; her manner was comparatively shy, but she was merry and courteous and on her best behaviour.
The party split up into groups, continued the interrupted discussions and started fresh ones. Falk, who now looked upon himself as a poet and was determined to be interested in everything—be it ever so banal—began a sentimental conversation withMarie, which she greatly enjoyed, for she appreciated the honour of being treated like a human being. As usual the talk drifted to her story and the motives which had shaped her career. She did not lay stress on her first slip, "that was hardly worth speaking about"; but all the blacker was her account of the time she had spent as a servant, leading the life of a slave, made miserable by the whims and scoldings of an indolent mistress, a life of never-ending toil. No, the free life she was leading now was far preferable.
"But when you are tired of it?"
"Then I shall marry Vestergren."
"Does he want you?"
"He's looking forward to the day; moreover, I am going to open a little shop with the money I have saved. But so many have asked me that question: 'Have you got any cigars?'"
"Oh, yes; here you are! But do you mind my talking about it?"
He took the album and pointed out the student—it is always a student, with a white handkerchief round his neck, a white student's hat on his knees, and a gauche manner, who plays Mephisto.
"Who is this?"
"He was a nice fellow."
"The seducer? What?"
"Oh! let it alone! I was every bit as much to blame, and it is always so, my dear; both are to blame! Look, this is my baby. The Lord took it, and I dare say it was for the best. But now let's talk about something else. Who is that gay dog whom Albert has brought here to-night? The one closest to the stove, by the side of the tall one, whose head reaches up to the chimney?"
Olle, very much flattered by her attention, patted his wavy hair which, after the many libations, was beginning to stand up again.
"That is assistant preacher Monsson," said Lundell.
"Ugh! A clergyman! I might have known itfrom the cunning look in his eyes. Do you know that a clergyman came here last week? Come here, Monsson, and let me look at you!"
Olle descended from his seat where he and Ygberg had been criticizing Kant's Categorical Imperative. He was so accustomed to exciting the curiosity of the sex that he immediately felt younger; he lurched towards the lady whom he had already ogled and found charming. Twirling his moustache, he asked in an affected voice, with a bow which he had not learned at a dancing class:
"Do you really think, miss, that I look like a clergyman?"
"No, I see now that you have a moustache; your clothes are too clean for an artisan—may I see your hand—oh! you are a smith!"
Olle was deeply hurt.
"Am I so very ugly, miss?" he asked pathetically.
Marie examined him for a moment.
"You are very plain," she said, "but you look nice."
"Oh, dear lady, if you only knew how you are hurting me! I have never yet found a woman ready to love me, and yet I have met so many who found happiness although they were plainer than I am. But woman is a cursed riddle, which nobody can solve; I detest her."
"That's right, Olle," came a voice from the chimney, where Ygberg's head was; "that's all right."
Olle was going back to the stove, but he had touched on a topic which interested Marie too much to allow it to drop; he had played on a string the sound of which she knew. She sat down by his side and soon they were deep in a long-winded and grave discussion—on love and women.
Rehnhjelm, who during the whole evening had been more quiet and restrained than usual, and of whom nobody could make anything, suddenly revived and was now sitting in the corner of the sofa near Falk.Obviously something was troubling him, something which he could not make up his mind to mention. He seized his beer-glass, rapped on the table as if he wanted to make a speech, and when those nearest to him looked up ready to listen to him, he said in a tremulous and indifferent voice:
"Gentlemen, you think I am a beast, I know; Falk, I know you think me a fool, but you shall see, friends—the devil take me, you shall see!"
He raised his voice and put his beer-glass down with such determination that it broke in pieces, after which he sank back on the sofa and fell asleep.
This scene, although not an uncommon one, had attracted Marie's attention. She dropped the conversation with Olle, who, moreover, had begun to stray from the purely abstract point of the question and rose.
"Oh! what a pretty boy!" she exclaimed. "How does he come to be with you? Poor little chap! How sleepy he is! I hadn't seen him before."
She pushed a cushion under his head and covered him with a shawl.
"How small his hands are! Far smaller than yours, you country louts! And what a face! How innocent he looks! Albert, did you make him drink so much?"
Whether it had been Lundell or another was a matter of no importance now; the man was drunk. But it also was a fact that he did not need any urging to drink. He was consumed by a constant longing to still an inner restlessness which seemed to drive him away from his work.
The remarks made by his pretty friend had not perturbed Lundell; but now his increasing intoxication excited his religious feelings, which had been blunted by a luxurious supper. And as the intoxication began to be general, he felt it incumbent on him to remind his companions of the significance of the day and the impending leave-taking. He rose, filledhis glass, steadied himself against the chest of drawers and claimed the attention of the party.
"Gentlemen,"—he remembered Magdalene's presence—"and ladies! We have eaten and drunk to-night with—to come to the point—an intent which, if we set aside the material which is nothing but the low, sensual animal component of our nature—that in a moment like this when the hour of parting is imminent—we have here a distressing example of the vice which we call drunkenness! Doubtless, it arouses all one's religious emotion if, after an evening spent in a circle of friends, one feels moved to propose a glass to him who has shown more than ordinary talent—I am speaking of Sellén—one should think that self-respect should to a certain extent prevail. Such an example, I maintain, has been manifested here, in higher potency, and therefore I am reminded of the beautiful words which will never cease ringing in my ears as long as I am able to think, and I am convinced they are now in the mind of each one of us, although this spot is anything but suitable. This young man, who has fallen a victim to the vice which we will call drunkenness, has unfortunately crept into our circle and—to cut my speech short—matured a sadder result than anybody could have expected. Your health, noble friend Sellén! I wish you all the happiness which your noble heart deserves! Your health, Olle Montanus! Falk, too, has a noble heart, and will come to the front when his religious sense has acquired the vigour which his character foreshadows. I won't mention Ygberg, for he has at last come to a decision, and we wish him luck in the career upon which he has so splendidly entered—the philosophical career. It is a difficult one, and I repeat the words of the psalmist: Who can tell? At the same time we have every reason to hope for the best in the future, and I believe that we can count on it as long as our sentiments are noble and our hearts are not striving for worldly gain; for, gentlemen, a man without religion is a beast. Itherefore ask every gentleman here present to raise his glass and empty it to all that is noble, beautiful, and splendid, and for which we are striving. Your health, gentlemen!"
Religious emotion now overwhelmed Lundell to such a degree that it was thought best to break up the party.
Daylight had been shining through the window-blind for some time and the landscape with the castle and the maiden stood out brilliantly in the first radiance of the morning sun. When the blind was drawn up, day rushed in and illuminated the faces of those nearest the window; they were deadly pale. The red light of the tallow candles fell with magnificent effect on the face of Ygberg, who was sitting on the stove, clutching his glass. Olle was proposing toasts to women, the spring, the sun, the universe, throwing open the window, to give vent to his feelings. The sleepers were roused, the party took their leave of Marie, and filed through the front door.
When they had reached the street, Falk turned round. Magdalene was leaning out of the window; the rays of the sun fell on her pale face; her long, black hair, which shone deep red in the sunlight, seemed to trickle down her throat and over her shoulders and to be falling on the street in little streams. Above her head hung the sword and the axe and the two grinning faces; but in an apple tree on the other side of the road perched a black and white fly-catcher, and sang its frenzied song of joy that the night was over.
Levi was a young man born and educated for business and on the point of establishing himself with the assistance of his wealthy father, when the latter died, leaving nothing but a family totally unprovided for.
This was a great disappointment to the young man; he had reached an age when he considered that he might stop working altogether and let others toil for him. He was twenty-five and of good appearance. Broad-shouldered and lean in the flank, his body seemed specially adapted for wearing a frock-coat in the manner which he had much admired in certain foreign diplomatists. Nature had arched his chest in the most elegant fashion, so that he was capable of setting off to the fullest advantage a four-buttoned shirt front, even in the very act of sinking into an easy chair at the foot of a long Board-table occupied by the whole Administrative Committee. A beautiful beard, parted in the middle, gave his young face a sympathetic and trustworthy expression; his small feet were made for walking on the Brussels carpet of a Board-room, and his carefully manicured hands were particularly suitable for very light work, such as the signing of his name, preferably on a printed circular.
In the days which are now called the good days, although in reality they were very bad ones for a good many people, the greatest discovery of a great century was made, namely, that one could live more cheaply and better on other people's money than on the results of one's own efforts. Many, a great many,people had taken advantage of the discovery, and as no patent law protected it, it was not surprising that Levi should be anxious to profit by it, too, more particularly as he had no money himself and no inclination to work for a family which was not his own. He, therefore, put on his best suit one day and called on his uncle Smith.
"Oh, indeed! You have an idea," said Smith, "Let's hear it! It's a good thing to have ideas!"
"I have been thinking of floating a joint stock company."
"Very good. Aaron will be treasurer, Simon secretary, Isaac cashier, and the other boys book-keepers; it's a good idea! Go on! What sort of a company is it going to be?"
"I'm thinking of a marine insurance society."
"Indeed! So far so good; everybody has to insure his property when he goes on a voyage. But your idea?"
"Thisismy idea."
"I don't think much of it. We have the big society 'Neptune.' It's a good society. Yours would have to be better if you intend to compete with it. What would be the novelty in your society?"
"Oh! I understand! I should reduce the premiums and all the patrons of the 'Neptune' would come to me."
"That's better! Very well, then, the prospectus which I would print would begin in this way: 'As the crying need of reducing the marine insurance premiums has long been felt, and it is only owing to the want of competition that it has not yet been done, we, the undersigned, beg to invite the public to take up shares in the new society.... What name?"
"Triton."
"Triton? What sort of a chap was he?"
"He was a sea-god."
"All right, Triton. It will make a good poster! You can order it from Ranch in Berlin, and we willreproduce it in my almanac 'Our Country.' Now for the undersigned. First, of course, my name. We must have big, well-sounding names. Give me the official almanac."
Smith turned over the leaves for some time.
"A marine insurance company must have a naval officer of high rank. Let me see! An admiral."
"Oh! Those sort of people have no money!"
"Bless me! You don't know much about business, my boy! They are only wanted to subscribe, not to pay up! And they receive their dividends for attending the meetings and being present at the directors' dinners! Here we have two admirals; one of them has the Commander's Ribbon of the Polar Star, and the other one has the Russian Order of Anna. What shall we do? I think we had better take the Russian, for there is splendid marine insurance ground in Russia.... There!"
"But is it such a simple matter to get hold of these people?"
"Tut, tut! Next we want a retired minister of State! Yes! Well! They are called Your Excellency! Yes! Good. And a Count! That's more difficult! Counts have lots of money! And we must have a professor! They have no money! Is there such a thing as a Professor of Navigation? That would be a capital thing for our venture! Isn't there a School of Navigation somewhere near the South Theatre? Yes? Very well! Everything is as clear as possible to me. Oh! I nearly forgot the most important point. We must have a legal man! A counsellor of a high court. Here he is!"
"But we have no money yet!"
"Money? What's the use of money in company promoting? Doesn't the man who insures his goods pay us money? What? Or do we pay him? No! Well then, he pays with his premiums."
"But the original capital?"
"One issues debentures!"
"True, but there must be some cash!"
"One pays cash in debentures! Isn't that paying? Supposing I gave you a cheque for a sum, any bank would cash it for you. Therefore, a cheque is money. Very well! And is there a law which ordains that cash shall mean bank-notes? If there were, what about private bank-notes?"
"How large should the capital be?"
"Very small! It's bad business to tie up large sums. A million! Three hundred thousand in cash and the remainder in debentures."
"But—but—but! The three hundred thousand crowns surely must be in bank-notes!"
"Good Lord in Heaven! Bank-notes? Notes are money! If you have notes, well and good; if you haven't, it comes to the same thing. Therefore, we must interest the small capitalists, who have nothing but bank-notes."
"And the big ones? How do they pay?"
"In shares, debenture guarantees, of course. But that will be a matter for later on. Get them to subscribe, and we'll see to the rest."
"And only three hundred thousand? One single great steamer costs as much. Supposing we insured a thousand steamers?"
"A thousand? Last year the 'Neptune' issued forty-eight thousand insurance policies, and did well out of it."
"All the worse, I say! But if—but if—matters should go wrong...."
"One goes into liquidation!"
"Liquidation?"
"Declares oneself insolvent! That's the proper term. And what does it matter if the society becomes insolvent? It isn't you, or I, or he! But one can also increase the number of shares, or issue debentures which the Government may buy up in hard times at a good price."
"There's no risk then?"
"Not the slightest! Besides what have you got to lose? Do you possess one farthing? No! Verywell then! What do I risk? Five hundred crowns! I shall only take five shares, you see! And five hundred is as much as this to me!"
He took a pinch of snuff and the matter was settled.
The society was floated and during the first ten years of its activity it paid 6, 10, 10, 11, 20, 11, 5, 10, 36, and 20 per cent. The shares were eagerly bought up, and, in order to enlarge the business, more shares were issued; the new issue of shares was followed by a general meeting of shareholders; Falk was sent to report it for theRed Cap, whose assistant reporter he was.
When, on a sunny afternoon in June, he entered the Exchange, the hall was already crowded with people. It was a brilliant assembly. Statesmen, geniuses, men of letters, officers, and civil service men of high rank; uniforms, dress-coats, orders, and ribbons; all those here assembled had one big general interest! The advancement of the philanthropic institution called marine insurance. It required a great love to risk one's money for the benefit of the suffering neighbour whom misfortune had befallen, but here was love! Falk had never seen such an accumulation of it in one spot. Although not yet an entirely disillusioned man, he could not suppress a feeling of amazement.
But he was even more amazed when he noticed the little blackguard Struve, the former Socialist, creeping through the crowd like a reptile, greeted, and sometimes addressed by distinguished people with a familiar nod, a pressure of the hand or a friendly slap on the shoulder. He saw a middle-aged man, wearing a ribbon belonging to a high order, nodding to him, and he noticed that Struve blushed and concealed himself behind an embroidered coat. This brought him into Falk's vicinity, and the latter immediately accosted him and asked him who the man was. Struve's embarrassment increased, butsummoning up all his impudence, he replied, "You ought to know that! He's the president of the Board of Payment of Employés' Salaries." No sooner had the words left his lips than he pretended to be called to the other side of the room; but he was in so great a hurry that Falk wondered whether he felt uncomfortable in his society? A blackguard in the company of an honourable man!