The brilliant assembly began to be seated. But the president's chair was still vacant. Falk was looking for the reporter's table, and when he discovered Struve and the reporter for theConservativesitting at a table on the right-hand side of the secretary he took his courage into his hands and marched through the distinguished crowd; just as he had reached the table, the secretary stopped him with a question. "For which paper?" he asked. A momentary silence ensued. "For theRed Cap," answered Falk, with a slight tremor in his voice; he had recognized in the secretary the actuary of the Board of Payment of Employés' Salaries. A half-stifled murmur ran through the room; presently the secretary said in a loud voice: "Your place is at the back, over there!" He pointed to the door and a small table standing close to it.
Falk realized in a moment the significance of the word "Conservative," and also what it meant to be a journalist who was not a Conservative. Boiling inwardly he retraced his footsteps, walking to his appointed place through the sneering crowd; he stared at the grinning faces, challenging them with burning eyes, when his glance met another glance, quite in the background, close to the wall. The eyes, bearing a strong resemblance to a pair of eyes now closed in death, which used to rest on his face full of love, were green with malice and pierced him like a needle; he could have shed tears of sorrow at the thought that a brother could thus look at a brother.
He took his modest place near the door, for he was determined not to beat a retreat. Very soon he wasroused from his apparent calm by a newcomer who prodded him in the back as he took off his coat and shoved a pair of rubber overshoes underneath his chair. The newcomer was greeted by the whole assembly which rose from their seats as one man. He was the chairman of the Marine Insurance Society Limited "Triton," but he was something else beside this. He was a retired district-marshal, a baron, one of the eighteen of the Swedish Academy, an Excellency, a knight of many orders, etc. etc.
A rap with the hammer and amid dead silence the president whispered the following oration: just delivered by him at a meeting of the Coal Company Limited, in the hall of the Polytechnic.
"Gentlemen! Amongst all the patriotic and philanthropic enterprises there are few—if any—of such a noble and beneficial nature as an Insurance Society."
This statement was received with a unanimous "Hear! hear!" which, however, made no impression on the district-marshal.
"What else is life but a struggle, a life and death struggle, one might say, with the forces of Nature! There will be few among us who do not, sooner or later, come into conflict with them."
"Hear! hear!"
"For long ages man, more especially primitive man, has been the sport of the elements; a ball tossed hither and thither, a glove blown here and there by the wind like a reed. This is no longer the case. I'm correct in saying it is not. Man has determined to rebel; it is a bloodless rebellion, though, and very different to the revolutions which dishonourable traitors to their country have now and again stirred up against their lawful rulers. No! gentlemen! I'm speaking of a revolution against nature! Man has declared war to the natural forces; he has said, 'Thus far shalt thou go and no farther!'"
"Hear! hear!" and clapping of hands.
"The merchant sends out his steamer, his brig, hisschooner, his barge, his yacht, and so forth. The gale breaks the vessel to pieces. 'Break away!' says the merchant, for he loses nothing. This is the great aspect of the insurance idea. Imagine the position, gentlemen! The merchant has declared war upon the storms of heaven—and the merchant has won the day!"
A storm of applause brought a triumphant smile to the face of the great man; he seemed thoroughly to enjoy this storm.
"But, gentlemen, do not let us call an Insurance Institution a business. It is not a business; we are not business men. Far from it! We have collected a sum of money and we are ready to risk it. Is this not so, gentlemen?"
"Yes, yes!"
"We have collected a sum of money so as to have it ready to hand over to him whom misfortune has befallen; his percentage—I think he pays 1 per cent.—cannot be called a contribution; it is called a premium, and rightly so. Not that we want any sort of reward—premium means reward—for our little services, which we merely render because we are interested—as far as I am concerned it is purely for this reason. I repeat, I don't think—there can be any question that any one in our midst would hesitate—I don't think that one of us would mind seeing his contribution, if I may be allowed to call the shares by that name, used for the furtherance of the idea."
"No! No!"
"I will now ask the Managing Director to read the annual report."
The director rose. He looked as pale as if he had been through a storm; his big cuffs with the onyx studs could hardly hide the slight trembling of his hand; his cunning eyes sought comfort and strength in Smith's bearded face; he opened his coat and his expansive shirt front swelled as if it were ready to receive a shower of arrows—and read:
"Truly, strange and unexpected are the ways of Providence...."
At the word Providence a considerable number of faces blanched, but the district-marshal raised his eyes towards the ceiling as if he were prepared for the worst (a loss of two hundred crowns).
"The year which we have just completed will long stand in our annals like a cross on the grave of the accidents which have brought to scorn the foresight of the wisest and the calculations of the most cautious."
The district-marshal buried his face in his hands as if he were praying. Struve, believing that the white wall dazzled his eyes, jumped up to pull down the blind, but the secretary had already forestalled him.
The reader drank a glass of water. This caused an outburst of impatience.
"To business! Figures!"
The district-marshal removed his hand from his eyes and was taken aback when he found that it was so much darker than it had been before. There was a momentary embarrassment and the storm gathered. All respect was forgotten.
"To business! Go on!"
The director skipped the preliminary banalities, and plunged right into the heart of the matter.
"Very well, gentlemen, I will cut my speech short!"
"Go on! Go on! Why the devil don't you?"
The hammer fell. "Gentlemen!" There was so much dignity in this brief "Gentlemen" that the assembly immediately remembered their self-respect.
"The Society has been responsible during the year for one hundred and sixty-nine millions."
"Hear! hear!"
"And has received a million and a half in premiums."
"Hear! hear!"
Falk made a hasty calculation and found that if the full receipts in premiums, namely, one million and a half, and the total original capital, one million, werededucted, there remained about one hundred and sixty-six millions for which the society was responsible. He realized what "the ways of Providence" meant.
"Unfortunately the amount paid on policies was one million seven hundred and twenty-eight thousand six hundred and seventy crowns and eight öre."
"Shame!"
"As you see, gentlemen, Providence...."
"Leave Providence alone! Figures! Figures! Dividends!"
"Under the circumstances I can only propose, in my capacity as Managing Director, a dividend of 5 per cent. on the paid-up capital."
Now a storm burst out which no merchant in the world could have weathered.
"Shame! Impudence! Swindler! Five per cent! Disgusting! It's throwing one's money away!"
But there were also a few more philanthropic utterances, such as: "What about the poor, small capitalists who have nothing but their dividends to live on? How'll they manage? Mercy on us, what a misfortune! The State ought to help, and without delay! Oh dear! Oh dear!"
When the storm had subsided a little and the director could make his voice heard, he read out the high praise given by the Supervisory Committee to the Managing Director and all the employés who, without sparing themselves, and with indefatigable zeal, had done the thankless work. The statement was received with open scorn.
The report of the accountants was then read. They stated—after again censuring Providence—that they had found all the books in good—not to say excellent—order, and in checking the inventory all debentures on the reserve fund had been found correct (!) They therefore called upon the shareholders to discharge the directors and acknowledge their honest and unremitting labour.
The directors were, of course, discharged.
The Managing Director then declared that under the circumstances he could not think of accepting his bonus (a hundred crowns) and handed it to the reserve fund. This declaration was received with applause and laughter.
After a short evening prayer, that is to say a humble petition to Providence that next year's dividend might be 20 per cent., the district-marshal closed the proceedings.
On the same afternoon on which her husband had attended the meeting of the Marine Insurance Society "Triton," Mrs. Falk for the first time wore a new blue velvet dress, with which she was eager to arouse the envy of Mrs. Homan, who lived in the house opposite. Nothing was easier or more simple; all she had to do was to show herself every now and then at the window while she supervised the preparations in her room, intended to "crush" her guests, whom she expected at seven. The Administrative Committee of the Crèche "Bethlehem" was to meet and examine the first monthly report; it consisted of Mrs. Homan, whose husband, the controller, Mrs. Falk suspected of pride because he was a Government official; Lady Rehnhjelm whom she suspected of the same failing because of her title, and the Rev. Skore, who was private chaplain of all the great families. The whole committee was to be crushed and crushed in the sweetest possible manner.
The new setting for the scene had already been displayed at the big party. All the old pieces which were neither antique nor possessed of any artistic value had been replaced by brand new furniture. Mrs. Falk intended to manage the actors in the little play until the close of the proceedings, when her husband would arrive upon the scene with an admiral—he had promised his wife at least an admiral in full-dress uniform. Both were to crave admission to the society. Falk was to enlarge the funds of the society on the spot by handing over to it a part of the sumwhich he had been earning so easily as shareholder of the "Triton."
Mrs. Falk had finished with the window and was now arranging the rosewood table, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, on which the proofs of the monthly report were to be laid. She dusted the agate inkstand, placed the silver penholder on the tortoiseshell rack, turned up the seal of the chrysoprase handle so as to hide her commoner's name, cautiously shook the cash-box made of the finest steel wire, so that the value of the few bank-notes it contained could be plainly read. Finally, having given her last orders to the footman dressed up for the parade, she sat down in her drawing-room in the careless attitude in which she desired that the announcement of her friend, the controller's wife, should discover her; Mrs. Homan would be sure to be the first to arrive.
She did arrive first. Mrs. Falk embraced Evelyn and kissed her on the cheek, and Mrs. Homan embraced Eugenia, who received her in the dining-room and retained her there for a few moments in order to ask her opinion of the new furniture. Mrs. Homan wasted no time on the solid oak sideboard dating from the time of Charles XII, with the tall Japanese vases, because she felt small by the side of it; she looked at the chandelier which she found too modern, and the dining-table, which, she said, was not in keeping with the prevailing style; in addition to this she considered that the oleographs were out of place among the old family portraits, and took quite a long time to explain the difference between an oil painting and an oleograph. Mrs. Falk's new silk-lined velvet dress swished against every corner within reach without succeeding in attracting her friend's attention. She asked her whether she liked the new Brussels carpet in the drawing-room; Mrs. Homan thought it contrasted too crudely with the curtains; at last Mrs. Falk felt annoyed with her and dropped her questions.
They sat down at the drawing-room table, clutching at life-buoys in the guise of photographs, unreadablevolumes of verse, and so on. A little pamphlet fell into Mrs. Homan's hands; it was printed on gold-edged pink paper and bore the title: "To the wholesale merchant Nicholas Falk, on his fortieth birthday."
"Ah! These are the verses which were read at your party! Who wrote them?"
"A very clever man, a friend of my husband's. His name's Nyström."
"Hm! How queer that his name should be quite unknown! Such a clever man! But why wasn't he at your party?"
"Unfortunately he was ill, my dear; so he couldn't come."
"I see! But, my dear Eugenia, isn't it awfully sad about your brother-in-law? I hear he's so very badly off."
"Don't mention him! He's a disgrace and a grief to the whole family! It's terrible!"
"Yes; it was quite unpleasant when everybody asked about him at your party. I was so sorry for you, dear...."
This is for the oak sideboard, dating from the time of Charles XII, and the Japanese vases, thought the controller's wife.
"For me! Oh, please don't! You mean for my husband?" interrupted Mrs. Falk.
"Surely, that's the same thing!"
"Not at all! I can't be held responsible for all the black sheep in his family."
"What a pity it was that your parents, also, were ill and couldn't come! How's your dear father?"
"Thanks. He's quite well again. How kind of you to think of everybody!"
"Well, one shouldn't think of oneself only! Is he delicate, the old—whatishis title?"
"Captain, if you like."
"Captain! I was under the impression that my husband said he was—one of the crew of the flagship, but very likely it's the same thing. But where were the girls?"
That's for the Brussels carpet, mentally reflected the controller's wife.
"They are so full of whims, they can never be depended on."
Mrs. Falk turned over the leaves in her photograph album; the binding cracked; she was in a towering rage.
"I say, dear, who was the disagreeable individual who read the verses on the night of your party?"
"You mean Mr. Levin; the royal secretary; he's my husband's most intimate friend."
"Is he really? Hm! How strange! My husband's a controller in the same office where he's a secretary; I don't want to vex you, or say anything unpleasant; I never do; but my husband says that Levin's in such bad circumstances that it's not wise for your husband to associate with him."
"Does he? That's a matter of which I know nothing, and in which I don't interfere, and let me tell you, my dear Evelyn, I never interfere in my husband's affairs, though I've heard of people who do."
"I beg your pardon, dear, I thought I was doing you a service by telling you."
That's for the chandelier and the dining-table. There only remains the velvet dress.
"Well," the controller's wife took up the thread again, "I hear that your brother-in-law...."
"Spare my feelings and don't talk of the creature!"
"Is he really such a bad lot? I've been told that he associates with the worst characters in town...."
At this juncture Mrs. Falk was reprieved; the footman announced Lady Rehnhjelm.
Oh! How welcome she was! How kind of her it was to come!
And Mrs. Falk really was pleased to see the old lady with the kindly expression in her eyes; an expression only found in the eyes of those who have weathered the storms of life with true courage.
"My dear Mrs. Falk," said her ladyship taking aseat; "I have all sorts of kind messages for you from your brother-in-law."
Mrs. Falk wondered what she had done to the old woman that she, too, evidently wanted to annoy her.
"Indeed?" she said, a little stiffly.
"He's a charming young man. He came to see my nephew to-day, at my house; they are great friends! He really is an excellent young man!"
"Isn't he?" joined in Mrs. Homan, always ready for a change of front. "We were just talking about him."
"Indeed? What I most admire in him is his courage in venturing on a course where one easily runs aground; but we need have no apprehensions so far as he is concerned; he's a man of character and principle. Don't you agree with me, Mrs. Falk?"
"I've always said so, but my husband thinks differently."
"Oh! Your husband has always had peculiar views," interposed Mrs. Homan.
"Is he a friend of your nephew's, Lady Rehnhjelm?" asked Mrs. Falk eagerly.
"Yes, they both belong to a small circle, some of the members of which are artists. You must have heard about young Sellén, whose picture was bought by his Majesty?"
"Of course, I have! We went to the Exhibition on purpose to have a look at it. Is he one of them?"
"Yes; they're often very hard up, these young fellows, but that's nothing new in the case of young men who have to fight their way in the world."
"They say your brother-in-law's a poet," went on Mrs. Homan.
"Oh, rather! He writes excellent verse! The academy gave him a prize; the world will hear of him in time," replied Mrs. Falk with conviction.
"Haven't I always said so?" agreed Mrs. Homan.
And Arvid Falk's talents were enlarged upon, so that he had arrived in the Temple of Fame when the footman announced the Rev. Nathanael Skore. Thelatter entered hastily and hurriedly shook hands with the ladies.
"I must ask your indulgence for being so late," he said, "but I'm a very busy man. I have to be at a meeting at Countess Fabelkrantz's at half-past nine, and I have come straight from my work."
"Are you in a hurry then, dear pastor?"
"Yes, my wide activities give me no leisure. Hadn't we better begin business at once?"
The footman handed round refreshments.
"Won't you take a cup of tea, pastor, before we begin?" asked the hostess, smarting under the unpleasantness of a small disappointment.
The pastor glanced at the tray.
"Thank you, no; I'll take a glass of punch, if I may. I've made it a rule, ladies, never to differ from my fellow-creatures in externals. Everybody drinks punch; I don't like it, but I don't want the world to say that I'm better than anybody else; boasting is a failing which I detest. May I now begin with the proceedings?"
He sat down at the writing-table, dipped the pen into the ink and read:
"'Account of the Presents received by the Administrative Committee of the Crèche "Bethlehem" during the month of May: Signed Eugenia Falk.'"
"Née, if I may ask?"
"Oh, never mind about that," said Mrs. Falk.
"Evelyn Homan."
"Née, if I may make so bold?"
"Von Bähr, dear pastor."
"Antoinette Rehnhjelm."
"Née, madame?"
"Rehnhjelm, pastor."
"Ah! true! You married your cousin, husband dead, no children. But to continue: Presents...."
There was a general—almost general—consternation.
"But won't you sign, too, pastor?" asked Mrs. Homan.
"I dislike boasting, ladies, but if it's your wish! Here goes!"
"Nathanael Skore."
"Your health, pastor! Won't you drink a glass of punch before we begin?" asked the hostess with a charming smile, which died on her lips when she looked at the pastor's glass. It was empty; she quickly filled it.
"Thank you, Mrs. Falk, but we mustn't be immoderate! May I begin now? Please check me by the manuscript."
"'Presents: H.M. the Queen, forty crowns. Countess Fabelkrantz, five crowns and a pair of woollen stockings. Wholesale merchant Schalin, two crowns, a packet of envelopes, six steel nibs, and a bottle of ink. Miss Amanda Libert, a bottle of eau-de-Cologne. Miss Anna Feif, a pair of cuffs. Charlie, twopence halfpenny from his money box. Johanna Pettersson, half-dozen towels. Miss Emily Björn, a New Testament. Grocer Persson, a bag of oatmeal, a quart of potatoes, and a bottle of pickled onions. Draper Scheike, two pairs of woollen under....'"
"May I ask the meeting whether all this is to be printed?" interrupted her ladyship.
"Well, of course," answered the pastor.
"Then I must resign my post on the Administrative Committee."
"But do you imagine, Lady Rehnhjelm, that the society could exist on voluntary contributions if the names of the donors did not appear in print? Impossible!"
"Is charity to shed its radiance on petty vanity?"
"No, no! Don't say that! Vanity is an evil, certainly; we turn the evil into good by transforming it into charity. Isn't that praiseworthy?"
"Oh, yes! But we mustn't call petty things by high-sounding names. If we do, we are boastful!"
"You are very severe, Lady Rehnhjelm! Scripture exhorts us to pardon others; you should pardon their vanity."
"I'm ready to pardon it in others but not in myself. It's pardonable and good that ladies who have nothing else to do should find pleasure in charity; but it's disgraceful if they call it a good action seeing that it is only their pleasure and a greater pleasure than most others on account of the wide publicity given to it by printing."
"Oh!" began Mrs. Falk, with the full force of her terrible logic, "do you mean to say that doing good is disgraceful, Lady Rehnhjelm?"
"No, my dear; but in my opinion it is disgraceful to print the fact that one has given a pair of woollen stockings...."
"But to give a pair of woollen stockings is doing good; therefore it must be disgraceful to do good...."
"No, but to have it printed, my child! You aren't listening to what I'm saying," replied her ladyship, reproving her stubborn hostess who would not give in, but went on:
"I see! It's the printing which is disgraceful! But the Bible is printed, consequently it is disgraceful to print the Bible...."
"Please go on, pastor," interrupted her ladyship, a little annoyed by the tactless manner in which her hostess defended her inanities; but the latter did not yet count the battle as lost.
"Do you think it beneath your dignity, Lady Rehnhjelm, to exchange views with so unimportant a person as I am...?"
"No, my child; but keep your views to yourself; I don't want to exchange."
"Do you call this discussing a question, may I ask? Won't you enlighten us on the point, pastor? Can it be called discussing a question if one party refuses to reply to the argument of the other?"
"Of course it can't, my dear Mrs. Falk," replied the pastor, with an ambiguous smile, which nearly reduced Mrs. Falk to tears. "But don't let us spoil a splendid enterprise by quarrelling over trifles, ladies!We'll postpone the printing until the funds are larger. We have seen the young enterprise shooting up like a seed and we have seen that powerful hands are willing to tend the young plant; but we must think of the future. The Society has a fund; the fund must be administered; in other words, we must look round for an administrator, a practical man, able to transform these presents into hard cash; we must elect a treasurer. I'm afraid we shall not find one without a sacrifice of money—does one ever get anything without such a sacrifice? Have the ladies anybody in view?"
No, the ladies had not thought of it.
"Then may I propose a young man of steady character, who in my opinion is just the right person for the work? Has the Administrative Committee any objection to appointing secretary Ekelund to the post of treasurer at a suitable salary?"
The ladies had no objection to make, especially as the young man was recommended by the Rev. Nathanael Skore; and the Pastor felt the more qualified to recommend him because he was a near relative of his. And so the Crèche had a treasurer with a salary of six hundred crowns.
"Ladies," began the pastor again, "have we worked long enough in the vineyard for one day?"
There was silence. Mrs. Falk stared at the door wondering where her husband was.
"My time's short and I'm prevented from staying any longer. Has anybody any further suggestion to make? No! In calling down the blessing of the Lord on our enterprise, which has begun so auspiciously, I commend all of us to His loving mercy; I cannot do it in a better way than by repeating the words which He Himself has taught us when He prayed: 'Abba, Father—Our Father....'"
He was silent as if he were afraid of the sound of his own voice, and the Committee covered their faces with their hands as if they were ashamed of looking each other in the eyes. The ensuing pause grew long,unbearably long; yet no one dared to break it; every one looked through the fingers hoping that someone else would make the first move, when a violent pull at the front door bell brought the party down to earth.
The pastor took his hat and emptied his glass; there was something about him of a man who is trying to steal away. Mrs. Falk beamed, for here was the crushing, the vengeance, the rehabilitation.
Revenge was there and the crushing too, for the footman handed her a letter from her husband which contained—the guests were not enlightened as to its contents, but they saw enough to make them declare at once that they had pressing engagements.
Lady Rehnhjelm would have liked to stay and comfort her young hostess, whose appearance betrayed a high degree of consternation and unhappiness. The latter, however, did not encourage her, but on the contrary was so exceedingly eager to help her visitors with their hats and cloaks that it looked as if she wanted to be rid of them as quickly as possible.
They parted in great embarrassment. The footsteps died away on the staircase and the departing guests could tell from the nervous haste with which the hostess shut the door behind them that she longed for solitude in order to be able to give vent to her feelings.
It was quite true. Left by herself in the large rooms Mrs. Falk burst into violent sobs; but her tears were not the tears which fall like a May shower on a wizened old heart; they were the tears of wrath and rage which darken the mirror of the soul and fall like an acid on the roses of health and youth and wither them.
A hot afternoon sun was scorching the pavements of the provincial town X-köping.
The large vaults of the town hall were still deserted; fir branches were scattered all over the floor, and it smelt of a funeral. The graduated liqueur bottles stood on the shelves, having an afternoon nap, opposite the brandy bottles which wore the collars of their orders round their necks and were on leave until the evening; the clock, which could never take a nap, stood against the wall like a tall peasant, whiling away the time by contemplating, apparently, a huge playbill, impaled on a clothes peg close by. The vault was very long and narrow; both of the long walls were furnished with birchwood tables, jutting out from the wall, giving it the appearance of a stable, in which the four-legged tables represented the horses tied with their heads to the wall and turning their hind quarters towards the room; at the present moment all of them were asleep; one of them lifted its hind leg a little off the ground, for the floor was very uneven. One could see that they were fast asleep, for the flies were calmly walking up and down their backs.
The sixteen-year-old waiter who was leaning against the tall clock close to the poster was not asleep; he was incessantly waving his white apron at the flies which had just finished their dinner in the kitchen and were now playing about the vaults. Every now and then he leaned back and put his ear to the chest of the clock, as if he were sounding it, or wanting tofind out what it had had for dinner. He was soon to be enlightened. The tall creature gave a sob, and exactly four minutes later it sobbed again; a groaning and rumbling in its inside made the lad jump; rattling terribly it struck six times, after which it continued its silent work.
The boy, too, began to work. He walked round his stable, grooming his horses with his apron and putting everything in order as if he were expecting visitors. On one of the tables, in the background, from which a spectator could view the whole long room, he placed matches, a bottle of absinth and two glasses, a liqueur glass and a tumbler; then he fetched a bottle of water from the pump and put it on the table by the side of the inflammables. When everything was ready, he paced up and down the room, occasionally striking quite unexpected attitudes, as if he were imitating somebody. Now he stood with arms folded across his chest, his head bowed, staring fiercely at the faded paper on the old walls; now he stood with legs crossed, the knuckles of his right hand touching the edge of the table holding in his left a lorgnette, made of a piece of wire from a beer bottle through which he sarcastically scanned the mouldings on the ceiling.
The door flew open, and a man of thirty-five entered with assurance, as if he were coming into his own house. His beardless face had the sharply cut features which are the result of much exercise of the facial muscles, characteristic of actors and one other class. Every muscle and ligament was plainly visible under the skin with its bluish shadows on upper lip and chin, but the miserable wire-work which set these fine tangents in motion was invisible, for he was not like a common piano which requires a pedal. A high, rather narrow forehead with hollow temples, rose like a true Corinthian capital; black, untidy locks of hair climbed round it like wild creepers, from which small straight snakes darted, trying to reach the sockets of his eyes, but ever failing to do so. In calm moments his large, dark eyes looked gentle and sad,but there were times when they blazed and then the pupils looked like the muzzles of a revolver.
He took his seat at the table which the boy had prepared and looked sadly at the water bottle.
"Why do you always give me a bottle of water, Gustav?"
"So that you won't be burned to death, sir."
"What does it matter to you whether I am or not? Can't I burn if I like?"
"Don't be a nihilist to-day, sir."
"Nihilist? Who talked to you of nihilists? When did you hear that word? Are you mad, boy? Speak!"
He rose to his feet and fired a few shots from his dark revolvers.
Fear and consternation at the expression in the actor's face kept Gustav tongue tied.
"Answer, boy, when did you hear this word?"
"Mr. Montanus said it a few days ago, when he came here from his church," answered the boy timidly.
"Montanus, indeed!" said the melancholy man, sitting down again. "Montanus is my man: he has a large understanding. I say, Gustav, what's the name, I mean the nickname, by which these theatrical blackguards call me? Tell me! You needn't be afraid."
"I'd rather not, sir; it's very ugly."
"Why not if you can please me by doing so? Don't you think I could do with a little cheering up? Do I look so frightfully gay? Out with it! What do they say when they ask you whether I have been here? Don't they say: Has...."
"The devil...."
"Ah, the devil! They hate me, don't they?"
"Yes, they do!"
"Good! But why? Have I done them any harm?"
"No, they can't say that, sir."
"No, I don't think they can."
"But they say that you ruin people, sir."
"Ruin?"
"Yes, they say that you ruined me, sir, because I find that there's nothing new in the world."
"Hm! Hm! I suppose you tell them that their jokes are stale?"
"Yes; everything they say is stale; they are so stale themselves that they make me sick."
"Indeed! And don't you think that being a waiter is stale?"
"Yes, I do; life and death and everything is an old story—no—to be an actor would be something new."
"No, my friend. That is the stalest of all stale stories. But shut up, now! I want to forget myself."
He drank his absinth and rested his head against the wall with its long, brown streak, the track on which the smoke of his cigar had ascended during the six long years he had been sitting there, smoking. The rays of the sun fell through the window, passing through the sieve of the great aspens outside, whose light foliage, dancing in the evening breeze, threw a tremulous net on the long wall. The shadow of the melancholy man's head, with its untidy locks of hair, fell on the lowest corner of the net and looked very much like a huge spider.
Gustav had returned to the clock, where he sat plunged in nihilistic silence, watching the flies dancing round the hanging lamp.
"Gustav!" came a voice from the spider's web.
"Yes sir!" was the prompt response from the clock.
"Are your parents still alive?"
"No, sir, you know they aren't."
"Good for you."
A long pause.
"Gustav!"
"Yes sir!"
"Can you sleep at night?"
"What do you mean, sir?" answered Gustav blushing.
"What I say!"
"Of course I can! Why shouldn't I?"
"Why do you want to be an actor?"
"I don't know! I believe I should be happy!"
"Aren't you happy now?"
"I don't know! I don't think so!"
"Has Mr. Rehnhjelm been here again?"
"No, sir, but he said he would come here to meet you about this time."
A long pause; the door opened and a shadow fell into the spider's net; it trembled, and the spider in the corner made a quick movement.
"Mr. Rehnhjelm?" said the melancholy head.
"Mr. Falander?"
"Glad to meet you! You came here before?"
"Yes; I arrived this afternoon and called at once. You'll guess my purpose. I want to go on the stage."
"Do you really? You amaze me!"
"Amaze you?"
"Yes! But why do you come to me first?"
"Because I know that you are one of our finest actors and because a mutual friend, Mr. Montanus, the sculptor, told me that you were in every way to be trusted."
"Did he? Well, what can I do for you?"
"I want advice."
"Won't you sit down?"
"If I may act as host...."
"I couldn't think of such a thing."
"Then as my own guest, if you don't mind."
"As you like! You want advice?—Hm! Shall I give you my candid opinion? Yes, of course! Then listen to me, take what I'm going to say seriously, and never forget that I said such and such a thing on such and such an evening; I'll be responsible for my words."
"Give me your candid opinion! I'm prepared for anything."
"Have you ordered your horses? No? Then do so and go home."
"Do you think me incapable of becoming an actor?"
"By no means! I don't think anybody in all the world incapable of that. On the contrary! Everybody, has more or less talent for acting."
"Very well then!"
"Oh! the reality is so different from your dream! You're young, your blood flows quickly through your veins, a thousand pictures, bright and beautiful like the pictures in a fairy tale throng your brain; you want to bring them to the light, show them to the world and in doing so experience a great joy—isn't that so?"
"Yes, yes, you're expressing my very thoughts!"
"I only supposed quite a common case—I don't suspect bad motives behind everything, although I have a bad opinion of most things! Well, then, this desire of yours is so strong, that you would rather suffer want, humiliate yourself, allow yourself to be sucked dry by vampires, lose your social reputation, become bankrupt, go to the dogs—than turn back. Am I right?"
"Yes! How well you know me!"
"I once knew a young man—I know him no longer, he is so changed! He was fifteen years old when he left the penitentiary which every community keeps for the children who commit the outrageous crime of being born, and where the innocent little ones are made to atone for their parents' fall from grace—for what should otherwise become of society? Please remind me to keep to the subject! On leaving it he went for five years to Upsala and read a terrible number of books; his brain was divided into six pigeon-holes in which six kinds of information, dates, names, a whole warehouseful of ready-made opinions, conclusions, theories, ideas and nonsense of every description, were stored like a general cargo. This might have been allowed to pass, for there's plenty of room in a brain. But he was also supposed to accept foreign thoughts, rotten, old thoughts, whichothers had chewed for a life-time, and which they now vomited. It filled him with nausea and—he was twenty years old—he went on the stage. Look at my watch! Look at the second-hand; it makes sixty little steps before a minute has passed; sixty times sixty before it is an hour; twenty-four times the number and it is a day; three hundred and sixty-five times and it is only a year. Now imagine ten years! Did you ever wait for a friend outside his house? The first quarter of an hour passes like a flash! The second quarter—oh! one doesn't mind waiting for a person one's fond of; the third quarter: he's not coming; the fourth: hope and fear; the fifth: one goes away but hurries back; the sixth: Damn it all! I've wasted my time for nothing! the seventh: having waited so long, I might just as well wait a little longer; the eighth: raging and cursing; the ninth: One goes home, lies down on one's sofa and feels as calm as if one were walking arm in arm with death. He waited for ten years! Ten years! Isn't my hair standing on end when I say ten years? Look at it! Ten years had passed before he was allowed to play a part. When he did, he had a tremendous success—at once. But his ten wasted years had brought him to the verge of insanity; he was mad that it hadn't happened ten years before. And he was amazed to find that happiness when at last he held it within his grasp didn't make him happy! And so he was unhappy."
"But don't you think he required the ten years for the study of his art?"
"How could he study it when he was never allowed to play? He was a laughing-stock, the scum of the playbill; the management said he was no good; and whenever he tried to find an engagement at another theatre, he was told that he had no repertoire."
"But why couldn't he be happy when his luck had turned?"
"Do you think an immortal soul is content with happiness? But why speak about it? Your resolution is irrevocable. My advice is superfluous. There is but one teacher: experience, and experience is as capricious, or as calculating, as a schoolmaster; some of the pupils are always praised; others are always beaten. You are born to be praised; don't think I'm saying this because you belong to a good family; I'm sufficiently enlightened not to make that fact responsible for good or evil; in this case it is a particularly negligible quantity, for on the stage a man stands or falls by his own merit. I hope you'll have an early success so that you won't be enlightened too soon; I believe you deserve it."
"But have you no respect for your art, the greatest and most sublime of all arts?"
"It's overrated like everything about which men write books. It's full of danger and can do much harm! A beautifully told lie can impress like a truth! It's like a mass meeting where the uncultured majority turns the scale. The more superficial the better—the worse, the better! I don't mean to say that it is superfluous."
"That can't be your opinion!"
"Thatismy opinion, but all the same, I may be mistaken."
"But have you really no respect for your art?"
"For mine? Why should I have more respect for my art than for anybody else's?"
"And yet you've played the greatest parts! You've played Shakespeare! You've played Hamlet! Have you never been touched in your inmost soul when speaking that tremendous monologue: To be or not to be...."
"What do you mean by tremendous?"
"Full of profound thought."
"Do explain yourself! Is it so full of profound thought to say: Shall I take my life or not? I should do so if I knew what comes hereafter, and everybody else would do the same thing; but as we don't know, we don't take our lives. Is that so very profound?"
"Not if expressed in those words."
"There you are! You've surely contemplated suicide at one time or another? Haven't you?"
"Yes; I suppose most people have."
"And why didn't you do it? Because, like Hamlet, you hadn't the courage, not knowing what comes after. Were you very profound then?"
"Of course I wasn't!"
"Therefore it's nothing but a banality! Or, expressed in one word it is—what is it, Gustav?"
"Stale!" came a voice from the clock, a voice which seemed to have waited for its cue.
"It's stale! But, supposing the poet had given us an acceptable supposition of a future life, that would have been something new."
"Is everything new excellent?" asked Rehnhjelm. Under the pressure of all the new ideas to which he had been listening, his courage was fast ebbing away.
"New ideas have one great merit—they are new! Try to think your own thoughts and you will always find them new! Will you believe me when I say that I knew what you wanted before you walked in at that door? And that I know what you are going to say next, seeing that we are discussing Shakespeare?"
"You are a strange man! I can't help confessing that you're right in what you're saying, although I don't agree with you."
"What do you say to Anthony's speech over the body of Cæsar? Isn't it remarkable?"
"That's exactly what I was going to speak about. You seem to be able to read my thoughts."
"Exactly what I was telling you just now. And is it so wonderful considering that all men think the same, or at any rate say the same thing? Well, what do you find in it of any great depth?"
"I can't explain in words...."
"Don't you think it a very commonplace piece of sarcastic oratory? One expresses exactly the reverse of one's meaning, and if the points are sharpened, they are bound to sting. But have you ever come acrossanything more beautiful than the dialogue between Juliet and Romeo after their wedding night?"
"Ah! You mean where he says, 'It is the nightingale and not the lark'...."
"What other passage could I mean? Doesn't every one quote that? It is a wonderful poetical conception on which the effect depends. Do you think Shakespeare's greatness depends on poetical conceptions?"
"Why do you break up everything I admire? Why do you take away my supports?"
"I am throwing away your crutches so that you may learn to walk without them. But let me ask you to keep to the point."
"You are not asking, you are compelling me to do so."
"Then you should steer clear of me. Your parents are against your taking this step?"
"Yes! How do you know?"
"Parents always are. Why overrate my judgment? You should never exaggerate anything."
"Do you think we should be happier if we didn't?"
"Happier? Hm! Do you know anybody who is happy? Give me your own opinion, not the conventional one."
"No!"
"If you don't believe anybody is happy, how can you postulate such a condition as being happier? Your parents are alive then? It's a mistake to have parents."
"Why? What do you mean?"
"Don't you think it unfair of an older generation to bring up a younger one in its antiquated inanities? Your parents expect gratitude from you, I suppose?"
"And doesn't one owe it to one's parents?"
"For what? For the fact that with the connivance of the law they have brought us into this world of misery, have half-starved us, beaten us, oppressed us, humiliated us, opposed all our wishes? Believe me, a revolution is needed—two revolutions! Why don'tyou take some absinth? Are you afraid of it? Look at the bottle! It's marked with the Geneva cross! It heals those who have been wounded on the battlefield, friends and foes alike; it lulls all pain, blunts the keen edge of thought, blots out memories, stifles all the nobler emotions which beguile humanity into folly, and finally extinguishes the light of reason. Do you know what the light of reason is? First, it is a phrase, secondly, it is a will-o'-the-wisp; one of those flames, you know, which play about spots where decaying fish have engendered phosphoretted hydrogen; the light of reason is phosphoretted hydrogen engendered by the grey brain substance. It is a strange thing. Everything good on this earth perishes and is forgotten. During my ten years' touring, and my apparent idleness, I have read through all the libraries one finds in small towns, and I find that all the twaddle and nonsense contained in the books is popular and constantly quoted; but the wisdom is neglected and pushed aside. Do remind me to keep to the point...."
The clock went through its diabolical tricks and thundered seven. The door was flung open and a man lurched noisily into the room. He was a man of about fifty, with a huge, heavy head, fixed between a pair of lumpy shoulders like a mortar on a gun carriage, with a permanent elevation of forty-five degrees, looking as if it were going to throw bombs at the stars. To judge from the face, the owner was capable of all possible crimes and impossible vices, but too great a coward to commit any. He immediately threw a bombshell at the melancholy man, and harshly ordered a glass of grog made of rum, in grammatical, uncouth language and in the voice of a corporal.
"This is the man who holds your fate in his hands," whispered the melancholy man to Rehnhjelm. "This is the tragedian, actor-manager, and my deadly foe."
Rehnhjelm could not suppress a shudder of disgust as he looked at the terrible individual who, afterhaving exchanged a look of hatred with Falander, now closed the passage of arms by repeated expectorations.
The door opened again, and in glided the almost elegant figure of a middle-aged man with oily hair and a waxed moustache. He familiarly took his place by the side of the actor-manager, who gave him his middle finger on which shone a ring with a large cornelian.
"This is the editor of the Conservative paper, the defender of throne and altar. He has the run of the theatre and tries to seduce all the girls on whom the actor-manager hasn't cast his eye. He started his career as a Government official, but had to resign his post, I'm ashamed to tell you why," explained Falander. "But I am also ashamed to remain in the same room with these gentlemen, and, moreover, I have asked a few friends here, to-night, to a little supper in celebration of my recent benefit. If you care to spend the evening in bad company, among the most unimportant actors, two notorious ladies and an old blackguard, you are welcome at eight."
Rehnhjelm hesitated a moment before he accepted the invitation.
The spider on the wall climbed through his net as if to examine it and disappeared. The fly remained in its place a little longer. The sun sank behind the cathedral, the meshes of the net were undone as if they had never existed, and the aspens outside the window shivered. The great man and stage-director raised his voice and shouted—he had forgotten how to speak:
"Did you see the attack on me in theWeekly?"
"Don't take any notice of such piffle."
"Take no notice of it? What the devil do you mean? Doesn't everybody read it? Of course the whole town does! I should like to give him a horse-whipping! The impertinent rascal calls me affected and exaggerated."
"Bribe him! Don't make a fuss!"
"Bribe him? Haven't I tried it? But theseLiberal journalists are damned queer. If you are on friendly terms with them, they'll give you a nice enough notice; but they won't be bribed however poor they may be."
"Oh! You don't go about it in the right way! You shouldn't do it openly, you could send them presents which they can turn into cash, or cash, if you like, but anonymously, and never refer to it."
"As I do in your case! No, old chap, the trick doesn't work in their case. I've tried it! It's hell to reckon with people with opinions."
"Who do you think was the victim in the devil's clutches, to change the subject?"
"That's nothing to do with me."
"Oh, but I think it has! Gustav! Who was the gentleman with Mr. Falander?"
"His name's Rehnhjelm! He wants to go on the stage."
"What do you say? He wants to go on the stage? He!" shouted the actor-manager.
"Yes, that's it!" replied Gustav.
"And, of course, act tragedy parts? And be Falander's protégé? And not come to me? And take away my parts? And honour us by playing here? And I know nothing about the whole matter? I? I? I'm sorry for him! It's a pity! Bad prospects for him. Of course, I shall patronize him! I'll take him under my wing! The strength of my wings may be felt even when I don't fly! They have a way of pinching now and then! He was a nice looking lad! A smart lad! Beautiful as Antinous! What a pity he didn't come to me first, I should have given him Falander's parts, every one of them! Oh! Oh! Oh! But it isn't too late yet! Hah! Let the devil corrupt him first! He's still a little too fresh! He really looked quite an innocent boy! Poor little chap! I'll only say 'God help him!'"
The sound of the last sentence was drowned in the noise made by the grog drinkers of the whole town who were now beginning to arrive.
On the following day Rehnhjelm awoke late in the morning in his hotel bed. Memories of the previous night arose like phantoms and crowded round him.
He saw again the pretty, closely shuttered room, richly decorated with flowers, in which the orgy had been held. He saw the actress, a lady of thirty-five who, thanks to a younger rival, had to play the parts of old women; he saw her entering the room, in a frenzy of rage and despair at the fresh humiliations heaped upon her, throwing herself full length on the sofa, drinking glass after glass of wine and, when the temperature of the room rose, opening her bodice, as a man opens his waistcoat after a too-plentiful dinner.
He saw again the old comedian who, after a very short career, had been degraded from playing lead to taking servant's parts; he now entertained the tradespeople of the town with his songs, and, above all, with the stories of his short glory.
But, in the very heart of the clouds of smoke and his drunken visions Rehnhjelm saw the picture of a young girl of sixteen, who had arrived with tears in her eyes, and told the melancholy Falander that the great actor-manager had again been persecuting her with insulting proposals, vowing that in future, unless she would accede to them, she should play only the very smallest parts.
And he saw Falander, listening to everybody's troubles and complaints, breathing on them until they vanished; he watched him, reducing insults,humiliations, kicks, accidents, want, misery, and grief to nothing; watched him teaching his friends and warning them never to exaggerate anything, least of all their troubles.
But again and again his thoughts reverted to the little girl of sixteen with the innocent face, with whom he had made friends, and who had kissed him when they parted, hungrily, passionately. To be quite candid, her kiss had taken him by surprise. But whatwasher name?
He rose, and stretching out his hand for the water-bottle, he seized a tiny handkerchief, spotted with wine. Ah! Here was her name, ineffaceable, written in marking ink—Agnes! He kissed the handkerchief twice on the cleanest spot and put it into his box.
When he had carefully dressed himself, he went out to see the actor-manager, whom he confidently expected to find at the theatre between twelve and three.
To be on the safe side, he arrived at the office at twelve o'clock; he found no one there but a porter, who asked him what he wanted and put himself at his service.
Rehnhjelm did not think that he would need his help, and asked to see the actor-manager; he was told that the actor-manager was at the present moment at the factory, but would no doubt come to the office in the course of the afternoon.
Rehnhjelm supposed factory to be a slang expression for theatre, but the porter explained to him that the actor-manager was also a match manufacturer. His brother-in-law, the cashier, was a post office employé and never came to the theatre before two o'clock; his son, the secretary, had a post in the telegraph office, and his presence could never be safely relied upon. But the porter, who seemed to guess the object of Rehnhjelm's visit, handed him, on his own responsibility and in the name of the theatre, a copy of the statutes; the young gentlemanwas at liberty to amuse himself with it until one of the managerial staff arrived.
Rehnhjelm possessed his soul in patience and sat down on the sofa to study the documents. It was half-past twelve when he had finished reading them. He talked to the porter until a quarter to one, and then set himself to fathom the meaning of paragraph 1 of the statutes. "The theatre is a moral institution," it ran, "therefore the members of the company should endeavour to live in the fear of God, and to lead a virtuous and moral life." He turned and twisted the sentence about, trying to throw light upon it, without succeeding. "If the theatre is a moral institution," he mused, "the members who—in addition to the manager, the cashier, the secretary, the machinists, and scene-shifters—form the institution, need not endeavour to practise all these beautiful things. If it said: The theatre is an immoral institution and therefore ... there would be some sense in it; but that, surely, the management does not intend to convey."
He thought of Hamlet's "words, words," but immediately remembered that to quote Hamlet was stale, and that one ought to clothe one's thoughts in one's own words; he chose his own term, and called the regulations nonsense, but discarded the expression again, because it was not original; but then the original was not original either.
Paragraph 2 helped him to while away a quarter of an hour in meditation on the text: "The theatre is not a place for amusement; it does not merely exist to give pleasure." In one place it said the theatre is not a place for amusement and in another the theatre does not "merely" exist to give pleasure, therefore it did exist to give pleasure—to a certain extent.
He reflected under what circumstances the theatre ministered to one's pleasure. It was amusing to see children, especially sons, defrauding their parents, more particularly when the parents were thrifty, goodhearted, and sensible; it was amusing to see wives deceiving their husbands; especially when the husband was old and required his wife's care. Besides this he remembered having laughed very heartily at two old men who nearly died of starvation because their business was on the decline, and that to this day all the world laughed at it in a piece written by a classical author. He also recollected having been much amused by the misfortune of an elderly man who had become deaf; and that, together with six hundred other men and women, he had shouted with laughter at a priest, who tried, by natural means, to cure his insanity, the result of self-restraint; his mirth had been particularly stimulated by the hypocrisy displayed by the wily priest in order to gain the object of his desire.
Why does one laugh? he wondered. And as he had nothing else to do, he tried to find an answer. One laughed at misfortune, want, misery, vice, virtue, the defeat of good, the victory of evil.
This conclusion, which was partly new to him, put him into a good temper; he found a great deal of amusement in playing with his thoughts. As the management still remained invisible, he went on playing, and, before the lapse of five minutes, he had come to the following conclusion: In a tragedy one weeps at just those things which in comedy make one laugh.
At this point his thoughts were arrested; the great actor-manager burst into the room, brushed past Rehnhjelm without apparently being aware of his presence and entered a room on the left, whither, a moment afterwards, the violent ringing of a bell summoned the porter. In less than half a minute he had gone in and come out again, announcing that his Highness was ready to receive the visitor.
As Rehnhjelm entered the director had already fired his shot and his mortar was fixed at an angle which quite prevented him from perceiving the nervous mortal who was timidly coming into theroom. But he had no doubt heard him, for he asked him immediately, in an offensive manner, what he wanted.
Rehnhjelm stammered that he was anxious to make his début on the stage.
"What? A début? Have you a repertory, sir? Have you played 'Hamlet,' 'Lear,' 'Richard Sheridan'; been called ten times before the curtain after the third act? What?"
"I've never played a part."
"Oh, I see! That's quite another thing!"
He sat down in an easy-chair painted with silver paint and covered with blue brocade. His face had become a mask. He might have been sitting for a portrait for one of the biographies of Suetonius.
"Shall I give you my candid opinion, what? Leave the theatrical profession alone!"
"Impossible!"
"I repeat, leave it alone! It's the worst of all professions! Full of humiliations, unpleasantnesses, little annoyances, and thorns which will embitter your life so that you'll wish you had never been born."
He looked as if he were speaking the truth, but Rehnhjelm's resolution was not to be shaken.
"I beg you to take my advice! I solemnly adjure you to drop this idea. I tell you that the prospects are so bad, that for years to come you'll have simply to walk on. Think of it! And don't come to me with complaints when it is too late. The theatrical career is so infernally difficult, sir, that you would not dream of taking it up, if you had the least knowledge of it! It's a hell! believe me. I have spoken."
It was a waste of breath.
"Well, wouldn't you prefer an engagement without a début? The risk is less great."
"I shall be only too pleased; I never expected more."
"Then you'd better sign this agreement. A salary of twelve hundred crowns and a two years' engagement. Do you agree?"
He pulled a filled-up agreement, signed by the management, from underneath the blotting-pad, and gave it to Rehnhjelm. The latter's brain was whirling at the thought of the twelve hundred crowns and he signed it without a look at the contents.
When he had signed the actor-manager held out his large middle finger with the cornelian ring, and said: "Be welcome!" He flashed at him with the gums of his upper jaw and the yellow and bloodshot whites of his eyes with their green irises.
The audience was over. But Rehnhjelm—in whose opinion the whole business had been hurried through far too quickly—instead of moving, took the liberty of asking whether he had not better wait until all the members of the management were assembled.
"The management?" shouted the great tragedian. "I am the management. If you have any questions to ask, address yourself to me! If you want advice, come to me! To me, sir! To nobody else! That's all! You can go now!"
The skirt of Rehnhjelm's coat must have caught on a nail, for he turned on the threshold to see what the last words looked like; but he saw only the red gums, which had the appearance of an instrument of torture, and the bloodshot eyes; he felt no desire to ask for an explanation, but went straight to the vaults of the town hall to have some dinner and meet Falander.
Falander was sitting at one of the tables, calm and indifferent, as if he were prepared for the worst. He was not surprised to hear that Rehnhjelm had been engaged, although this news considerably increased his gloom.
"And what did you think of the manager?" he asked.
"I wanted to box his ears, but I hadn't the courage."
"Nor has the management, and therefore he rules autocratically—brutality always rules! Perhaps you know that he is a playwright as well as all the rest?"
"I've heard about it."
"He writes a sort of historical play which is always successful. The reason is that he writes parts instead of creating characters; he manipulates the applause at the exits and trades on so-called patriotism. His characters never talk, they quarrel; men and women, old and young, all of them; for this reason his popular piece,The Sons of King Gustavus, is rightly called a historical quarrel in five acts; it contains no action, nothing but quarrels: family rows, street brawls, scenes in Parliament, and so on. Questions are answered by sly cuts, which do not provoke scenes, but the most terrible scuffles. There is no dialogue, nothing but squabbling, in which the characters insult each other, and the highest dramatic effect is attained by blows. The critics call his characterisation great. What has he made of Gustavus Vasa in the play I just mentioned? A broad-shouldered, long-bearded, bragging, untenable fellow of enormous strength; at the meeting of Parliament at Västeros, he breaks a table with his fist, and at Vadstena he kicks a door panel to pieces. On one occasion however the critics said there was no meaning in his plays; it made him angry, and he resolved to write comedies with plenty of meaning. He had a boy at school—the blackguard's married—who had been playing pranks and got a thrashing. Immediately his father wrote a comedy in which he drew the masters and exposed the inhuman treatment boys receive at school in these days. On another occasion he was criticized by an honest reviewer, and immediately he wrote a comedy, libelling the liberal journalists of the town. But I'll say no more about him!"