It goes without saying that Lundell's religious sense has tremendously developed during those "dear" days. He is, comparatively speaking, happy in his colossal self-deception, and has no idea what a rascal he really is.
I think I have told you everything now; anything else verbally when we meet. Until then, good-bye. I hope you are in good health and spirits.
Your friend,Olle Montanus.
P.S. I must not forget to tell you the result of the antiquarian research. The end of it all was that old Jan, an inmate of the almshouses, remembered having seen the figures when he was a child. He said there had been three: Faith, Hope, and Love; and as Love was the greatest of these, it had stood above the altar. In the first decade of this century a flash of lightning had struck Love and Faith. The figures had been the work of his father who was a carver of figure-heads in the naval port Karlskrona.
O. M.
When Falk had read the letters, he sat down at his writing-table, examined his lamp to see whether there was plenty of oil in it, lit his pipe, took a manuscript from his table-drawer, and began to write.
The September afternoon lay grey and warm and still over the capital as Falk climbed the hills in the south. When he had arrived at the churchyard of St. Catherine's he sat down to rest; he noticed with a feeling of genuine pleasure that the maples had turned colour during the recent cold nights, and he welcomed autumn with its darkness, its grey clouds, and falling leaves.
Not a breath stirred; it was as if Nature were resting, tired after the work of the short summer. Everything was asleep; the dead were lying beneath the sod, calm and peaceful, as if they had never been alive; he wished that he had all men there, and that he, himself, was with them.
The clock on the tower chimed the hour, and he rose and continued his walk. He went down Garden Street, turned into New Street—which looked as if it had been new a hundred years ago at least—crossed the New Market, and came to the White Mountains.
He stood still before the spotted house, listening to the children's chatter, for, as usual, there were children playing about the street; they talked loudly and unreservedly while they were busy polishing little pieces of brick, presently to be used in a game of hop-scotch.
"What did you have for dinner, Janne?"
"That's my business!"
"Your business? Did you say it was your business? Mind what you're about or you'll get a hiding."
"Don't brag! You with your eyes!"
"Who shoved you into the lake the other day?"
"Oh! shut up!"
Janne received a thrashing, and peace was restored.
"I say! You stole cress in the churchyard the other day, didn't you, Janne?"
"That cripple Olee split on me!"
"And you were nabbed by the police, weren't you?"
"Who cares for the police? I don't!"
"Don't you? Come along of us to-night then; we're going to pinch some pears."
"There's a savage dog behind the fence!"
"Garn! Chimney-sweep's Peter'll climb over and a kick'll do for the dog."
The polishing was interrupted by a maid-servant who came out of the house and began to scatter pine branches on the grass-grown street.
"Who's going to be buried?"
"The deputy's wife's baby!"
"He's a proper old Satan, the deputy, isn't he?"
Instead of replying, the other began whistling an unknown and very peculiar tune.
"Let's thrash his red-haired cubs when they come home from school! I say! Doesn't his old woman fancy herself? The old she-devil locked us out in the snow the other night because we couldn't pay the rent, and we had to spend the night in the barn."
The conversation flickered out; the last item of conversation had not made the smallest impression on Janne's friend.
After this introduction to the status of the tenants by the two urchins, Falk entered the house not with the pleasantest of sensations. He was received at the door by Struve, who looked distressed, and took Falk's arm as if he were going to confide a secret to him, or suppress a tear—he had to do something, so he embraced him.
Falk found himself in a big room with a dining-table, a sideboard, six chairs, and a coffin. Whitesheets were hanging before the windows through which the daylight filtered and broke at the red glow of the tallow candles; on the table stood a tray with green wine glasses, and a soup tureen filled with dahlias, stocks, and white asters.
Struve seized Falk's hand and led him to the coffin where the baby lay bedded on shavings, covered with tulle, and strewn with fuchsias.
"There!" he said, "there!"
Falk felt nothing but the quite commonplace emotion the living always feel in the presence of the dead; he could think of nothing suitable to say, and therefore he confined himself to pressing the father's hand. "Thank you, thank you," stammered Struve, and disappeared in an adjoining room.
Falk was left alone; he could hear excited whispering behind the door through which Struve had vanished; then it grew still for a while; but presently a murmur from the other end of the room penetrated the matchboard wall. A strident treble seemed to be reciting long verses with incredible volubility.
"Babebibobubybäbö—Babebibobubybäbö—Babebibobubybäbö," it sounded.
An angry man's voice answered to the accompaniment of a plane which said hwitcho—hwitcho—hwitch—hwitch—hitch—hitch.
And a long-drawn, rumbling mum-mum-mum-mum-mum-mum-mum-mum replied, seemingly anxious to calm the storm. But the plane spat and sneezed again its hwitch—hwitch, and immediately after a storm of Babili—bebili—bibili—bobili—bubili—bybili—bäbili—bö—broke out with fresh fury.
Falk guessed the subject under discussion, and a certain intonation gave him the idea that the dead baby was involved in the argument.
The whispering, occasionally interrupted by loud sobs, began again behind the door through which Struve had disappeared; finally it was pushed open and Struve appeared leading by the hand a womanwho looked like a laundress; she was dressed in black, and her eyelids were red and swollen with weeping. Struve introduced her with all the dignity of a father of a family:
"My wife, Mr. Falk, my old friend."
Falk clasped a hand, hard as a beetle, and received a vinegary smile. He cast about for a few platitudes containing the words "wife" and "grief," and as he was fairly successful, he was rewarded by Struve with an embrace.
Mrs. Struve, anxious not to be left out in the cold, began brushing the back of her husband's coat.
"It's dreadful how you seem to pick up every bit of dirt, Christian," she said; "your back's always dusty. Don't you think that my husband always looks like a pig, Mr. Falk?"
There was no need for poor Falk to reply to this tender remark; behind the mother's back now appeared two heads, regarding the visitor with a grin. The mother patted them affectionately.
"Have you ever seen plainer boys before, Mr. Falk?" she asked. "Don't they look exactly like young foxes?"
This statement was so undeniably accurate that Falk felt compelled to deny it eagerly.
The opening of the hall door and the entrance of two men stopped all further civilities. The first of the new-comers was a man of thirty, broad-shouldered, with a square head, the front of which was supposed to represent the face; the skin looked like the half-rotten plank of a bridge in which worms have ploughed their labyrinths; the wide mouth, always slightly open, showed the four shining eye-teeth; whenever he smiled his face seemed to split into two parts; his mouth opened as far back as the fourth back tooth; not a single hair grew in the barren soil; the nose was so badly put on that one could see through it far into the head; on the upper part of the skull grew something which looked like cocoa-nut matting.
Struve, who possessed the faculty of ennobling his environment, introduced Candidate Borg as Dr. Borg. The latter, without a sign of either pleasure or annoyance, held out his arm to his companion, who pulled off the coat and hung it on the hinge of the front door, an act which drew from Mrs. Struve the remark that the old house was in such bad repair that there was not even a hall-stand.
The man who had helped Borg off with his overcoat was introduced as Mr. Levi. He was a tall, overgrown youth; the skull seemed but a backward development of the nasal bone, and the trunk which reached to the knees, looked as if it had been drawn through a wire plate, in the way in which wire is drawn; the shoulders slanted like eaves; there was no trace of hips, the shanks ran up into the thighs; the feet were worn out of shape like a pair of old shoes; the instep had given way. The legs curved outward and downward, like the legs of a working man who has carried heavy loads, or stood for the greater part of his life. He was a pure slave-type.
The candidate had remained at the door; he had taken off his gloves, put down his stick, blown his nose, and put back the handkerchief into his pocket without taking the least notice of Struve's repeated attempts to introduce him; he believed that he was still in the entrance hall; but now he took his hat, scraped the floor with his foot and made a step into the room.
"Good morning, Jenny! How are you?" he said, seizing Mrs. Struve's hand with as much eagerness as if it were a matter of life and death. He bowed, hardly perceptibly, to Falk, with the snarl of a dog who sees a strange dog in its yard.
Young Mr. Levi followed at the heels of the candidate, responding to his smiles, applauding his sarcasms, and generally kow-towing to his superiority.
Mrs. Struve opened a bottle of hock and filled the glasses. Struve raised his glass and welcomed his guests. The candidate opened his mouth, made acanal of his tongue, poured the contents of the glass on it, grinned as if it were physic and swallowed it.
"It's awfully sour and nasty," said Mrs. Struve; "would you prefer a glass of punch, Henrik?"
"Yes, itisvery nasty," agreed the candidate, and Levi eagerly seconded him.
The punch was brought in. Borg's face brightened; he looked for a chair, and immediately Levi brought him one.
The party sat down round the dining-table. The strong scent of the stocks mingled with the smell of the wine; the candles were reflected in the glasses, the conversation became lively, and soon a column of smoke stood above the candidate's chair. Mrs. Struve glanced uneasily at the little sleeper near the window, but nobody saw her look.
Presently a coach stopped in the street outside the house. Everybody rose except the candidate. Struve coughed, and in a low voice, as if he had something unpleasant to say, he whispered:
"Shall we get ready now?"
Mrs. Struve went to the coffin and stooped over it, weeping bitterly; when, in drawing back, she saw her husband standing behind her with the coffin lid, she burst into loud sobs.
"There, there, compose yourself," said Struve, hastening to screw down the lid as if he wanted to hide something. Borg, looking like a yawning horse, gulped down another glass of punch. Mr. Levi helped Struve to screw down the lid, displaying quite extraordinary skill; he seemed to be packing a bale of goods.
The men shook hands with Mrs. Struve, put on their overcoats and went; the woman warned them to be careful in going downstairs; the stairs were old and rotten.
Struve marched in front, carrying the coffin; when he stepped into the street and became aware of the little crowd which had collected before the house, he felt flattered, and the devil of pride took possessionof him. He scolded the driver who had omitted to open the door and let down the steps; to heighten the effect of his words, he spoke with contemptuous familiarity to the tall man in livery who, hat in hand, hastened to carry out his commands.
From the centre of the crowd, where the boy Janne was standing, came a short, scornful cough; but when the boy saw that he was attracting universal attention, he raised his eyes towards the chimneys, and seemed to be eagerly looking for the sweep.
The door of the coach slammed behind the four men; a lively conversation broke out between some of the younger members of the mass-meeting, who now felt more at their ease.
"I say, what a swell coffin! Did you see it?"
"Yes! But did you see that there was no name on it?"
"Wasn't there?"
"No! Didn't you see it? It was quite plain."
"Why was that, then?"
"Don't you know? Because he was a bastard...."
The whip cracked, and the coach rumbled off. Falk's eyes strayed to the window; he caught a glimpse of Mrs. Struve, who had already removed some of the sheets, blowing out the candles; and he saw the two cubs standing by the side of her, each with a glass of wine in his hand.
The coach rattled along, through street after street; nobody attempted to speak. Struve, sitting with the coffin on his knees, looked embarrassed; it was still daylight; he longed to make himself invisible.
It was a long journey to the churchyard, but it finally came to an end. They arrived.
A row of coaches stood before the gate. They bought wreaths and the gravedigger took possession of the coffin. After a lengthy walk, the small procession stopped quite at the back on the north side of the churchyard, close to a new sandfield.
The gravedigger placed the coffin in position.
Borg commanded:
"Hold tight! Ease off! Let go!"
And the little nameless child was lowered three yards into the ground.
There was a pause; all heads were bowed and all eyes looking into the grave, as if they were waiting for something.
A leaden sky gloomed dismally over the large, deserted sandfield, the white poles of which looked like the shadows of little children who had lost their way. The dark wood might have been the background in a magic lantern show; the wind was hushed.
All of a sudden a voice rose, tremulous at first, but growing in clearness and intensity, as if it were speaking from an inner conviction. Levi was standing on the pall, bare-headed:
"In the safe keeping of the Most High, resting in the shadow of His omnipotence, I say to the Eternal: Oh, Thou my stronghold, my defence in all eternity, my God in whom I trust—Kaddisch. Lord, Almighty God, let Thy holy name be worshipped and sanctified in the whole world. Thou wilt, in Thy own time, renew the world. Thou wilt awaken the dead and call them to a new life. Everlasting peace reigns in Thy kingdom. Give us and all Israel Thy peace. Amen.
"Sleep soundly, little one, to whom no name had been given. He who knoweth His own will give you a name; sleep soundly in the autumn night, no evil spirits will trouble you, although you never received the holy water; rejoice that you are spared the battle of life; you can dispense with its pleasures. Count yourself happy that you were permitted to go, before you knew the world; pure and stainless your soul left its delicate tenement; therefore we will not throw earth on your coffin, for earth is an emblem of dissolution; we will bed you in flowers, for as a flower pierces the soil, so your soul shall rise from the dark grave to the light; from spirit you came, to spirit you will return."
He dropped his wreath into the little grave and covered his head. Struve took a few steps towards him, seized his hand, and shook it warmly; tears rolled down his cheeks, and he begged Levi for the loan of his handkerchief. Borg, after throwing his wreath into the grave, turned to go, and the others followed slowly.
Falk stood gazing into the open grave, plunged in deep thought. At first he saw only a square of darkness; but gradually a bright spot appeared which grew and took shape; it looked like a disc and shone with the whiteness of a mirror—it was the blank shield on which the life of the child should have been recorded. It gleamed brightly in the darkness, reflecting the unbroken daylight. He dropped his wreath. There was a faint, dull thud, and the light went out. He turned and followed the others.
Arrived at the coach, there was a brief discussion. Borg cut it short.
"To the Restaurant Norrbacka!" he said, briefly.
A few minutes later the party was standing in the large room on the first floor; they were received by a girl whom Borg embraced and kissed; this done, he pushed his hat underneath the sofa, commanded Levi to help him off with his overcoat, and ordered a quart of punch, twenty-five cigars, half a pint of brandy, and a sugar-loaf. Finally he took off his coat and sat down in shirt sleeves on the only sofa in the room.
Struve's face beamed when he saw the preparations for an orgy, and he shouted for music. Levi went to the piano and strummed a waltz, while Struve put his arm into Falk's and walked with him up and down the room. He touched lightly on life in general, on grief and joy, the inconstant nature of man, and so on, all of which went to prove that it was a sin to mourn what the gods—he said gods, because he hadalready said sin and did not wish to be taken for a pietist—had given and taken.
This reflexion was apparently made by way of an introduction to the waltz which he immediately after danced with the girl who brought the bowl.
Borg filled the glasses, called Levi, nodded towards a glass, and said:
"Let's drink to our brotherly love now; later on we can be as rude as we like."
Levi expressed his appreciation of the honour.
"Your health, Isaac!" said Borg.
"My name's not Isaac!"
"What the dickens do I care what your name is? I call you Isaac, my Isaac."
"You're a jolly devil...."
"Devil! Shame on you, Jew!"
"We were going to be as rude as we liked...."
"We? I was, as far as you are concerned!"
Struve thought he had better interfere.
"Thank you, brother Levi, for your beautiful words," he said. "What prayer was that?"
"Our funeral prayer!"
"It was beautiful!"
"Nothing but empty words," interposed Borg. "The infidel dog prayed only for Israel; therefore the prayer couldn't have been meant for the child."
"All those who are not baptized are looked upon as belonging to Israel," replied Levi.
"And then you attacked baptism," continued Borg. "I don't allow anybody to attack baptism—we can do that ourselves. And furthermore you attacked the doctrine of justification by faith. Leave it alone in future; I don't permit any outsiders to attack our religion."
"Borg's right there," said Struve; "we should draw the line at attacking either baptism or any other of the sacred truths; and I must beg of you not to indulge in any frivolous discussion of these things to-night."
"You must beg of us?" sneered Borg. "Mustyou really? All right! I'll forgive you if you'll hold your tongue. Play something, Isaac! Music! Why is music mute at Cæsar's feast? Music! But none of your old chestnuts! Play something new!"
Levi went to the piano, and played the overture to "The Mute."
"Now, let's talk," said Borg. "You are looking depressed, Mr. Falk; have a glass with me."
Falk, who felt a certain embarrassment in Borg's company, accepted the offer with mental reservations. But conversation languished, everybody seemed to dread a collision.
Struve fluttered about like a moth in search of pleasure, but unable to find it he again and again returned to the punch-table; every now and then he danced a few steps, to keep up the fiction that the meeting was merry and festive; but this was not the case by any means.
Levi see-sawed between piano and punch. He attempted to sing a cheerful song, but it was so stale that nobody would listen to it.
Borg talked at the top of his voice, "in order to raise his spirits," as he said, but the party grew more and more silent, one might almost have said uneasy.
Falk paced up and down the room, taciturn, portentous like a thundercloud.
At Borg's order a tremendous supper, a "sexa" was served. The convives took their seats amidst ominous silence. Struve and Borg drank immoderate quantities of brandy; in the face of the latter red spots appeared here and there, and the white of the eyes looked yellow. But Struve resembled a varnished Edam cheese; he was uniformly red and greasy. Beside them Falk and Levi looked like children, eating their last supper in the society of giants.
Borg looked at Levi. "Hand the salmon to the scandal-monger," he commanded, in order to break the monotonous silence.
Levi handed the dish to Struve. The latter pushed his spectacles on to his forehead and spat venom.
"Shame on you, Jew," he foamed, throwing his dinner-napkin in Levi's face.
Borg laid a heavy hand on Struve's bald pate.
"Silence, you blackguard!" he said.
"What dreadful company to be mixed up with! Let me tell you, gentlemen, I'm too old to be treated like a schoolboy," said Struve, tremulously, forgetting his usualbonhomie.
Borg, who had had enough to eat, rose from the table.
"Ugh!" he said, "what a beastly crowd you are! Pay, Isaac, I'll pay you back later on; I'm going."
He put on his overcoat, put his hat on his head, filled a tumbler with punch, added brandy to it, emptied it at one gulp, blew out some of the candles in passing, smashed a few of the glasses, pocketed a handful of cigars and a box of matches, and staggered out of the room.
"What a pity that such a genius should drink like that," said Levi solemnly.
A moment later Borg re-entered the room, went to the dining-table, took the candelabrum, lighted his cigar, blew the smoke into Struve's face, put out his tongue, showed his back teeth, extinguished the lights, and departed again. Levi rolled on the floor screaming with laughter.
"To what scum have you introduced me?" asked Falk gravely.
"Oh, my dear fellow, he's intoxicated to-night, but he's the son of Professor Dr...."
"I didn't ask who his father was, I asked who he was," said Falk, cutting him short, "I understand now why you allow such a dog to bully you; but can you tell me why he associates with you?"
"I reserve my reply to all these futilities," answered Struve stiffly.
"Do reserve it, but reserve it for yourself!"
"What's the matter with you, brother Levi?" asked Struve officiously; "you look so grave."
"It's a great pity that a genius like Borg should drink so much," replied Levi.
"How and when does he show his genius?" asked Falk.
"A man can be a genius without writing verse," said Struve pointedly.
"I dare say; writing verse does not pre-suppose genius, nor is a man a genius if he behaves like a brute," said Falk.
"Hadn't we better pay and go?" remarked Struve, hurrying towards the door.
Falk and Levi paid. When they stepped into the street it rained and the sky was black; only the reflexion of the gas-lit town faintly illuminated the sky. The coach had driven away; there was nothing left for them but to turn up their collars and walk.
They had gone as far as the skittle-alley, when they were startled by terrible yells above their heads.
"Curse you!" screamed a voice, and looking up they saw Borg rocking himself on one of the highest branches of a lime tree. The branch nearly touched the ground, but at the next moment it described a tremendous curve upwards.
"Oh! Isn't it colossal!" screamed Levi. "Colossal!"
"What a madman," smiled Struve, proud of his protégé.
"Come along, Isaac!" bellowed Borg, high up in the air, "come along, Jew, let's borrow money from each other!"
"How much do you want?" asked Levi, waving his pocket book.
"I never borrow less than fifty!"
At the next moment Borg had slid to the ground and pocketed the note.
Then he took off his overcoat.
"Put it on again immediately!" commanded Struve.
"What do you say? I'm to put it on again? Who are you to order me about? What? Do you want a fight?"
He smashed his hat against the tree, took off coat and waistcoat, and let the rain beat on his shirt.
"Come here, you rascal! Let's have a fight!"
He seized Struve round the waist, and, staggering backwards, both of them fell into the ditch.
Falk hurried away as fast as he could. And for a long time he could hear behind him outbursts of laughter and shouts of bravo. He could distinguish Levi's voice yelling: "It's divine, it's colossal—it's colossal!" And Borg's: "Traitor! Traitor!"
The clock in the Town-hall Vaults of X-köping thundered the seventh hour of an October evening as the manager of the Municipal Theatre came in. He beamed as a toad may beam after a good meal; he looked happy, but his facial muscles, not accustomed to express such emotions, drew the skin into worried folds and disfigured him still more than usual. He nodded patronizingly to the little shrivelled head-waiter who was standing behind the bar counting the guests.
"Well, and how's the world treating you?" screamed the manager in German—he had dropped the habit of speaking long ago.
"Thank you!" replied the head-waiter in the same language, and as this was all the German the two gentlemen knew, the conversation was continued in Swedish.
"Well, what do you think of the lad Gustav? Wasn't his Don Diego excellent? Don't you admit that I can make actors? What?"
"There's no denying that! Fancy, that boy! It's quite true what you said, sir. It's easier to do something with a man who hasn't been ruined by book-learning."
"Books are the ruin of a good many people. Nobody knows that better than I do. However, do you know anything about books? I do! You will see queer things when young Rehnhjelm plays Horatio! I've promised him the part, because he gave me no peace; but I've also warned himnot to look to me for any assistance. I don't want to be held responsible for his failure; I also told him that I was allowing him to play the part to show him how difficult it is to act when one has no talent. Oh! He shall have such a snub that he'll never look at a part again. See if he won't! But that isn't what I want to say to you! Have you got two vacant rooms?"
"The two small ones?"
"Just so!"
"They're at your disposal, sir!"
"Supper for two, the best you can do! You'd better do the waiting yourself."
He did not shout the last few words; the head-waiter bowed; he had understood.
At this moment Falander entered the room. He took his accustomed seat without as much as a look at the manager. The latter rose immediately. "At eight then," he whispered, as he passed the bar and went out.
The head-waiter brought Falander a bottle of absinth, and all the usual trimmings. As the actor seemed disinclined to enter into conversation, the head-waiter wiped the table with his napkin; when that was no good, he refilled the match-stand, and said:
"Supper to-night, the small rooms! Hm!"
"Of whom and of what are you talking?"
"Of him who's just gone out."
"I see! But that's unusual, he's generally so mean. Supper for one?"
"For two," replied the head-waiter, winking. "In the small rooms, hm!"
Falander pricked up his ears, but at the same time he felt ashamed to be listening to gossip and dropped the subject; but that was not what the head-waiter wanted.
"I wonder who it is? His wife is ill, and...."
"What does it matter to us? Let the monster sup with whom he likes! Have you an evening paper?"
The head-waiter was saved a reply. Rehnhjelm was approaching the table, radiant, like a man who sees a ray of light on his path.
"Leave the absinth alone to-night," he said, "and be my guest. I am happy, I could cry."
"What has happened?" asked Falander uneasily. "Surely, he hasn't given you a part?"
"He has, you pessimist! I'm to play Horatio...."
Falander's face clouded.
"And she'll play Ophelia."
"How do you know?"
"I feel it."
"You and your premonitions! But after all, it wasn't so difficult to guess. Don't you think she deserves it? Have they a better Ophelia in the whole company?"
"No, I admit that! Do you like your part?"
"Oh! It's splendid!"
"It's extraordinary how opinions differ."
"What doyouthink?"
"I think that he is the greatest rascal at the whole court; he says Yes to everything: 'Yes, my prince; yes, my good prince.' If he were really Hamlet's friend, he would sometimes say No, and not always agree with him like any other sycophant."
"Are you going to overthrow another of my ideals?"
"I will overthrow all your false idols! How can you—as long as you look upon all paltry creations of man as great and splendid—strive after the eternal? If you see perfection and excellence in everything here below, how can you yearn for the really perfect? Believe me, pessimism is the truest idealism! It is a Christian doctrine too, if that will salve your conscience, for Christianity teaches us that the world is a vale of tears from which death will deliver us!"
"Can't you let me believe that the world is beautiful? Can't you let me be grateful to Him who is thegiver of all good things, and rejoice in the happiness life has to offer?"
"Yes, yes, my boy, rejoice, rejoice and believe and hope! As all men strive for the same thing—happiness—you will have the 1,439,134,300th part of a chance of winning it, seeing that the denominator of this fraction represents the number of people on this earth. Is the happiness which has come to you to-day worth the torture and humiliations of the last few months? And moreover—what is this great piece of luck? You have been given a part to play, a part in which you cannot make a success—by which I don't mean that you necessarily need be a failure. Are you sure that...."
He paused for breath.
"That Agnes will have a success in the part of Ophelia? She may make good use of the rare chance and get as much out of the part as most actresses do. I am sorry I made you feel sad; don't believe what I said; after all, who knows whether I am right or wrong?"
"If I didn't know you better, I might believe you that you're jealous."
"No, my boy; nothing would please me more than to see yours and all men's wishes speedily fulfilled; then the thoughts of men might turn to higher things. Perhaps that is the meaning of life."
"You can afford to say that so calmly; you have had success long ago."
"Isn't this a state of mind much to be desired? We do not yearn for happiness so much, as for the faculty of being able to smile at our ardent efforts. I sayardentadvisedly."
Eight strokes thundered through the room. Falander rose hastily as if he were going to leave, brushed his hand across his forehead and sat down again.
"Has Agnes gone to see Aunt Beata to-night?" he asked casually.
"What makes you think so?"
"I'm merely supposing it because you are sitting here so quietly. She told you she would read her part to her, as the time is so short, didn't she?"
"Yes; have you seen her to-night?"
"No! On my word of honour, I haven't! Only I can't think of anything else which would prevent her from spending a free evening with you."
"You guessed correctly. She urged me to go out and spend the evening with friends; she thinks I'm too much at home. The dear girl! She has such a tender and loving little heart."
"Yes, very tender!"
"I only once waited for her in vain; her aunt had kept her till late and forgotten to send me word. I thought I was going mad and couldn't sleep all night."
"You are referring to the evening of the sixth of July, I suppose?"
"You startle me! Are you watching us?"
"Why should I? I know of your engagement and aid you in every way I can. And why shouldn't I know that it was Tuesday the sixth of July? You've told me about it more than once."
"That's true!"
Neither of them spoke for a while.
"It's extraordinary," said Rehnhjelm, suddenly breaking the silence, "that happiness can make one feel melancholy; I feel uneasy to-night, and would much rather have spent the evening with Agnes. Let's go to the small rooms and send for her. She could say that friends had arrived from the country."
"She wouldn't do that; she couldn't tell a lie."
"Oh, nonsense! The woman who can't isn't born yet!"
Falander stared at Rehnhjelm with so peculiar an expression, that the latter felt puzzled.
"I'll go and see whether the little rooms are vacant," he said after a short pause; "we can send her a message, if they are."
"Come along then!"
Rehnhjelm made ready to follow him, but Falander kept him back.
"I'll be back in two minutes!"
He returned with a very white face, but perfectly calm.
"They are engaged," he said quietly.
"What a nuisance!"
"Let's keep each other company and be as jolly as we can!"
And they kept each other company, ate and drank and talked of life and love and human malice; and when they had eaten and drunk and talked enough, they went home and to bed.
Rehnhjelm awoke on the following morning at four o'clock; somebody had called his name. He sat up in bed and listened—there was not a sound. He drew up the blind and looked out on a grey autumn morning, windy and rainy. He went back to bed and tried to sleep, but in vain. There were strange voices in the wind; they moaned and warned and wept and whimpered. He tried to think of something pleasant: of his happiness. He took his part and began to learn it; it seemed to be nothing butyes,my prince; he thought of Falander's words and could not help admitting that he was to some extent right. He tried to picture himself on the stage as Horatio; he tried to picture Agnes in the part of Ophelia, and could see in her nothing but a hypocritical schemer, spreading nets for Hamlet at Polonius's advice. He attempted to drive away the thought, and instead of Agnes he saw the coquettish Miss Jacquette, who had been the last to play the part at the Municipal Theatre.
He tried in vain to drive away these disagreeable fancies; they followed him like gnats. At last, exhausted with the strain, he fell asleep, but only to suffer the same torment in his dream; he roused himself with an effort, but soon dropped off to sleep again, and immediately the same visions disturbed him. About nine o'clock he awoke with a scream, and jumped out of bed as if he were fleeing from evil spirits. When he looked into the glass he saw that his eyes were red with weeping. He dressed hastilyand as he picked up his boot, a big spider ran across the floor. The sight pleased him for he believed in the superstition that a spider is a harbinger of happiness; his good-humour was restored and he came to the conclusion that if a man wanted an undisturbed night's rest, he should avoid crabs for supper. He drank his coffee and smoked a pipe and smiled at the rain-showers and the wind. A knock at the door aroused him from his reverie; he started, for he was afraid of news, he could not tell why; but he thought of the spider and calmly opened the door.
A servant handed him a letter from Falander, begging him to come to his rooms at ten, on very important business.
Again he was assailed by the indescribable feeling of fear which had troubled his morning slumber; he tried to while away the time until ten. It was impossible; he dressed and went to Falander's house.
The latter had risen early; his room had been put straight and he was ready to receive his friend. He greeted Rehnhjelm cordially, but with unusual gravity. Rehnhjelm overwhelmed him with questions, but Falander refused to reply before ten o'clock. Rehnhjelm's anxiety grew and he wanted to know whether there was unpleasant news; Falander replied that nothing on earth was unpleasant as long as one looked at things in the right light. And he declared that many so-called unbearable situations could be borne quite easily if only one did not exaggerate their importance.
The time passed slowly, but at last it struck ten. A gentle double-rap at the door relieved the tension. Falander opened at once and admitted Agnes. Without a look at those present she drew the key from the lock, and locked the door from the inside. A momentary embarrassment seized her when, on turning round, she was confronted by two men instead of only one, but her embarrassment gave way to pleasant surprise when she recognized Rehnhjelm. Throwingoff her water-proof, she ran towards him; he took her in his arms and passionately pressed her to his heart, as if he had not seen her for a year.
"You've been away a long time, Agnes!"
"A long time? What do you mean?"
"I feel as if I hadn't seen you for a life-time. How splendid you are looking! Did you sleep well?"
"Do you think I look better than usual?"
"Yes! You are flushed and there are little dimples in your cheeks! Won't you say good morning to Falander?"
The latter stood quietly listening to the conversation, but his face was deadly white and he seemed to be absorbed in thought.
"How worn you are looking," said Agnes, crossing the room with the graceful movements of a kitten, as Rehnhjelm released her from his arms.
Falander made no reply. Agnes looked at him more keenly, and all at once became aware of his thoughts. A fleeting expression of trouble passed across her face, as the surface of a pond is rippled by the breeze; but she immediately regained her usual serenity, glanced at Rehnhjelm, realized the situation, and was prepared for anything.
"May we be told what important business has brought us together here, at this early hour?" she asked gaily, putting her hand on Falander's shoulder.
"Certainly," said the latter, with such firm resolution that her face paled; but at the same moment he threw back his head, as if he wanted to force his thoughts into another groove, "it's my birthday, and I want you to have breakfast with me."
Agnes, who had seen the train rushing straight at her, felt relieved; she burst into merry laughter and embraced Falander.
"But as breakfast has been ordered for eleven, we'll have to wait a while. Won't you sit down?"
There was an ominous silence.
"An angel is passing through the room," said Agnes.
"You!" said Rehnhjelm, respectfully and ardently kissing her hand.
Falander looked as if he had been thrown out of his saddle, and was making violent efforts to regain it.
"I saw a spider this morning," said Rehnhjelm, "that predicts happiness."
"Araignée matin: chagrin," said Falander. "Have you never heard that?"
"What does that mean?" asked Agnes.
"A spider on the morrow: grief and sorrow."
"Hm!"
Again they grew silent. The only sound which disturbed the stillness was the sound of the rain beating in gusts against the windows.
"I read an awfully tragic book last night," presently remarked Falander. "I hardly slept a wink."
"What book was that?" asked Rehnhjelm, without betraying very much interest.
"Its title was 'Pierre Clément,' and its subject the usual woman's game. But it was told so well that it made a great impression on me."
"May I ask what the usual woman's game is?" said Agnes.
"Faithlessness and treachery!"
"And this Pierre Clément?"
"He was, of course, betrayed. He was a young artist, in love with another man's mistress...."
"I remember the book; I liked it very much. Wasn't she later on engaged to a man whom she really loved? Yes, that was it, and during all the time she kept up her oldliaison. The author wanted to show that a woman can love in two ways; a man only in one. That's true enough, isn't it?"
"Certainly! But the day came when her fiancé was going to compete with a picture. To cut my tale short, she gave herself to the president, and Pierre Clément was happy and could be married."
"And by this the author wanted to show that awoman will sacrifice everything to the man she loves—a man, on the other hand...."
"That is the most infamous statement I ever heard!" burst out Falander.
He rose, went to his writing-desk, threw open the flap and took out a black box.
"Here," he said, handing it to Agnes; "go home and rid the world of a monster."
"What's that?" laughed Agnes, opening the box and taking out a six-barrelled revolver. "I say, what a sweet thing! Didn't you use this as Carl Moor? I believe it is loaded."
She raised the revolver and fired up the chimney.
"Lock it up," she said, "this is no toy, my friends."
Rehnhjelm had watched the scene speechlessly. He understood the meaning well enough, but he was unable to say a word; and he was so much under the girl's spell, that he could not even feel angry with her. He realized that he had been stabbed, but he had as yet not had time to feel the pain.
The girl's impudence disconcerted Falander; he wanted time to recover; his moral execution had been a complete failure, and hiscoup de théâtrehad been disastrous to himself.
"Hadn't we better go now?" asked Agnes, straightening her hat before the glass.
Falander opened the door.
"Go and be damned to you!" he said. "You have ruined an honest man's peace of mind."
"What are you talking about? Shut the door! It's none too warm here."
"I see, I have to speak more plainly. Where were you last night?"
"Hjalmar knows, and it's no business of yours."
"You were not at your aunt's! You had supper with the manager!"
"It's a lie!"
"I saw you at nine in the vaults of the Town-hall."
"I say it's a lie! I was at home at that time! Go and ask aunt's maid who saw me home."
"I should never have expected this from you!"
"Hadn't we better stop talking nonsense now and be off? You shouldn't read stupid books all night; then you wouldn't be in a bad temper on the next day. Put on your hats and come."
Rehnhjelm put his hand to his head to feel whether it was in its accustomed place, for everything seemed to him to be turned upside down. When he found that it was still there, he attempted to come to a clear understanding of the matter, but he was unable to do so.
"Where were you on the sixth of July?" asked Falander, with the sternness of a judge.
"What an idiotic question to ask! How can I remember what happened three months ago?"
"You were with me, but you told Hjalmar you were with your aunt."
"Don't listen to him," said Agnes, going up to Rehnhjelm and caressing him. "He's talking nonsense."
Rehnhjelm's hand shot out; he seized her by the throat and flung her on her back behind the stove, where she fell on a little pile of wood and remained lying still and motionless.
He put on his hat, but Falander had to help him with his coat, for he trembled violently.
"Come along, let's be off," he said, spitting on the hearthstone.
Falander hesitated for a moment, felt Agnes' pulse and then followed Rehnhjelm with whom he caught up in the lower hall.
"I admire you!" he said; "the matter was really beyond discussion."
"Then let it for ever remain so! We haven't much time to enjoy each other's company. I am leaving for home by the next train, to work and to forget! Let's go to the vaults now."
They went to the vaults and engaged a private room, where breakfast was served to them.
"Has my hair turned grey?" asked Rehnhjelm,passing his hand over his hair which was damp and clung closely to his skull.
"No, old man, that doesn't often happen; even I'm not grey."
"Is she hurt?"
"No!"
"It was in this room—I met her for the first time."
He rose from the table, staggered to the sofa, and threw himself on his knees by the side of it. Burying his head in the cushions, he burst into tears like a child crying in his mother's lap.
Falander took his head in both his hands, and Rehnhjelm felt something hot and scalding dropping on his neck.
"Where's your philosophy now, old fellow? Out with it! I'm drowning! Give me a straw to clutch at!"
"Poor boy! poor old boy!"
"I must see her! I must ask her forgiveness! I love her in spite of it! In spite of it! Are you sure she isn't hurt? Oh! my God, that one can be so unhappy and yet not die!"
At three o'clock in the afternoon Rehnhjelm left for Stockholm. Falander slammed the carriage door behind him and turned the handle.
To Sellén also the autumn had brought great changes. His powerful patron had died, and all memory of him was to be blotted out; even the memories of his kind actions were not to survive him. That Sellén's stipend was stopped went without saying, especially as the artist could not bring himself to petition for its continuance. He did not believe that he required further assistance, after having been given a helping hand once, and, moreover, there were so many younger members of his profession in greater need of it.
But he was made to realize that not only was the sun extinguished but that the smaller planets, too, suffered from total eclipse. He had worked strenuously during the summer and had made great progress in his art, but nevertheless the president declared that it had deteriorated, and that his success in the spring had been nothing more than a stroke of luck; the professor of landscape-painting had told him as a friend that he would never be a great artist, and the academician had seized the opportunity to rehabilitate himself, and clung to his first opinion. In addition to this the public taste in pictures had changed; the ignorant wealthy handful of people who were in the habit of buying pictures and therefore set the fashion, did not want landscapes, but portraits of the watering-places and summer resorts they knew; and it was difficult to sell even these; the only demand was for sentimental genre-pictures and half-nude figures.
Therefore Sellén had fallen on evil days, for he could not bring himself to paint against his betterjudgment. He was now renting a former photographic studio on the top of a house in Government Street. The accommodation consisted of the studio itself, with its rotten floor and leaking roof—the latter defect was not felt at present, for it was winter and the roof was covered with snow—and the old dark-room which smelt of collodium, and for this reason could only be used as a wood- or coal-shed, when circumstances permitted the purchase of fuel. The only piece of furniture was a wooden garden seat, studded with protruding nails. It was so short that a man using it as a bed—and it was always used as a bed when the owner, or rather the borrower, spent the night at home—had either to draw his knees up to his chin, or allow his legs to dangle over the side. The bedding consisted of half a rug—the other half was at the pawnbroker's—and a leather case, stuffed to bursting-point with studies and sketches.
In the dark-room was a water tap and a basin with a waste pipe—the only substitute for a dressing-table.
On a cold afternoon, a short time before Christmas, Sellén was standing before his easel, painting for the third time a new picture on an old canvas. He had just risen from his hard bed; no servant had come in to light his fire—partly because he had no servant, and partly because he had nothing with which to make a fire—no servant had brushed his clothes or brought his coffee. And yet he was standing before his easel whistling merrily, engaged in painting a brilliant sunset, when there came four knocks at the door. Sellén opened without hesitation and admitted Olle Montanus, very plainly and very lightly clad, without an overcoat.
"Good morning, Olle! How are you? Did you sleep well?"
"Thanks."
"How's the cash-box?"
"Oh! Bad!"
"And the notes?"
"There are so few in circulation."
"I see! They won't issue any more? And the valuables?"
"There aren't any."
"Do you think it's going to be a hard winter?"
"I saw a great many chatterers this morning; that means a hard winter."
"You took a morning stroll?"
"I've walked about all night, after leaving the Red Room at midnight."
"You were at the Red Room last night?"
"Yes; and I made two new acquaintances: Dr. Borg and a man called Levin."
"Oh! Those rascals! I know them! Why didn't you spend the night with them?"
"They turned up their noses at me because I had no overcoat, and I felt ashamed. But I am worn out; I'll rest for a few moments on your sofa! I've walked through the whole town and round half of it; I must try and get work to-day at a stone-mason's or I shall starve."
"Is it true that you are a member of the Workmen's Union 'Star of the North'?"
"Quite true; I'm going to lecture there on Sunday next, on Sweden."
"A good subject! Plenty to say!"
"If I should fall asleep on your sofa, don't waken me; I'm dead-beat."
"All right, old chap! Go to sleep!"
A few moments later Olle was fast asleep and snoring loudly. His head was hanging over one of the side-railings which supported his thick neck, and his legs over the other.
"Poor devil!" muttered Sellén, covering him up with his rug.
There was another knock, but as it was unfamiliar Sellén judged it wise to take no notice of it; thereupon the clamour became so furious that it dissipated his apprehensions and he opened the door to Dr. Borg and Levin. Borg was the first to speak.
"Is Falk here?"
"No!"
"Who is that sack of wood over there?" continued Borg, pointing at Olle with his snow-boot.
"Olle Montanus."
"Oh! That extraordinary fellow who was with Falk last night! Is he asleep?"
"Yes."
"Did he spend the night here?"
"Yes."
"Why haven't you a fire? It's beastly cold."
"Because I have no wood."
"Send for some then! Where's the servant? I'll make her trot."
"Gone to early service."
"Wake up that sleeping ox over there and send him!"
"No, let him sleep," objected Sellén, covering up Olle, who was still snoring loudly.
"Then I must show you another way. What's the floor-packing? Earth or rubbish?"
"I don't understand these matters," replied Sellén, carefully stepping on some sheets of cardboard which were lying on the floor.
"Have you got another piece of cardboard?"
"What are you driving at?" asked Sellén, colouring up to the roots of his hair.
"I want it, and a pair of fire-tongs."
Sellén gave him the required articles, took his sketching stool and sat down on the pieces of cardboard as if he were guarding a treasure.
Borg took off his coat, and with the help of the fire-tongs loosened a board in the floor, rotted by rain and acids.
"Confound you! What are you doing?" exclaimed Sellén.
"I used to do this in my college days at Upsala," said Borg.
"But you can't do that sort of thing at Stockholm!"
"Hang it all, I'm cold! I must have a fire."
"But there's no necessity to break up the floor in the middle of the room! It shows too much!"
"What does that matter to me! I don't live here. But this is too hard."
Meanwhile he had approached Sellén, and all of a sudden he pushed him and the stool over; in falling the artist dragged the pieces of cardboard with him, exposing the bare floor-packing underneath.
"Miscreant! To have a perfect timber-yard and not to say a word about it!"
"The rain's done it!"
"I don't care who's done it! Let's light a fire!"
He wrenched off a few pieces of wood with his strong hands and soon a fire was blazing in the grate.
Levin had watched the scene, quiet, neutral, and polite. Borg sat down before the fire and made the tongs red-hot.
Again there was a knock: three short raps and a longer one.
"That's Falk," said Sellén, opening the door.
Falk entered, looking a little hectic.
"Do you want money?" said Borg to the newcomer, laying his hand on his breast-pocket.
"What a question to ask," said Falk, looking at him doubtfully.
"How much do you want? I can let you have it."
"Are you serious?" asked Falk, and his face cleared.
"Serious? Hm! How much? The figure! The amount!"
"I could do with, say, sixty crowns."
"Good Lord, how modest you are," remarked Borg, and turned to Levin.
"Yes, itisvery little," said the latter. "Take as much as you can get Falk while the purse is open."
"I'd rather not! Sixty crowns is all I want, and I can't afford to take up a bigger loan. But how is it to be paid back?"
"Twelve crowns every sixth month, twenty-four crowns per annum, in two instalments," said Levin promptly and firmly.
"Those are easy terms," replied Falk. "Where do you get money on those terms?"
"From the Wheelwrights' Bank. Give me paper and a pen, Levin!"
Quick as lightning Levin produced a promissory note, a pen, and a pocket inkstand. The note had already been filled up by the others. When Falk saw the figure eight hundred he hesitated for a moment.
"Eight hundred crowns?" he asked.
"You can have more if you are not satisfied."
"No, I won't; it's all the same who takes the money as long as it is paid up all right. But can you raise money on a bill of this sort, without security?"
"Without security? You are forgetting that we are guaranteeing it," replied Levin, with contemptuous familiarity.
"I don't want to depreciate it," observed Falk. "I'm grateful for your guarantees, but I don't believe that the bill will be accepted."
"Oh, won't it! It's accepted already," said Borg, bringing out abill of acceptance, as he called it. "Go on, Falk, sign!"
Falk signed his name.
Borg and Levin were watching him, looking over his shoulders like policemen.
"Assessor," dictated Borg.
"No, I'm a journalist," objected Falk.
"That's no good; you are registered as assessor, and as such you still figure in the directory."
"Did you look it up?"
"One should be correct in matters of form," said Borg gravely.
Falk signed.
"Come here, Sellén, and witness," commanded Borg.
"I don't know whether I ought to," replied Sellén, "I've seen at home, in the country, so much misery arising from such signatures...."
"You are not in the country now, and you are not dealing with peasants. There's no reason why you shouldn't witness that Falk's signature is genuine."
Sellén signed, shaking his head.
"And now rouse that draught-ox over there and make him, too, witness the signature."
When all shaking was in vain Borg took the tongs, which were now red-hot, and held them under the sleeper's nostrils.
"Wake up, you dog, and you shall have something to eat!"
Olle jumped up and rubbed his eyes.
"You are to witness Falk's signature. Do you understand?"
Olle took the pen and wrote his name in obedience to the two guarantors' dictation. When he had done so, he turned to the bench to lie down again but Borg prevented him.
"Wait a minute," he said, "Falk must first sign a counter-guarantee."
"Don't do it, Falk," said Olle; "it'll end badly, there'll be trouble."
"Silence, you dog," bellowed Borg. "Come here, Falk! We've just guaranteed your bill, as you know; all we want now from you is a counter-guarantee in place of Struve's, against whom an action has been brought."
"What do you mean by a counter-guarantee?"
"It's only a matter of form; the loan was for eight hundred crowns on the Painters' Bank; the first payment has been made, but now that Struve has been proceeded against, we must find a substitute. It's a safe old loan and there are no risks; the money was due a year ago."
Falk signed and the other two witnessed.
Borg carefully folded the bills and gave them to Levin who immediately turned to go.
"I'll give you an hour," said Borg. "If you are not back with the money by then, I'll set the police on your track."
And satisfied with his morning's work, he stretched himself out on the seat on which Olle had been lying.
The latter staggered to the fire, lay down on the floor and curled himself up like a dog.
For a little while nobody spoke.
"I say, Olle," said Sellén presently, breaking the silence, "supposing we signed a bill of this sort...."
"You would be sent to Rindö," said Borg.
"What is Rindö?" asked Sellén.
"A convict prison in the Skerries; but in case the gentlemen should prefer the Lake of Mälar, there's a prison there called Longholm."
"But seriously," said Falk, "what happens if one can't pay on the day when the money falls due?"
"One takes up a fresh loan at the Tailors' Bank, for instance," replied Borg.
"Why don't you go to the Imperial Bank?" questioned Falk.
"Because it's rotten!" answered Borg.
"Can you make head or tail out of all this?" said Sellén to Olle.
"I don't understand a word of it," answered the latter.
"You will, when you are members of the Academy, and your names appear in the Directory."