Nicholas Falk was sitting in his office; it was the morning of the day before Christmas Eve. He was a little changed; time had thinned his fair hair, and the passions had delved little channels in his face, for the acids which the parched soil distilled. He was stooping over a little book of the shape and size of the Catechism, and his busy pen seemed to prick out designs.
There was a knock at the door; immediately the book disappeared beneath the flap of his writing-desk, and was replaced by the morning paper. Falk was absorbed in its perusal when his wife entered.
"Take a seat," he said, politely.
"No, thank you; I'm in a hurry. Have you read the morning paper?"
"No!"
"But you are reading it at this very minute!"
"I've only just taken it up."
"Have you seen the review of Arvid's poems?"
"Yes."
"Well? They were much praised."
"He wrote the review himself."
"You said the same thing last night when you were reading theGrey Bonnet."
"What have you come here for?"
"I've just met the admiral's wife; she's accepted our invitation and said she would be delighted to meet the young poet."
"Did she really?"
"She did, indeed."
"Hm! Of course it's possible to make a mistake, although I don't admit that I made one. I suppose you're again wanting money?"
"Again? How long ago is it since you gave me any?"
"Here you are, then! But now go, and don't bother me again before Christmas; you know it's been a bad year."
"Indeed! I don't know that at all! Everybody says it's been a splendid year."
"For the agriculturist yes, but not for the insurance societies. Run away now!"
Mrs. Falk went, making way for Fritz Levin, who entered cautiously, as if he were afraid of a trap.
"What have you come for?" asked Falk.
"Oh, I just wanted to wish you a good morning in passing."
"A good idea! I've been wanting to see you."
"Have you really?"
"You know young Levi?"
"Of course I do!"
"Read this paper, aloud, please!"
Levin read, in a loud voice: "Magnificent bequest: With a generosity which is not now infrequently met with among the merchant class, the wholesale merchant Mr. Charles Nicholas Falk, in order to commemorate the anniversary of a happy marriage, has bequeathed to the crèche 'Bethlehem' the sum of twenty thousand crowns, one half of it to be paid at once, and the other half after the death of the generous donor. The bequest is all the more significant as Mrs. Falk is one of the founders of the philanthropic institution."
"Will that do?" asked Falk.
"Splendidly! The new year will bring you the order of Vasa!"
"I want you to take the deed of gift and the money to the Administrative Committee of the crèche, that is to say, to my wife, and then go and find young Levi. Do you understand?"
"Quite."
Falk gave him the deed of gift, written on parchment, and the amount.
"Count the money to see whether it is right."
Levin opened a packet of papers and stared, wide-eyed, at fifty sheets covered with lithographic designs, in all possible colours.
"Is that money?" he asked.
"These are securities," answered Falk; "fifty shares at two hundred crowns each in the 'Triton,' which I bequeath to the crèche Bethlehem."
"Haha! It's all over with the 'Triton,' then, and the rats are leaving the sinking ship!"
"I didn't say that," replied Falk, laughing maliciously.
"But if it should be the case, the crèche will be bankrupt."
"That doesn't concern me, and it concerns you even less. But there is something else I want you to do. You must—you know what I mean when I say you must...."
"I know, I know, bailiffs, promissory notes—go on!"
"You must induce Arvid to come here to dinner on Bank Holiday...."
"It will be about as easy as bringing you three hairs out of the giant's beard. Now do you admit that I was wise when I refused to give him your message of last spring? Haven't I always predicted this?"
"Did you? Well, never mind, hold your tongue and do as you are told! So much for that! There's another thing! I have noticed symptoms of remorse in my wife. She must have met her mother, or one of her sisters. Christmas is a sentimental season. Go to my mother-in-law and stir up a little strife!"
"A very unpleasant commission!"
"Off you go! Next man...."
Levin went. The next visitor was schoolmaster Nyström, who was admitted by a secret door in thebackground. At his entrance the morning paper was dropped, and the long, narrow book reappeared.
Nyström had gone to pieces. His body was reduced to a third of its former size, and his clothes were extremely shabby. He remained humbly standing at the door, took a much-used pocket-book out of his pocket and waited.
"Ready?" asked Falk, keeping the place in the book with his first finger.
"Ready," replied Nyström, opening the pocket-book.
"No. 26. Lieutenant Kling, 1500 crowns. Paid?"
"Not paid."
"Prolong, with extra interest and commission. Call at his private address."
"Never receives at home."
"Threaten him by post with a visit at the barracks."
"No. 27. Judge Dahlberg, 800 crowns. Let's see. Son of the wholesale merchant Dahlberg, estimated at 35,000. Grant a respite at present, but see that he pays the interest. Keep an eye on him."
"He never pays the interest."
"Send him a postcard to his office."
"No. 28. Captain Stjernborst, 4000. Good for nothing fellow, that! Paid?"
"Not paid."
"Good. Instructions: Call on him at noon at the guards room. Dress—you that is—compromisingly. Your red overcoat with the yellow seams, you know what I mean."
"No use! I've called on him at the guards room in the depth of the winter without any overcoat."
"Then go to his guarantors!"
"I've been and they told me to go to hell. They said that a guarantee was only a matter of form."
"Then call on him on a Wednesday afternoon at one o'clock at the offices of the 'Triton'; take Andersson with you, then there'll be two of you."
"Been done already."
"Has it? How did the directors take it?" asked Falk, rising.
"They were embarrassed."
"Really? Much embarrassed?"
"Much embarrassed."
"And he himself?"
"He took us into the corridor and promised to pay if we never called on him there again."
"Indeed! He spends two hours a week there, and receives six thousand crowns, because his name is Stjernborst. Let's see! It's Saturday to-day. Be at the 'Triton' punctually at half-past twelve; if you should see me there, which I expect you will, not a flicker of an eyelid. Do you understand? Right! Any fresh business?"
"Thirty-five new requests."
"Yes, yes, it's Christmas Eve to-morrow."
Falk turned over a bundle of promissory notes; every now and then he smiled, or muttered a word.
"Good Heavens! Has he come to that? And this one—and that one—who was looked upon as such a steady fellow! Yes, yes—hard times are in store for all of us. Oh! He, too, wants money? Then I shall buy his house...."
Another knock at the door. The desk was closed, papers and catechism vanished into thin air, and Nyström disappeared through the secret door.
"At half-past twelve," whispered Falk, as he went. "One thing more! Have you finished the poem?"
"Yes," replied a muffled voice.
"Right! Keep Levin's promissory note in readiness, so that it can be submitted to his head office at any time. Some day I shall smash him. The rascal's deceitful."
He arranged his tie, pulled out his cuffs and opened the door leading to a little waiting-room.
"Ah! Good morning, Mr. Lundell! Very glad to see you! Please come in! How are you? I had locked my door for a few moments."
It really was Lundell; Lundell dressed in theheight of fashion like a shop assistant; he wore a watch-chain, rings, gloves and overshoes.
"I am not calling at an inconvenient time, I hope?"
"Not at all! Do you think, Mr. Lundell, that you will be able to finish it by to-morrow?"
"Must it be finished by to-morrow?"
"It absolutely must! It will be a red-letter day for the crèche to-morrow; Mrs. Falk will publicly present my portrait to the institution, to be hung in the dining-room."
"Then we must not let any obstacles stand in our way," replied Lundell, taking an easel and an almost finished canvas from a cupboard. "If you will sit to me for a few moments, sir, I will give the picture the finishing touches."
"With all the pleasure in the world."
Falk sat down in a chair, crossed his legs, threw himself into the attitude of a statesman and tried to look aristocratic.
"Won't you talk, sir? Although your face is an exceedingly interesting one when at rest, yet the more characteristics I can bring out, the better."
Falk smirked; a glimmer of pleasure and gratification lit up his coarse features.
"I hope you'll be able to dine with us on bank holiday, Mr. Lundell?"
"Thank you...."
"You'll be able to study the faces of many men of distinction, then, men whose features deserve being fixed on canvas far more than mine do."
"Perhaps I may have the honour of painting them?"
"You will, if I recommend you."
"Oh, do you really think so?"
"Certainly I do!"
"I just caught a new expression in your face. Try and keep it for a few moments. There! This is excellent! I'm afraid I shall have to work at this portrait all day long. There are so many detailswhich one only discovers gradually. Your face is rich in interesting features."
"In that case we had better dine together! We must see a good deal of each other, Mr. Lundell, so that you may have an opportunity of studying my face for a second edition, which it is always well to have. Really, I must say, there are few people to whom I felt so strongly drawn from the first moment, as I did to you, Mr. Lundell."
"Oh, my dear sir!"
"And let me tell you that my eyes are keen and well able to distinguish truth from flattery."
"I knew that from the first," answered Lundell unscrupulously. "My profession has given me an insight into human character."
"You are a very keen observer indeed. Not everybody understands me. My wife, for instance...."
"Oh! Women cannot be expected...."
"No, that wasn't altogether what I meant. But may I offer you a glass of good old port?"
"Thank you, sir; I never drink when I'm working, on principle...."
"Quite right! I respect this principle—I always respect principles—all the more because I share it."
"But when I'm not at work, I enjoy a glass."
"Just as I do."
It struck half-past twelve. Falk rose.
"Excuse me, I must leave you for a short time, on business. I shall be back almost immediately."
"Certainly, business first."
Falk put on his hat and coat and went. Lundell was left alone.
He lit a cigar and studied the portrait. No observer, however keen, could have guessed his thoughts; he had acquired sufficient knowledge of the art of life to hide his opinions even when he was alone; nay, more than that, he was afraid of coming to a clear understanding with himself.
They had arrived at the dessert. The champagne sparkled in the glasses which reflected the rays of light from the chandelier in Nicholas Falk's dining-room. Arvid was greeted on all sides with friendly hand-shakes, compliments and congratulations, warnings and advice; everybody wanted to be present and share in his triumph, for he had had a decided success.
"Assessor Falk! I'm delighted!" said the President of the Board of Payment of Employés' Salaries, nodding to him across the table. "I fully appreciate your talent."
Arvid tranquilly pocketed the insulting compliment.
"Why are your poems so melancholy?" asked a young beauty on the poet's right. "One might almost think you were suffering from an unhappy love-affair."
"Assessor Falk, allow me to drink your health," said the chief editor of theGrey Bonnet, from the left, stroking his long, blond beard. "Why don't you write for my paper?"
"I shouldn't think you would print my articles," replied Arvid.
"I don't see why we shouldn't."
"Our opinions differ so very widely...."
"Oh! That isn't half as bad as you think. One compromises. We have no opinions."
"Your health, Falk!" shouted the excited Lundell, from the other side of the table. "Your health!"
Levi and Borg had to hold him, otherwise he wouldhave risen and made a speech. It was for the first time that Lundell was invited to a dinner of this sort, and the brilliant assembly and luxurious food and drink intoxicated him; but as all the guests were more or less merry, he fortunately excited no unpleasant attention.
Arvid Falk's heart beat faster at the sight of all these people who had readmitted him to their circle without asking for explanations or apologies. It gave him a sense of security to sit on those old chairs, which had been a part of the home of his childhood. With a feeling of melancholy he recognized the tall table-centre which in the old times had only seen daylight once a year. But the number of new people distracted him; their friendly faces did not deceive him; certainly they did not wish him evil, but their friendship depended on a combination of circumstances.
Moreover, he saw the whole entertainment in the light of a masquerade. What mutual interest could possibly form a bond between his uncultured brother and Professor Borg, the man with the great scientific reputation? They were shareholders in the same company! What was the proud Captain Gyllenborst doing here? Had he come for the sake of the dinner? Impossible, even though a man will go a long way for the sake of a good dinner. And the President? The Admiral? There must have been invisible ties, strong, unbreakable ties perhaps.
The mirth increased, but the laughter was too shrill; the lips were overflowing with wit, but the wit was biting. Falk felt ill at ease; it seemed to him that his father's eyes were looking angrily at the assembly from the painted canvas which hung over the piano.
Nicholas Falk beamed with satisfaction; he neither saw nor heard any unpleasantness, but he avoided meeting his brother's eyes as much as possible. They had not spoken to each other yet, for Arvid, in compliance with Levin's instructions, had not arrived until after all the guests had been assembled.
The dinner was approaching its end. Nicholas made a speech on "the stamina and firm resolution" which are necessary to accomplish a man's purpose: the achievement of financial independence and a good social position. "These two qualities," said the speaker, "raise a man's self-respect and endow him with that firmness without which his efforts are unavailing, at any rate as far as the general good is concerned. And the general welfare, gentlemen, must always be our highest endeavour; I have no doubt that—if the truth were known—it is the ambition of every one here present. I drink the health of all those who have this day honoured my house, and I hope that I may often—in the future—enjoy the same privilege."
Captain Gyllenborst, who was slightly intoxicated, replied in a lengthy, facetious speech which, delivered at a different house, before people in a different mood, would have been called scandalous.
He abused the commercial spirit which was spreading, and declared that he had plenty of self-respect, although he was by no means financially independent; he had been obliged, this very morning, to settle some business of a most disagreeable nature—but in spite of this he had sufficient strength of character to be present at the banquet; and as far as his social position was concerned, it was second to none—he felt sure that this was everybody's opinion, for otherwise he would not be sitting at this table, the guest of so charming a host.
When he had concluded, the party drew a breath of relief. "It was as if a thundercloud had passed over our heads," remarked the beauty, and Arvid Falk heartily agreed.
There was so much humbug, so much deceit in the atmosphere that Arvid longed to take his leave. These people, who appeared so honest and respectable, seemed to be held by an invisible chain at which they tore every now and then with suppressed fury. Captain Gyllenborst treated his host with open,though facetious contempt. He smoked a cigar in the drawing-room, generally behaved like a boor, and took no notice whatever of the ladies. He spat in the fire-place, mercilessly criticized the oleographs on the walls, and loudly expressed his contempt for the mahogany furniture. The other gentlemen were indifferent; they gave Falk the impression that they were on duty.
Irritated and upset, he left the party unnoticed.
In the street below stood Olle waiting for him.
"I really didn't think you would come," said Olle. "It's so beautifully light up there."
"What a reason! I wish you'd been there!"
"How is Lundell getting on in smart society?"
"Don't envy him. He won't have an easy time if he's going to make his way as a portrait-painter. But let's talk of something else. I have been longing for this evening, so as to study the working man at close quarters. It will be like a breath of fresh air after these deadly fumes; I feel as if I were allowed to take a stroll in the wood, after having long been laid up in a hospital. I wonder whether I shall be disillusioned."
"The working man is suspicious; you will have to be careful."
"Is he generous? Free from pettiness? Or has the pressure which has lain on him for so long spoiled him?"
"You'll be able to see for yourself. Most things in this world differ from our expectations."
"That's true, unfortunately."
Half an hour later they had arrived in the great hall of the working men's union "Star of the North." The place was already crowded. Arvid's black dress-coat did not create a good impression; he caught many an unfriendly glance from angry eyes.
Olle introduced Arvid to a tall, gaunt man with a face full of passion, who seemed to be troubled with an incessant cough.
"Joiner Eriksson!"
"That's me," said the latter, "and is this one of those gentlemen who want to put up for election? He doesn't look big enough for that."
"No, no," said Olle, "he's here for the newspaper."
"Which newspaper? There are so many different sorts. Perhaps he's come to make fun of us?"
"No, no, nothing of the sort," said Olle. "He's a friend, and he'll do all he can for you."
"I see! That alters the matter. But I don't trust those gentlemen; one of them lived with us, that is to say, we lived in the same house, in the White Mountains; he was the landlord's agent—Struve was the rascal's name."
There was a rap with the hammer. The chair was taken by an elderly man, Wheelwright Löfgren, alderman and holder of the medalLitteris et artibus. He had held many offices and acquired a great deal of dramatic routine. A certain venerability, capable of quelling storms and silencing noisy meetings, characterized him. His broad face, ornamented by side-whiskers and a pair of spectacles, was framed by a judge's wig.
The secretary who sat at his side was one of the supernumeraries of the great Board of Functionaries; he wore eye-glasses and expressed with a peasant's grin his dissatisfaction with everything that was said.
The front bench was filled by the most aristocratic members of the Union: officers, Government officials, wholesale merchants; they supported all loyal resolutions, and with their superior parliamentary skill voted against every attempt at reform.
The secretary read the minutes, which the front bench approved.
Next the first item of the agenda was read:
"The Preparatory Committee would suggest that the working men's union 'Star of the North' should express the dissatisfaction which every right-thinking citizen must feel in regard to the unlawful movementswhich under the name of strikes are spreading nearly all over Europe."
"Is this the pleasure of the Union?"
"Yes, yes!" shouted the front bench.
"Mr. President!" called out the joiner from the White Mountains.
"Who is making so much noise at the back?" asked the chairman, looking over his spectacles with a face which suggested that he would presently have recourse to the cane.
"Nobody is making any noise; I am asking for permission to speak."
"Who is I?"
"Master-joiner Eriksson."
"Are you a master? Since when?"
"I am a journeyman out of my time; I have never had the means to be made free of the city, but I am every bit as skilful as any other master and I work on my own account."
"I request the journeyman-joiner Eriksson to sit down and stop interfering. Is it the pleasure of the Union to reply to the question in the affirmative?"
"Mr. Chairman!"
"What is the matter?"
"I ask permission to speak! Let me speak!" bellowed Eriksson.
There was a murmur on the back benches: "Eriksson's turn to speak."
"Journeyman Eriksson—do you spell your name with an x or a z?" asked the chairman, prompted by the secretary.
The front bench shook with laughter.
"I don't spell, gentlemen, I discuss," said the joiner with blazing eyes. "I discuss, I say. If I had the gift of making speeches, I should show you that the strikers are right; for if masters and principals grow fat because they have nothing to do but to fawn and cringe at levees, and similar ceremonies, the working man must pay the piper with his sweat. We know why you won't pay us just wages; it'sbecause we should get the Parliamentary vote, and that's what you are afraid of...."
"Mr. Chairman!"
"Captain von Sporn!"
"Mr. Chairman, gentlemen! It is much to be regretted that at a meeting of this Union, which has a reputation for dignified conduct (last displayed at the Royal wedding), people without the smallest trace of Parliamentary tact should be permitted to compromise a respectable society by a shameless and reckless contempt of all seemliness. Believe me, gentlemen, such a thing could never have happened in a country where from early youth military discipline...."
"Conscription," said Eriksson to Olle.
"... had been the rule; where the habit of controlling oneself and others had been acquired! I believe I am expressing the general feeling of the meeting when I say that I hope that such a distressing scene may never again occur amongst us. I say us—for I, too, am a working man—we all are in the sight of the Eternal—and I say it as a member of this Union. The day would be a day of mourning when I should find myself compelled to withdraw the words which I recently uttered at another meeting (it was at the meeting of the National League of Promoters of Conscription), the words: 'I have a high opinion of the Swedish working man.'"
"Hear, hear! Hear, hear!"
"Does the meeting accept the suggestion of the Preparatory Committee?"
"Yes! Yes!"
"Second item: At the instigation of several members of the Union, the Preparatory Committee submit to the meeting the proposal to collect a sum, not exceeding three thousand crowns, as a testimonial to the Duke of Dalsland at his forthcoming confirmation. The gift is to be an expression of the gratitude of the working man to the Royal Family and, more especially, of his disapproval of those working men'sdisturbances which under the name of 'Commune' devastated the French capital."
"Mr. Chairman!"
"Doctor Haberfeld!"
"No, it's I, Eriksson; I ask permission to say a few words."
"Oh! Well! Eriksson has permission to speak."
"I merely want to point out that not the working men, but officials, lawyers, officers—conscripts—and journalists were to blame for the Commune at Paris. If I had the gift of making speeches, I should ask those gentlemen to express their ideas in an album of confessions."
"Does the meeting agree to the proposal?"
"Yes, yes!"
And the clerks began to write and to check and to chatter, exactly as they had done at the Parliamentary meetings.
"Are things always managed in this way?" asked Falk.
"Don't you think it amusing, sir?" said Eriksson. "It's enough to turn one's hair grey. I call it corruption and treachery. Nothing but meanness and selfishness. There isn't a man amongst them who has the cause really at heart. And therefore the things which must happen will happen."
"What things?"
"We'll see!" said the joiner, taking Olle's hand. "Are you ready? Hold your own ground, you'll be sharply criticized."
Olle nodded slyly.
"Stonemason, journeyman, Olle Montanus has announced a lecture on Sweden; the subject is a big one. But if he will promise not to exceed half an hour, we will hear what he has got to say. What do you say, gentlemen?"
"Hear! Hear!"
"If you please, Mr. Montanus."
Olle shook himself like a dog about to jump, andthreaded his way through the assembly, who examined him with curious eyes.
The chairman began a brief conversation with the front bench, and the secretary yawned before taking up a newspaper, to show the meeting that he, for one, was not going to listen.
Olle stepped on the platform, lowered his heavy eyelids and moved his jaws, pretending to be speaking; when the room had grown really silent, so silent that everybody could hear what the chairman said to the captain, he began:
"On Sweden. Some points of view."
And after a pause:
"Gentlemen! It might be more than an unfounded supposition to say that the most productive idea and the most vigorous striving of our times is the suppression of short-sighted patriotism, which divides nations and pits them against one another as foes; we have seen the means used to gain this object, namely, international exhibitions and their results: honorary diplomas."
The audience looked puzzled. "What's he driving at?" said Eriksson. "It's rather unexpected, but it sounds all right."
"Now, as in the past, Sweden marches at the head of civilization; she has more than any other nation spread the cosmopolitan ideal, and if one may rely on statistics, she has attained a great deal. Exceptionally favourable circumstances have contributed to this result. I will examine them shortly, and then pass on to lighter subjects such as the form of government, the ground-tax, and so on."
"It's going to be rather long," said Eriksson, nudging Arvid, "but he's an amusing chap."
"Sweden, as everybody knows, was originally a German colony, and the Swedish language, which has been preserved fairly pure to our days, is neither more nor less than Low-German and its twelve dialects. This circumstance—I mean the difficulty of communicating with one another, experienced by the provinces—has been a powerful factor in counteracting the development of that unhealthy national feeling. Other fortunate facts have opposed a one-sided German influence which had reached its pinnacle when Sweden became a German province under Albrecht of Mecklenburg. The foremost of these facts is the conquest of the Danish provinces: Scania, Halland, Bleking, Bohuslän, and Dalsland; Sweden's richest provinces are inhabited by Danes who still speak the language of their country and refuse to acknowledge the Swedish rule."
"What in the name of fortune is he getting at? Is he mad?"
"The inhabitants of Scania, for instance, to this day look upon Copenhagen as their capital, and constitute the opposition in Parliament. The same thing applies to the Danish Göteborg, which does not acknowledge Stockholm as the capital of the realm. An English settlement has sprung up there and English influence is predominant. These people, the English people, fish in the waters near the coast, and during the winter very nearly all the wholesale trade is in their hands; they return to their own country in the summer and enjoy their winter profits in their villas in the Scotch Highlands. Very excellent people, though! They have even their own newspaper, in which they commend their own actions, without, it must be admitted, blaming those of others.
"Immigration is another factor of the utmost importance. We have the Fins in the Finnish forests, but we also have them in the capital, where they took refuge when the political situation drove them out of their own country. In all our more important iron-works you will find a fair number of Walloons; they came over in the seventeenth century and to this day speak their broken French. You all know that we owe the new Swedish constitution to a Walloon. Capable people, these Walloons, and very honest!"
"What in the name of heaven does it all mean?"
"In the reign of King Gustavus Adolphus a whole cargo of Scotch scum landed on our coast and took service in the army; they eventually forced their way into the House of Knights. At the East coast there are many families who cherish traditions of their immigration from Livland and other Slavonic provinces, and so it is not surprising that we frequently meet here pure Tartar types.
"I maintain that the Swedish nation is fast becoming denationalized. Open a book on heraldry and count the Swedish names! If they exceed 25 per cent. you may cut off my nose, gentlemen! Open the directory at random! I counted the letter G, and of four hundred names two hundred were foreign.
"What is the cause of this? There are many causes, but the principal ones are the foreign dynasties and the wars of conquest. If one thinks of all the scum that has sat on the Swedish throne at one time or another, one cannot help marvelling that the nation is so loyal to the king. The constitutional law that the kings of Sweden shall be foreigners is bound to be of the greatest assistance in the work of denationalization; this has been proved to be a fact.
"I am convinced that the country will gain by its alliance with foreign nations; it cannot lose anything—because it has nothing to lose. The country has no nationality; Tegnér discovered that in 1811, and short-sightedly bemoaned the fact. But his discovery came too late, for the race had already been ruined by the constant recruiting for the foolish wars of conquest. Of the one million men which inhabited the country in the days of Gustavus Adolphus, seventy thousand enlisted and were killed in the wars. I do not know for how many Charles X, Charles XI, and Charles XII were responsible; but it is easy to picture the offspring of those who remained behind, the men whom the crown had rejected as unfit for service.
"I repeat my statement that Sweden has no nationality. Can anybody tell me of anything Swedish in Sweden except her firs, pine trees, andiron-mines? And the latter will soon disappear from the market. What is our folk-lore but bad translations of French, English, and German ballads? What are the national costumes, the disappearance of which we so keenly regret, other than fragments and tatters of the aristocratic mediæval costumes? In the days of Gustavus I the dalesmen demanded that all those who wore low-cut or many-coloured dresses should be punished. Probably the gay court-dress from Burgundy had not yet filtered down to the daleswomen. But since then the fashion has changed many times.
"Tell me of a Swedish poem, a work of art, a piece of music, so specifically Swedish that it differs from all other not-Swedish ones! Show me a Swedish building! There isn't one, and if there were, it would either be bad architecture or built in a foreign style.
"I don't think I'm exaggerating when I maintain that the Swedish nation is a stupid, conceited, slavish, envious, and uncouth nation. And for this reason it is approaching its end, and approaching it with giant strides."
A tumult arose in the hall, but shouts of Charles XII could be heard above the turmoil.
"Gentlemen, Charles XII is dead; let him sleep until his next jubilee. To no one are we more indebted for our denationalisation than to him, and therefore, gentlemen, I call for three cheers for Charles XII! Gentlemen, long live Charles XII!"
"I call the meeting to order!" shouted the chairman.
"Is it possible to imagine that a nation can be guilty of a greater piece of folly than to go to foreign nations in order to learn to write poetry?
"What unsurpassable oxen they must have been to walk for sixteen hundred years behind the plough and never conceive the idea of inventing a song!
"Then a jolly fellow of the court of Charles XII came along and destroyed the whole work of denationalization. The literary language, which up tonow had been German, was henceforth to be Swedish: Down with the dog Stjernhjelm!
"What was his name? Edward Stjernström!"
The chairman's hammer came down on the table with a bang. The disturbance grew. "Stop him! Down with the traitor! He's laughing at us!"
"The Swedish nation can scream and brawl, I am aware of that! They can do nothing else! And as you will not allow me to continue my lecture and discuss the Government and the royal copyholds, I will conclude by saying that the servile louts whom I have heard to-night are ripe for the autocracy which they are sure to get. Believe my words: You will have an absolute monarchy before very long!"
A push from the back jerked the words of the speaker out of his throat. He clung to the table:
"And an ungrateful race who will not listen to the truth...."
"Kick him out! Tear him to pieces!"
Olle was dragged from the platform; but to the last moment, while knocks and blows rained down on him, he yelled like a madman: "Long live Charles XII! Down with George Stjernhjelm!"
At last Olle and Arvid were standing in the street.
"Whatever were you thinking of?" asked Falk. "You must have taken leave of your senses!"
"I believe I had! I had learnt my speech by heart for the last six weeks; I knew to a word what I was going to say; but when I stood on the platform and saw all those eyes gazing at me, it all went to pieces; my artificial arguments broke down like a scaffolding; the floor underneath my feet gave way, and my thoughts became confusion. Was it very crazy?"
"Yes, it was bad, and the papers will pull you to pieces."
"That's a pity, I admit. I thought I was making it all so clear. But itwasfun to give it them for once."
"You only injured your cause; they'll never let you speak again."
Olle sighed.
"Why in the name of fortune couldn't you leave Charles XII alone? That was your worst mistake."
"Don't ask me! I don't know!"
"Do you still love the working man?" asked Falk.
"I pity him for allowing himself to be humbugged by adventurers, and I shall never abandon his cause, for his cause is the burning question of the near future, and all your politics aren't worth a penny in comparison."
The two friends were making their way back to old Stockholm, and finally entered a café.
It was between nine and ten and the room was almost empty. A single customer was sitting near the counter. He was reading from a book to a girl who sat beside him doing needlework. It was a pretty, domestic scene, but it seemed to make a strong impression on Falk, who started violently and changed colour.
"Sellén! You here? Good evening, Beda!" he said, with artificial cordiality which sat strangely on him, shaking hands with the girl.
"Hallo! Falk, old chap!" said Sellén. "So you are in the habit of coming here too? I might have guessed it, you are hardly ever at the Red Room now."
Arvid and Beda exchanged glances. The young girl looked too distinguished for her position; she had a delicate, intelligent face, which betrayed a secret sorrow; and a slender figure. Her movements were full of self-confidence and modesty; her eyes were set in her face at a slightly upward angle; they seemed to be peering skyward as if they were anticipating evil to drop down from the clouds; with this exception they looked as if they were ready to play all the games which the whim of the moment might dictate.
"How grave you are," she said to Arvid, and her gaze dropped to her sewing.
"I've been to a grave meeting," said Arvid, blushing like a girl. "What were you reading?"
"I was reading the Dedication from Faust," saidSellén, stretching out his hand and playing with Beda's needlework.
A cloud darkened Arvid's face. The conversation became forced and restrained. Olle sat plunged in meditations, the subject of which must have been suicide.
Arvid asked for a paper and was given theIncorruptible. He remembered that he had forgotten to look for the review of his poems. He hastily opened the paper and on page three he found what he sought.
His eyes met neither compliments nor abuse; the article was dictated by genuine and deep interest. The reviewer found Arvid's poetry neither better nor worse than the average, but just as selfish and meaningless; he said that it treated only of the poet's private affairs, of illicit relations, real or fictitious; that it coquetted with little sins, but did not mourn over great ones; that it was no better than the English fashion-paper poetry, and he suggested that the author's portrait should have preceded the title-page; then the poems would have been illustrated.
These simple truths made a great impression on Arvid; he had only read the advertisement in theGrey Bonnet, written by Struve, and the review in theRed Cap, coloured by personal friendship. He rose with a brief good-night.
"Are you going already?" asked Beda.
"Yes; are we going to meet to-morrow?"
"Yes, as usual. Good-night."
Sellén and Olle followed him.
"She's a rare child," said Sellén, after they had proceeded a little way in silence.
"I should thank you to be a little more restrained in your criticism."
"I see. You're in love with her!"
"Yes. I hope you don't mind."
"Not in the least. I shan't get into your way!"
"And I beg you not to believe any evil of her...."
"Of course I won't! She's been on the stage...."
"How do you know? She never told me that!"
"No, but she told me; one can never trust these little devils too far."
"Oh well! there's no harm in that! I shall take her away from her surroundings as soon as I possibly can. Our relations are limited to meeting in the Haga Park at eight in the morning and drinking the water from the well."
"How sweet and simple! Do you never take her out to supper?"
"I never thought of making such an improper suggestion; she would refuse it with scorn. You are laughing! Laugh if you like! I still have faith in a woman who loves whatever class she may belong to, and whatever her past may have been. She told me that her life had not been above reproach, but I have promised never to ask her about her past."
"Is it serious then?"
"Yes, it is serious."
"That's another thing; Good-night, Falk! Are you coming with me, Olle?"
"Good night."
"Poor Falk!" said Sellén to Olle. "Now it's his turn to go through the mill. But there's no help for it; it's like changing one's teeth; a man is not grown up until he has had his experience."
"What about the girl?" asked Olle, merely in order to show a polite interest, for his thoughts were elsewhere.
"She's all right in her way, but Falk takes the matter seriously; she does too, apparently, as long as she sees any prospect of winning him; but unless Falk's quick about it, she will grow tired of waiting, and who knows whether she won't amuse herself meanwhile with somebody else? No, you don't understand these things; a man shouldn't hesitate in a love-affair, but grab with both hands; otherwise somebody else will step in and spoil the game. Have you ever been in love, Olle?"
"I had an affair with one of our servants at home; there were consequences, and my father turned meout of the house. Since then I haven't looked at a woman."
"That was nothing very complicated. But to be betrayed, as it is called, that's what hurts, I can tell you! One must have nerves like the strings of a violin to play that game. We shall see what sort of a fight Falk will make; with some men it goes very deep, and that's a pity.
"The door is open, come in Olle! I hope the beds are properly made, so that you will lie softly; but you must excuse my old bed-maker, she cannot shake up the feather-beds; her fingers are weak, don't you see, and the pillow, I'm afraid, may be hard and lumpy."
They had climbed the stairs and were entering the studio.
"It smells damp, as if the servant had aired the room or scrubbed it."
"You are laughing at yourself! There can be no more scrubbing, you have no longer a floor."
"Haven't I? Ah! That makes a difference! But what has become of it? Has it been used for fuel? There's nothing for it then, but to lie down on our mother earth, or rubbish, or whatever it may be."
They lay down in their clothes on the floor-packing, having made a kind of bed for themselves of pieces of canvas and old newspapers, and pushed cases filled with sketches underneath their heads. Olle struck a match, produced a tallow candle from his trousers pocket and put it on the floor beside him. A faint gleam flickered through the huge, bare studio, passionately resisting the volumes of darkness which tried to pour in through the colossal windows.
"It's cold to-night," said Olle, opening a greasy book.
"Cold! Oh no! There are only twenty degrees of frost outside, and thirty in here because we are so high up. What's the time, I wonder?"
"I believe St. John's just struck one."
"St. John's? They have no clock! They are so poor that they had to pawn it."
There was a long pause which was finally broken by Sellén.
"What are you reading, Olle?"
"Never mind!"
"Never mind? Hadn't you better be more civil, seeing that you are my guest?"
"An old cookery book which I borrowed from Ygberg."
"The deuce you did! Do let's read it; I've only had a cup of coffee and three glasses of water to-day."
"What would you like?" asked Olle, turning over the leaves. "Would you like some fish? Do you know what a mayonnaise is?"
"Mayonnaise? No! Read it! It sounds good!"
"Well, listen! No. 139. Mayonnaise: Take some butter, flour, and a pinch of English mustard, and make it into a smooth paste. Beat it up with good stock, and when boiling add the yolks of a few eggs; beat well and let it stand to cool."
"No, thank you; that's not filling enough...."
"Oh, but that's not all. Then take a few spoonfuls of fine salad oil, vinegar, a spoonful of cream, some white pepper—oh, yes, I see now, it's no good. Do you want something more substantial?"
"Try and find toad-in-the-hole. It's my favourite dish."
"I can't go on reading."
"Do!"
"No, leave me alone!"
They were silent. The candle went out and it was quite dark.
"Good-night, Olle; wrap yourself well up, or you'll be cold."
"What with?"
"I don't know. Aren't we having a jolly time?"
"I wonder why one doesn't kill oneself when one is so cold."
"Because it would be wrong. I find it quite interesting to live, if only to see what will come of it all in the end."
"Are your parents alive, Sellén?"
"No; I'm illegitimate. Yours?"
"Yes; but it comes to the same thing."
"You should be more grateful to Providence, Olle; one should always be grateful to Providence—I don't quite know why. But I suppose one should."
Again there was silence. The next time it was Olle who broke it.
"Are you asleep?"
"No; I'm thinking of the statue of Gustavus Adolphus; would you believe me when I...."
"Aren't you cold?"
"Cold? It's quite warm here."
"My right foot is frozen."
"Pull the paint box over you, and tuck the brushes round your sides, then you'll be warmer."
"Do you think anybody in the world is as badly off as we are?"
"Badly off? Do you call us badly off when we have a roof over our heads? Some of the professors at the Academy, men who wear three-cornered hats and swords now, were much worse off than we are. Professor Lundström slept during nearly the whole of April in the theatre in the Hop garden. There was style in that! He had the whole of the left stage-box, and he maintains that after one o'clock there wasn't a single stall vacant; there was always a good house in the winter and a bad one in the summer. Good night, I'm going to sleep now."
Sellén snored. But Olle rose and paced the room, up and down, until the dawn broke in the east; then day took pity on him and gave him the peace which night had denied him.
The winter passed; slowly for the sufferers, more quickly for those who were less unhappy. Spring came with its disappointed hopes of sun and verdure, and in its turn made room for the summer which was but a short introduction to the autumn.
On a May morning Arvid Falk, now a member of the permanent staff of theWorkman's Flag, was strolling along the quay, watching the vessels loading and discharging their cargoes. He looked less well-groomed than in days gone by; his black hair was longer than fashion decreed, and he wore a beard à la Henri IV, which gave his thin face an almost savage expression. An ominous fire burned in his eyes, a fire denoting the fanatic or the drunkard.
He seemed to be endeavouring to make a choice among the vessels, but was unable to come to a decision. After hesitating for a considerable time, he accosted one of the sailors, who was wheeling a barrow full of goods on to a brig. He courteously raised his hat.
"Can you tell me the destination of this ship?" he asked timidly, imagining that he was speaking in a bold voice.
"Ship? I see no ship?"
The bystanders laughed.
"But if you want to know where this brig's bound for, go and read that bill over there!"
Falk was disconcerted, but he forced himself to say, angrily:
"Can't you give a civil reply to a civil question?"
"Go to hell, and don't stand there swearing at a fellow!—'tention!"
The conversation broke off, and Falk made up his mind. He retraced his footsteps, passed through a narrow street, crossed a market-place, and turned the first corner. Before the door of a dirty-looking house he stopped. Again he hesitated; he could never overcome his besetting sin of indecision.
A small, ragged boy with a squint came running along, his hands full of proofs in long strips; as he was going to pass Falk, the latter stopped him.
"Is the editor upstairs?" he asked.
"Yes, he's been here since seven," replied the boy, breathlessly.
"Has he asked for me?"
"Yes, more than once."
"Is he in a bad temper?"
"He always is."
The boy shot upstairs like an arrow. Falk, following on his heels, entered the editorial office. It was a hole with two windows looking on a dark street; before each of the windows stood a plain deal table, covered with paper, pens, newspapers, scissors and a gum bottle.
One of the tables was occupied by his old friend Ygberg, dressed in a ragged black coat, engaged in reading proofs. At the other table, which was Falk's, sat a man in shirt sleeves, his head covered by a black silk cap of the kind affected by the communards. His face was covered by a red beard, and his thick-set figure with its clumsy outlines betrayed the man of the people.
As Falk entered, the communard's legs kicked the table violently: he turned up his shirt-sleeves, displaying blue tattoo marks representing an anchor and an Anglo-Saxon R, seized a pair of scissors, savagely stabbed the front page of a morning paper, cut out a paragraph, and said, rudely, with his back to Falk:
"Where have you been?"
"I've been ill," replied Falk, defiantly, as he thought, but humbly as Ygberg told him afterwards.
"It's a lie! You've been drinking! I saw you at a café last night...."
"Surely I can go where I please."
"You can do what you like; but you've got to be here at the stroke of the clock, according to our agreement. It's a quarter past eight. I am well aware that gentlemen who have been to college, where they imagine they learn a lot, have no idea of method and manners. Don't you call it ill-bred to be late at your work? Aren't you behaving like a boor when you compel your employer to do your work? What? It's the world turned upside down! The employé treats the master—the employer, if you like—as if he were a dog, and capital is oppressed."
"When did you come to these conclusions?"
"When? Just now, sir! just now! And I trust these conclusions are worth considering, in spite of that. But I discovered something else; you are an ignoramus; you can't spell! Look at this! What's written here? Read it! 'We hope that all those who will have to go through their drill next year....' Is it possible? 'Who ... next year....'"
"Well, that's quite right," said Falk.
"Right? How dare you say it's right? It's customary to saywho in the next year, and consequently it should also be written in this form."
"That's right, too; definitions of time govern either the accusative or...."
"None of your learned palaver! Don't talk nonsense to me! Besides this you spell ex-ercise with an x only, although it should be speltex-sercise. Don't make excuses—is it ex-ercise or ex-sercise?"
"Of course people say...."
"People say—therefore ex-sercise is right; the customary pronunciation must be correct. Perhaps, all things considered, I'm a fool? Perhaps I can't spell correctly? But enough, now! Get to work and another time pay a little more attention to the clock."
He jumped up from his chair with a yell, and boxed the ears of the printer's boy.
"Are you sleeping in bright daylight, you young scamp? I'll teach you to keep awake. You are not yet too old for a thrashing."
He seized the victim by the braces, threw him on a pile of unsold papers, and beat him with his belt.
"I wasn't asleep! I wasn't asleep! I was only closing my eyes a little," howled the boy.
"What, you dare to deny it? You've learned to lie, but I will teach you to speak the truth! Were you asleep or were you not asleep? Tell the truth or you'll be sorry for it."
"I wasn't asleep," whimpered the boy, too young and inexperienced to get over his difficulty by telling a lie.
"I see, you mean to stand by your lie, you hardened little devil! You insolent liar!"
He was going to continue the thrashing when Falk rose, approached the editor, and said firmly:
"Don't touch him! I saw that he was not asleep!"
"By jove! Listen to him! Who the dickens are you? Don't touch him! Who said those words? I must have heard a gnat buzzing. Or perhaps my ears deceived me. I hope so! I do hope so! Mr. Ygberg! You are a decent fellow. You haven't been to college. Did you happen to see whether this boy, whom I'm holding by the braces like a fish, was asleep or not?"
"If he wasn't asleep," replied Ygberg, phlegmatically and obligingly, "he was just on the point of dropping off."
"Well answered! Would you mind holding him, Mr. Ygberg, while I give him a lesson with my cane in telling the truth?"
"You've no right to beat him," said Falk. "If you dare to touch him, I shall open the window and call for the police."
"I am master in my own house and I alwaysthrash my apprentices. He is an apprentice and will be employed in the editorial office later on. That's what's going to be done, although there are people who imagine that a paper can only be properly edited by a man who has been to college. Speak up, Gustav, are you learning newspaper work? Answer, but tell the truth, or...."
Before the boy had time to reply, the door was opened and a head looked in—a very striking head, and certainly not one that might have been expected in such a place; but it was a well-known head; it had been painted five times.
At the sight of it the editor strapped his belt round him, hastily put on his coat, bowed and smiled.
The visitor asked whether the editor was disengaged? He received a satisfactory reply, and the last remnant of the working man disappeared when a quick movement swept the communard's cap off the editor's head.
Both men went into an inner office and the door closed behind them.
"I wonder what the Count's after?" said Ygberg, with the air of a schoolboy, when the master had left the class-room.
"I don't wonder in the least," said Falk; "I think I know the kind of rascal he is, and the kind of rascal the editor is. But I am surprised to find that you have changed from a mere blockhead into an infamous wretch, and that you lend yourself to these disgraceful acts."
"Don't lose your temper, my dear fellow! You were not at the House last night?"
"No! In my opinion Parliament is a farce, except in so far as private interests are concerned. What about the 'Triton'?"
"The question was put to the vote, and it was resolved that the Government, in view of the greatness, the patriotism, which characterized the enterprise, should take over the debentures while thesociety went into liquidation, that is to say, settled the current affairs."
"Which means that Government will prop up the house while the foundation crumbles away, so as to give the directors time to get out of harm's way."
"You would rather that all those small...."
"I know what you are going to say, all those small capitalists. Yes, I would rather see them working with their small capital than idling away their time and lending it out at interest; but, above all things, I should like to see those sharpers in prison; it would help to put a stop to these swindles. But they call it political economy! It's vile! There's something else I want to say: You covet my post. You shall have it! I hate the idea of your sitting in your corner with a heart filled with bitterness, because you have to sweep up after me in reading proofs. There are already too many of my unprinted articles lying on the desk of this contemptible apostle of liberty to tempt me to go on telling cock-and-bull stories. TheRed Capwas too Conservative to please me, but thePeople's Flagis too dirty."
"I am glad to see you relinquishing your chimeras and listening to common sense. Go to theGrey Bonnet, you'll have a chance there."
"I have lost the illusion that the cause of the oppressed lies in good hands, and I think it would be a splendid mission to enlighten the people on the value of public opinion—especially printed public opinion—and its origin; but I shall never abandon the cause."
The door to the inner room opened again, and the editor came out. He stood still in the middle of the office and said, in an unnaturally conciliatory voice, almost politely:
"I want you to look after the office for a day, Mr. Falk. I have to go away on important business. Mr. Ygberg will assist you so far as the daily business is concerned. His Lordship will be using my room for a few minutes. I hope, gentlemen,you will see that he has everything he wants."
"Oh, please don't trouble," came the Count's voice from inside the room, where he was sitting bent over a manuscript.
The editor went and, strange to say, two minutes later the Count went also; he had waited just long enough to avoid being seen in the company of the editor of theWorkman's Flag.
"Are you sure that he's gone?" asked Ygberg.
"I hope so," said Falk.
"Then I'll go and have a look at the market. By-the-by, have you seen Beda since?"
"Since when?"
"Since she left the café and went to live in a room by herself."
"How do you know she did?"
"Do control your temper, Falk. You'll never get on in the world unless you do."
"Yes, you're right. I must take matters more calmly, or else I'll go out of my mind! But that girl, whom I loved so dearly! How shamefully she has treated me! To give to that clumsy boor all she denied to me! And then to have the face to tell me that it proved the purity of her love for me!"
"Most excellent dialectics! And she is quite right too, for her first proposition is correct. She does love you, doesn't she?"
"She's running after me, anyhow."
"And you?"
"I hate her with all my soul, but I am afraid to meet her."
"Which proves that you are still in love with her."
"Let's change the subject!"
"You really must control yourself, Falk! Take an example from me! But now I'll go and sun myself; one should enjoy life as much as possible in this dreary world. Gustav, you can go and play buttons for an hour, if you like."
Falk was left alone. The sun threw his rays overthe steep roof opposite and warmed the room; he opened the window and put out his head for a breath of fresh air, but he only breathed the pungent odours of the gutter. His glance swept the street on the right and far away in the distance he saw a part of a steamer, a few waves of the Lake of Mälar glittering in the sunlight, and a hollow in the rocks on the other side, which were just beginning to show a little green here and there. He thought of the people whom that steamer would take into the country, who would bathe in those waves and feast their eyes on the young green. But at this moment the whitesmith below him began to hammer a sheet of iron, so that house and window panes trembled; two or three labourers went by with a rattling, evil-smelling cart, and an odour of brandy, beer, sawdust, and pine-branches poured out of the inn opposite. He shut the window and sat down at his table.
Before him lay a heap of about a hundred provincial papers, from which it was his task to make cuttings. He took off his cuffs and began to look through them. They smelt of oil and soot and blackened his hands—that was their principal feature. Nothing he considered worthy of reprinting was of any use, for he had to consider the programme of his paper. A report to the effect that the workmen of a certain factory had given the foreman a silver snuff-box had to be cut out; but the notice of a manufacturer having given five hundred crowns to his working-men's funds had to be ignored. A paragraph reporting that the Duke of Halland had handselled a pile-driver, and Director Holzheim celebrated the event in verses, had to be cut out and reproduced in full "because the people liked to read this kind of thing"; if he could add a little biting sarcasm, all the better, for then "they were sure to hear about it."