Chapter 4

The Journalist drank with Mrs. Paulsberg, who held her glass in a peculiar masculine fashion. They moved over to the sofa on account of the draught, and told each other amusing anecdotes. Mrs. Paulsberg knew a story concerning Grande and one of Pastor B.'s daughters. She had reached the climax when she paused.

"Well--go on!" the Journalist exclaimed eagerly.

"Wait a moment!" answered Mrs. Paulsberg smilingly, "you must at least give me time to blush a little!"

And she recounted merrily the climax.

Norem had retired to a corner and was fast asleep.

"Does anybody know the time?" asked Mrs. Paulsberg.

"Don't ask me," said Gregersen, and fumbled at his vest pocket. "It is many a day since I carried a watch!"

It turned out that it was one o'clock.

About half-past one Mrs. Hanka and Irgens had disappeared. Irgens had asked Milde for roasted coffee, and since then had not been seen. Nobody seemed to think it strange that the two had sneaked away, and no questions were asked; Tidemand was talking to Ole Henriksen about his trip to Torahus.

"But have you time to run off like this?" he asked.

"I'll take time," answered Ole. "By the way, I want to tell you something by and by."

Around Paulsberg's table the political situation was being discussed. Milde once more threatened to banish himself to Australia. But, thank Heaven, it now looked as if Parliament would do something before it was dissolved, would refuse to yield.

"It is a matter of indifference to me what it does," said Gregersen of the _Gazette_. "As things have been going, Norway has assumed the character of a beaten country. We are decidedly poverty-stricken, in every respect; we lack power, both in politics and in our civic life. How sad to contemplate the general decline! What miserable remnants are left of the intellectual life that once flamed up so brightly, that called loudly to Heaven in the seventies! The aged go the way of the flesh; who is there to take their places? I am sick of this decadence; I cannot thrive in low intellectual altitudes!"

Everybody looked at the Journalist; what was the matter with the ever-merry chap? He was not so very drunk now; he spoke passably clearly, and did not twist any words. What did he mean? But when the witty dog reached the declaration that he could only thrive in a high spiritual altitude, then the guests broke into peals of merriment and understood that it was a capital hoax. The merry blade--hadn't he almost fooled them all! "Poor remnants of the intellectual life of the seventies!" Didn't we have Paulsberg and Irgens, and Ojen and Milde, and the two close-cropped poets, and an entire army of first-class, sprouting talents besides!

The Journalist himself laughed and wiped his forehead and laughed again. It was generally believed that this fellow was possessed of a literary talent which had not entirely stagnated in his newspaper. A book might be expected from him some day, a remarkable work.

Paulsberg forced a smile. In reality he was offended because nobody had alluded to his novels or to his work on the Atonement during the entire evening. When therefore the Journalist asked him his opinion concerning the intellectual life of the nation, his reply was brief:

"It seems to me I have had occasion to express an opinion somewhere in my works."

Of course, of course; when they came to think of it they certainly remembered it. It was true; a speech somewhere or other. Mrs. Paulsberg quoted from book and page.

But Paulsberg made up his mind to leave now.

"I'll come and sit for you to-morrow," he said to Milde, with a glance at the easel. He got up, emptied his glass, and found his overcoat. His wife pressed everybody's hand vigorously. They met Mrs. Hanka and Irgens in the door.

From now on the merriment knew no bounds; they drank like sponges; even the two young poets kept up as well as they could, and talked with bloodshot eyes about Baudelaire. Milde demanded to know why Irgens had asked him for coffee. Why did he need coffee? He hoped he had not been making preparations to kiss Mrs. Hanka? Damn him, he would hate to trust him.... Tidemand hears this and he laughs with the others, louder than the others, and he says: "You are right, he is not to be trusted, the sly dog!" Tidemand was sober as always.

They did not restrain themselves; the conversation was free and they swore liberally. When all was said and done, it was prudery that was Norway's curse and Norway's bane; people preferred to let their young girls go to the dogs in ignorance rather than enlighten them while there was time. Prudery was the nourishing vice of the moment. So help me, there ought to be public men appointed for the sole purpose of shouting obscenity on the streets just to make young girls acquainted with certain things while there was still time. What, do you object, Tidemand?

No, Tidemand did not object, and Ole Henriksen did not object. The idea was original, to say the least. Ha, ha!

Milde got Tidemand over in a corner.

"It is like this," he said, "I wonder if you have got a couple of crowns?"

Yes; Tidemand was not entirely stripped. How much? A ten-spot?

"Thanks, old man, I'll give it back to you shortly," said Milde in all seriousness. "Very soon, now. You are a brick! It is not more than a couple of days since I said that you hucksters were great fellows. That is exactly what I said. Here is my hand!"

Mrs. Hanka got up at last; she wanted to leave. It was beginning to grow light outside.

Her husband kept close by her.

"Yes, Hanka, that is right--let us be going," he said. He was on the point of offering her his arm.

"Thank you, my friend, but I have an escort," she said with an indifferent glance.

It took him a moment to recover himself.

"Oh, I see," he said with a forced smile. "It is all right; I only thought--"

He walked over to the window and remained standing there.

Mrs. Hanka said good night to everybody. When she came to Irgens she whispered eagerly, breathlessly: "To-morrow, then, at three." She kept Ojen's hand in hers and asked him when he was going. Had he remembered to make reservations at Torahus? No; she might have known it; these poets were always forgetting the most essential. He would have to telegraph at once. Good-bye! And get well soon.... She was maternal to the last.

The Journalist accompanied her.

VI

"You said there was something you wanted to tell me," said Tidemand.

"Yes; so there is--You were surprised that I wanted to go along to Torahus. Of course, I said that I had business there. That is not so; I just said that. I know nobody there except Lynums; that is all there is to it. I did really visit their house once. You never heard anything so ridiculous; we came there, two thirsty tourists, and they gave us milk; since then I have met the family when they came to town last fall and this winter. It is quite a family--seven altogether, including the tutor. The oldest daughter's name is Aagot. I'll tell you more about them later. Aagot was eighteen the 7th of December; ha, ha! she is in her nineteenth year; I happen to remember that she told me. In short, we are not exactly engaged; I don't mean to say that; we have only written to each other once in a while. But there is no telling what may happen--What do you say to that?"

Tidemand was more than surprised; he stopped.

"But I had not the slightest idea; you haven't said a word to me about it!"

"No; I was hardly in a position to say anything yet. There is nothing definite; she is very young, you know. Suppose she had changed her mind? She may tell me she has other intentions when I get there. In that case nothing can be said against her; the execution will take place without witnesses; her reputation will have suffered nothing--I want you to see her, Andreas; I have a picture of her. I won't say that she gave it to me; I almost took it forcibly; but--"

They stopped a moment and looked at the photograph.

"Charming!" said Tidemand.

"Isn't she? I am glad you think so. I am sure you will like her."

They walked on.

"I want to congratulate you!" said Tidemand and stopped again.

"Thanks!" Ole added a moment afterward: "Yes, I thank you. I may as well tell you that it _is_ really decided, practically, that is. I am going up to bring her to town with me."

They had almost reached the Railway Square when Tidemand suddenly stared straight ahead and whispered:

"But isn't that my wife there ahead of us?"

"Yes; so it is," whispered Ole. "I have noticed this lady ahead of us a long while; it is only now I see who it is."

Mrs. Hanka walked home alone; the Journalist had not accompanied her at all.

"Thank God!" exclaimed Tidemand involuntarily. "She told me she had an escort, and now she goes home all alone. Isn't she a darling? She is going straight home. But tell me--why did she say she had an escort?"

"Oh, you mustn't take such things too literally," answered Ole. "She probably did not want anybody to go with her, neither you nor I nor anybody else. Couldn't she feel that way inclined, perhaps? Young ladies have their moods, just like you or me."

"Of course, that is perfectly true." Tidemand accepted this explanation. He was happy because his wife was alone and was making straight for home. He said, nervously glad: "Do you know, to judge by a few words I had with her this evening it seems as if things were coming around more and more. She even asked about the business, about the Russian customs duty; honest, she wanted to know everything about Fürst. You should have seen how delighted she was because business is looking up again. We spoke about our summer vacation, our country house. Yes, it is getting a little better every day."

"There you are--didn't I tell you? It certainly would be a pity otherwise."

Pause.

"There is something I am at a loss to explain, though," continued Tidemand, worried again. "Here lately she has been talking about what a woman like herself should do with her life. She must have a career, something to do and accomplish. I must confess it astonished me a little, a woman with two children and a large household--She has also begun to use her former name again, Hanka Lange Tidemand, just as if her name still were Lange."

Mrs. Hanka had stopped outside her own entrance; she was evidently waiting for her husband. She called to him jestingly that he had better hurry--she was almost freezing to death. And she lifted her finger banteringly and asked:

"What plots and conspiracies are you two wholesalers now hatching? Where is the price of wheat now, and what are you going to put it up to? God have mercy on you on the day of judgment!"

Tidemand answered in kind: What in the world had she done with the Journalist? So she had not wanted company, not even her own husband's; she had been in a sentimental mood? But how could she be so cruel as to let this poor fellow Gregersen ramble home all alone, drunk as he was? It was simply heartless--

* * * * *

In about a week Ole Henriksen had returned from Torahus. Ojen had remained, but Ole had brought back a young lady, his fiancée, Aagot Lynum. With them had come a third person, a somewhat peculiar fellow.

GERMINATION

I

Ole returned from Torahus the 5th of April. He introduced his fiancée at once to the clique, presented her to his friends, and spent all day in her company. He had not as yet introduced her to Irgens and Attorney Grande because he had failed to run across them.

She was young and fair, with high bosom and a straight carriage. Her blond hair and her frequent laughter gave an impression of extreme youthfulness. She had a dimple in her left cheek and none in her right, and this solitary dimple made her peculiar, characteristic. Wasn't it strange to have one side of the face different from the other? She was of average height.

She had been so carried away with everything she had seen in the city that she wandered around in a state of joyful excitement all day. The clique had capitulated to her charm and shown her much amiability; Mrs. Hanka had simply embraced her and kissed her the moment she saw her.

She followed Ole around in the establishment, peeped into all the wonderful drawers and boxes in the store, tasted old, strong wines in the cellars, and opened in fun the heavy ledgers in the office. But she was especially fond of the warehouse, the little stall of an office down there that was filled with tart and peculiar odours from all kinds of tropical products. From the window she could see the docks, the harbour, the tugs that brought cargoes in and out and puffed stertorously, shaking the very air with their efforts. Just outside floated the little yacht with the golden masthead; it was hers; it had been conveyed to her and belonged to her legally. Ole had even been in _Veritas_ [Footnote: The Maritime Insurance and Registry Office in Christiania.] and had its name changed to _Aagot_. She had all the documents.

And slate after slate is brought into the office; the accounts grow a little every day, they fill many columns, swell into larger and larger amounts; the spring season has commenced, the active period just before summer; all the pulses of trade the world over leap and quiver with passionate energy.

While Ole counts and makes notes, Aagot busies herself with something or other on the other side of the desk. She was often unable to understand how Ole managed to keep all these accounts straight without getting the amounts mixed; she had tried it herself, but in vain. The only thing she can be trusted with is the entering of endless orders in the books, and this she does carefully and conscientiously.

Ole looks at her and says suddenly:

"Lord, what tiny hands you have, Aagot! He, he! they are next to nothing. I can't understand how you can get along with them."

That is enough. Aagot throws down her pen and runs over to him. And they are happy and silly until the next slate arrives.

"Little Mistress!" he says smilingly, and looks down into her eyes, "Little Mistress!"

Time passes. At last the work is done, the accounts finished, and Ole says, while he slams the ledger shut:

"Well, I have got to go and send some wires. Are you coming along?"

"Yes, dear, if you'll let me!" she answers. And she trips along, greatly pleased.

On the way Ole remembers that he has not as yet presented his sweetheart to Irgens. "You ought to meet this fellow Irgens," he says; "he is a great man, one of the deep talents; everybody says so." Suppose they went as far as the Grand; he might be there.

They entered the Grand, passed by the tables where people sat drinking and smoking, and found Irgens far back in the room. Milde and Norem were with him.

"So here you are!" called Ole.

Irgens gave him his left hand and did not get up. He glanced through half-closed lids at Aagot.

"This, Aagot, is the poet Irgens." Ole presented him, somewhat proud of his intimate acquaintance with the great man. "My fiancée, Miss Lynum."

Irgens got up and bowed deeply. Once more he looked at Aagot, looked persistently, even, and she looked back at him; she was evidently surprised to find the poet different from what she had thought. It was over two years since she had read his book, the lyric drama which had brought him so much fame. She had thought the master to be an elderly man.

"May I congratulate?" said Irgens finally, and gave Ole his hand.

They all sat down; each got a seidel and began a conversation. The spirits around the little table rose; even Irgens grew communicative and joined in. He addressed Aagot across the table, asked if she had been in the city before, in the theatre, in Tivoli, read this book or that, visited the Exhibition of paintings? "But, Miss Lynum, you must really see the Exhibition! I should be delighted to show it to you if you cannot find a better guide--" They conversed for about ten minutes across the table, and Aagot replied rapidly to every question, sometimes laughing, now and then forgetting herself and asking questions with her head tilted sideways; her eyes were wide open and sparkling; she was not the least bit embarrassed.

Ole called the waiter. He had to leave; he was going to the telegraph office. Aagot, too, got up.

"But there is no reason why you should go, Miss Lynum," said Milde. "You can come back for Miss Lynum when you have telegraphed, Ole."

"Yes, I am going," said Aagot.

"But if you want to stay I'll call for you in a few moments," said Ole and took his hat.

She looked at him and answered almost in a whisper:

"Won't you let me come with you?"

"Certainly, if you want to."

Ole paid his check.

"Say," said Milde, "be good enough to settle this check, too. None of us is very flush to-day." And he smiled and glanced at Aagot.

Ole settled, said good-bye, and walked out with Aagot on his arm.

The three gentlemen looked after her.

"The devil!" murmured Irgens in sincere admiration. "Did you notice her."

"Did we! How the dickens did that groceryman get hold of such a beauty?"

Milde agreed with the Actor; it was simply incomprehensible. What in the world could she be thinking of!

"Don't talk so loud; they have stopped over by the entrance," said Irgens.

They had run across the Attorney. The same introduction followed; a little talk could not be avoided. They did not remove their hats and gloves and were ready to go at a moment's notice. At last they left.

That very moment a man got up from one of the farthest tables and approached the entrance.... He was a man in the forties, with greyish beard and dark eyes; his clothes were a little shabby; he was partly bald.

He walked straight over to the Attorney, bowed, and said:

"Do you mind if I sit down here? I noticed that Mr. Henriksen spoke to you; you must know him, then. As for me, I am acquainted with Miss Lynum, who was introduced to you. I am the tutor in her home; my name is Coldevin."

Something about the stranger appealed to the little Attorney's curiosity; he made room for him at once and even offered him a cigar. The waiter brought his glass over.

"I visit the city only very seldom," said Coldevin. "I live in the country. During the last ten years I have hardly been anywhere with the exception of a trip to Copenhagen during the Exhibition. So I run around all day and look things over. There are many changes; the city grows bigger and bigger."

"It is a pleasure to walk around down by the docks and watch the traffic."

His voice was well modulated; he spoke simply and quietly, although his eyes at times glowed with a smouldering fire.

The Attorney listened and answered cordially. Yes, one had to admit that the city was making progress; an electric car line was being built; several more streets were going to be asphalted; the last census showed an enormous increase.... Wasn't it strange to live in the country always? No? But in the winter--in the darkness and the snow?

No; it was glorious! Dazzling snow everywhere; silent, wild woods, ptarmigan, hares, and foxes. White, glittering white snow! But summer, of course, was more beautiful. It would be high summer when he returned; his intention was to stay a couple of months, perhaps even longer. That ought to suffice to see and hear most of what went on. What was happening, anyway? What was the situation?

"Well," answered the Attorney, "the situation is serious. But we place our faith in Parliament. Several of the leaders have given their ultimatum; if all signs do not fail, they surely will make short shrift this time."

"Yes, if the signs do not fail--"

"You appear to have your doubts?" asked the Attorney smilingly.

"No; only there seems to be too much confidence placed in the leaders and in their promises. I come from the country; we have our suspicions; it is hard to get rid of them. The leaders might fail us now as heretofore. Indeed, they might."

Coldevin drank from his glass.

"I cannot say that I remember their failing us heretofore," said the Attorney. "Do you refer to any particular occasion when the leaders have betrayed us?"

"Well, yes. Promises have been broken, promises have been interpreted, promises have been openly and dispassionately denied. We should not forget these things. One should not rely too much on the leaders; the country's youth should be our hope. No; a leader is apt to prove a broken reed. It is an old law that whenever a leader reaches a certain age he pauses--yes, he even turns right about face and pushes the other way. Then it is up to the young to march on, to drive him ahead or trample him down."

The door opened and Lars Paulsberg entered. He nodded to the Attorney, who returned his greeting. The Attorney pointed to a chair at his table, but Paulsberg shook his head and said:

"No, I am looking for Milde. He has not done a stroke on my picture to-day."

"Milde is over in the corner," said the Attorney. And he turned to Coldevin and whispered: "This is one of the most prominent of our young men--their leader, so to speak, Lars Paulsberg. Do you know him? If only the rest were like him."

Yes, Coldevin knew his name. So this was Paulsberg? He could plainly see that he was an important personality; people craned their necks, looked after him and whispered. Yes, indeed, we had quite a number of writers, it could not be denied--"There came to Torahus, for instance, one of them before I left; his name was Stefan Ojen. I have read two of his books. He was nervous, he told me; he spoke a good deal about a new school, a new intention within the realm of literature. His clothes were silk lined, but he did not put himself forward much. Of course, people were curious and wanted to see him, but he appeared very modest. I met him one evening; his entire shirt-front was covered with writing, with verses--long and short lines, a poem in prose. He said that he had waked up in the morning and found himself in the throes of an inspiration, and, as he had no paper handy, he simply wrote on his shirt-front. He asked us not to mind it; he had two more shirts with him, but as they were unlaundered he had to use that one for his verses. He read something for us, things full of sentiment. He gave us the impression that he was very clever."

The Attorney did not know if this were irony or not, for Coldevin smiled one of his rare smiles. But he was probably serious.

"Yes, Ojen is one of our most significant ones," he said. "He is beginning to create a school in Germany. There can be no doubt that his poetry is unique."

"Exactly. I, too, got that impression. A little childish, perhaps; a little immature, but--He, he! as we were sitting there that evening he suddenly exclaimed: 'Do you know, gentlemen, why I use a capital R in God?' 'A capital R in God!' we wondered and looked at each other blankly; no; we did not know why. But Ojen burst into a peal of laughter and left-- It was a good joke; it wasn't at all bad, he, he!"

And Coldevin smiled.

The Attorney laughed with him. "Oh, that fellow Ojen could surprise you with far better inventions; that was nothing for him. But his writing was euphonious, his diction pure--Do you know Irgens?"

Yes, Coldevin knew his name. He hadn't written very much?

"He does not write for the masses, no," answered the Attorney. "He writes for the chosen few. But his friends know that he has many beautiful things unpublished. Good God, what a master! It is impossible to place one's finger on a single thing he has done and say that it is below par. He is sitting in the corner now. Do you wish to meet him? I can arrange it for you. I know him well; no preliminaries are necessary."

But Coldevin asked to be excused. Some other time; then he could meet Paulsberg and the others also--"So that is Paulsberg!" he repeated. "One could tell it when he passed by; people were whispering about him. Nobody whispered when Ole Henriksen passed by. By the way, I suppose Mr. Henriksen is going to get married now?"