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diff --git a/old/60685-0.txt b/old/60685-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f1668dd..0000000 --- a/old/60685-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14791 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Downstream, by Sigfrid Siwertz - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Downstream - -Author: Sigfrid Siwertz - -Release Date: November 13, 2019 [EBook #60685] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOWNSTREAM *** - - - - -Produced by Tim Lindell, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - - - - - DOWNSTREAM - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - BORZOI-GYLDENDAL BOOKS - - - BARBRA RING - Into the Dark - - SIGRID UNDSET - Jenny - The Bridal Wreath - - HENNING KEHLER - The Red Garden - - SIGFRID SIWERTZ - Downstream - - EJNAR MIKKELSON - Frozen Justice - - JOHANNES V. JENSEN - The Long Journey - - VILHELM RASMUSSEN - Child Psychology - - SVEND FLEURON - Grim, The Story of a Pike - Kittens - - LAURIDS BRUUN - Van Zanten’s Happy Days - The Promised Isle - - GUNNAR GUNNARSSON - The Sworn Brothers - Guest the One-Eyed - - JOHANNES BUCHHOLTZ - Egholm and his God - The Miracles of Clara Van Haag - - THE WORKS OF KNUT HAMSUN - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - DOWNSTREAM - - by - SIGFRID SIWERTZ - - - [Illustration: Publisher’s Logo] - - - TORONTO: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF - CANADA, LTD., AT ST. MARTIN’S HOUSE - 1923 - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PART ONE - - I THE CRY 3 - - II THE ROBBERS’ STRONGHOLD 10 - - III THE DANCE OF THE CROW INDIANS 18 - - IV PETER THE WATCH-DOG 26 - - V FEAR 37 - - VI THE TWO FAIR HEADS 48 - - VII BRUNDIN’S DOWNFALL 62 - - VIII SEPTEMBER SPRING 76 - - IX PETER THE BOSS 95 - - X LAURA’S MARRIAGE 115 - - XI THE SPANISH SAINT 138 - - XII PETER CASTS OUT MAJÄNGEN AND BRINGS HOME 164 - EKBACKEN - - XIII TORD’S EXILE 185 - - - PART TWO - - I LAURA ENTERTAINS 201 - II PETER THE BOSS IN LOVE 222 - III THE ANGEL OF DEATH 242 - IV THE COLD MOMENT 266 - V WASTE 293 - VI THE GREAT DINNER 317 - VII SHADOW PLAY 345 - VIII TORD SAILS OUT TO SEA 371 - IX PETER’S TOMBSTONE 389 - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - PART ONE - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - I - - +THE CRY+ - - -To tell the story of a child as you would tell the story of a grown-up -would be to commit forgery, for once you are wide awake it costs you a -great effort to describe a dream exactly as it occurred. - -The tide of events flows remote from the child. Only occasionally do its -eddies touch upon the consciousness of the child, and then the latter is -unaware of their significance. It is precisely this inability to -understand the connection between events which makes the realities of -children so dream-like. - -In the long dream of childhood there reigns a capricious, mysterious and -yet irresistible Fate, beneficent like the fairy with its wand beside -the princess’s cradle, or cruel like the wolf in Red Riding Hood. The -shadow of that Fate still casts itself over our riper years. It haunts -us, ghostlike, even when we have begun consciously to order our lives. -Only a few chosen spirits are able to cast off the spell of these -fairies and trolls. - -This is a tale of people whose childhood was passed in the shadow of the -wolf—and who never could escape from their childhood. - -First let me tell you about that evening, many years ago, when Peter and -Hedvig heard a strange cry coming from the window of their parents’ -bedroom. The whole of that day it had been evident that something was in -the air. The children were not allowed to go into the bedroom at all, -nor even to play on the stairs. After lunch there arrived an old lady -with a bag. And then an old man in spectacles drove up in a small -carriage. It was the doctor. Little Laura ran away immediately and hid -herself, so that she should not have to show her tongue. But this time -the doctor had not come to see her, for he went straight up to Mother, -and beds were prepared for the children in the green room downstairs. - -Stellan, Laura, and Tord had to go to bed at once, as they were so -young. But Peter and Hedvig went out onto the kitchen steps. There old -Kristin sat and told stories of former days at Selambshof when “Old Hök” -was alive. - -The most remarkable thing about Kristin was that she alone survived from -the days of the old owner. She was grey, bent, tough, the incarnation of -the everlasting ill-humoured peasant soul. Even if she only talked of a -pair of grey stockings it still sounded like a fairy tale. And since, -moreover, the fatalism of age is closely related to the helplessness of -childhood, we can well understand that she had two attentive listeners -in Peter and Hedvig. Just now the great and serious event that was about -to occur plunged her into a gloomy, solemn mood. And just as her -ancestors for hundreds of grey generations before her had huddled -together by the hearth on dark stormy nights and had told tales of -dangers past, so also she now sat in the autumn twilight on the kitchen -stairs at Selambshof and told ghost stories to the maids and the cowherd -about the old master. She still looked frightened as she talked of him. -It really sounded as if she were talking of some great and notorious -criminal. - -Hedvig had slipped out as silently as a mouse. Her small face with its -dark, hungry eyes was pale. Peter leaned sulkily in an awkward posture -against the doorpost. But it is not to be supposed that the presence of -the children disturbed Kristin in the very least. She just went on. She -was talking now about the old pensioned couple down by the Hökar -meadow:—You see the master, Old Hök, had made up his mind to starve out -such encumbrances on the estate. They received only some thin whey and a -little dust that the miller swept up from the floor. But it is strange -how little an old woman can live on. So the old master had to turn to -vermin. He put a sofa that was crawling into old Kerstin’s cottage. But -Kerstin thought, “If I must die, I shall at least die on his front -step”—so one winter morning she trailed herself up to his house and -began to take off her rags before the front door. And you may imagine -she was not beautiful, because she had smeared tar over her whole body -as a protection against lice. It was so awful that even Old Hök had to -hurry to his cupboard and take a drop of something strong. - -Here Kristin stopped suddenly and caught hold of Hedvig’s hand as it lay -anxiously clenched in her lap. Yes, indeed, it clenched a sticky lump of -sugar. The temptation had proven too strong as she stole through the -empty kitchen. Kristin’s tone now became still more sinister and solemn: -“Well, well, that’s what heredity does,” she mumbled. “Keep your fingers -out of the sugar jar, Hedvig, otherwise the sugar knife will fall and -cut off your hand. Or maybe the Bogey Man will come and take you.” - -Hedvig turned quite white. A spasm passed over her face—but she did not -cry. She cowered and went on listening to Kristin, who continued in her -sombre manner: “Yes, as I always say, everything goes wrong here at -Selambshof, both with human beings and with animals, since the old -master drove away the good house spirits. And there are strange things -both in the forest and in the lake. Would any of you like to be alone at -night time in Enoch’s cave? And don’t bubbles rise even today by the big -stone beyond the reeds? The master said that Matts fell in whilst he was -trying to catch hold of an oar that he had lost. But I know what I know. -They didn’t find Matts. But afterwards Old Hök always dropped his hooks -just at that spot and caught lots of eels, and beat the young master -because he wouldn’t eat them. Yes, he was like that. And he has not gone -from this place yet. Tell me, Andres, don’t the horses still jib down -there by the grey stone at the corner of the avenue? They have done so -ever since Old Hök died there. He sat quite straight with his hands on -the knob of his stick and frowned, though he was stone dead. They had to -bring four men to straighten him out and lay him in his coffin, so -obstinate was he even after death. But he left lots of money.” - -At this point, old Kristin lowered her voice and became humble in spite -of herself. That was of course the people’s admiration for wealth. It -was the unconditional surrender of the old peasant woman to the fact of -possession. And both Andres and the maid, who had been peacefully dozing -during this recital of well-known horrors, now leant forward with -listening eyes as Kristin sat there and spun out her story of all the -gold in the chest and all the corn in the barns— “Yes, he did look after -the farm, did the old master. In those days there was something like a -manure heap for a cock to stand on and crow. And nobody dared to steal -even a potato then. Do you hear that, Andres? No, those were different -days—for now you do nothing but idle about and steal. Well, I suppose -everything will lie waste soon. Yes, yes, we have not seen the end -yet—we have not seen the end. And there are lots of children to share it -too—and more are coming. It is a real pity. Poor Peter, who is the -eldest and will inherit it. Poor Peter, that’s what I say! Are you -loafing about there with your hands in your pockets again? Take your -hands out of your pockets—otherwise you will lose both house and land. -You wait and see if I don’t speak the truth. And don’t climb on the rail -and wear out your stockings.” - -Kristin had come to this point when they heard a scream from the bedroom -upstairs. The silence beneath the bare elms was suddenly and harshly -torn asunder. Perhaps it sounded to Peter and Hedvig like one of those -strange, petrified screeches which sometimes fill the sleep of grown-ups -with horror. - -The little group dissolved instantly. The maid ran into the kitchen for -the kettles. Anders strolled hesitatingly towards the lake, and Kristin -pushed the children into the dining-room and turned the key. Peter and -Hedvig were locked in with Old Hök, whose portrait hung there in the -twilight over the leather-covered sofa. They were standing in the middle -of the room and dared not look at the picture. They were expecting -another scream that would make their hair stand on end again. They -supposed it must come since they had been driven in here. But they heard -no scream—for many long, long minutes all was still. By and by their -eyes were irresistibly drawn to Old Hök. There he stood in a long, black -coat. And his nose looked like a bird’s beak, and his fingers were -clenched round his stick handle and looked like claws. But worst of all -were his eyes, for wherever you stood they stared straight down at you, -so that you felt that your blood ran cold. It had, of course, been -horrid to listen to Kristin, but then, it was not altogether uncanny, -for there was mixed with it a curiously pleasant sensation as when you -step into a pool and the cold water oozes into your stockings. But this! -Oh this was ever so much worse! Their childish fear, awakened out of its -semi-sleep, now fluttered wildly round Old Hök—and Kristin’s -superstition and her prophecies of woe hovered over them in new and -terrifying shapes. - -Peter was perhaps not so sensitive to the more remote horrors. His fears -fastened on what was nearest to hand. Very small as he was, he stood -there staring at the grey and tattered ghost of poverty. His anxiety was -centred on a big signet ring that Old Hök was wearing on his finger. He -wore it, of course, because he was awfully rich. But where was the ring -now? Old Hök’s eyes pursued him with the question: Where is my ring now? -Peter knew nothing of it. His father had not worn it, and it was not in -his mother’s jewel box. Supposing Anders had stolen it! Or fat Lotten in -the kitchen? Fancy if they should steal everything at Selambshof, so -that he, Peter, had to sit without any clothes in the forest and starve -and shiver. Fancy if that was why Mamma lay up there and screamed so -terribly. Yes, he knew it was Mamma who had screamed. - -That was Peter’s fear. But Hedvig’s fear was different, deeper, vaguer. -She was afraid of the Bogey Man with whom Kristin used to frighten her. -And now he had suddenly assumed Old Hök’s features. Yes the Bogey Man -was there in the room, just in front of her. But it never occurred to -her to take Peter’s hand. Hedvig was not like that. She was alone from -the beginning, alone in her fear and helpless with that complete and -profound helplessness that grown-ups only experience in the dangers and -horrors of a nightmare. - -And now they heard another scream, fainter but just as dreadful. It came -from all sides at once—from the stairs, from the door, from the walls -themselves. Hedvig suddenly understood, the Bogey Man had come! He was -taking somebody as he passed on his way. Because it was, of course, -herself, Hedvig, that he really wanted. She shrank and closed her eyes. -Then she looked up again, just for a second. He was no longer there -above the sofa. He had climbed down—he was coming towards her! He was -stretching out his claws!! - -Hedvig dug her nails into the edge of the table and screamed, screamed -wildly. She could not bear it. Peter also started screaming. He saw -himself standing starving and naked in a big dark forest full of wolves. -It is not to be wondered at then that they screamed. But that was not -all. The younger children, who slept in the adjoining room, awoke in a -fright and started to scream too. So the whole chorus of children’s -voices joined with the mother’s groans above. - -Kristin suddenly appeared in the door with a candle: “Good gracious—you -dreadful children to make such a noise when the mistress is ill!” - -She packed Peter and Hedvig into the green room. Oh, what a wonderful, -pleasant relief it was to feel Kristin’s bony hands in your back. They -undressed with feverish haste, afraid lest she should go before they had -had time to pull the bedclothes over their heads. - -“Dearest Kristin, please leave the light burning.”—“Nonsense, go to -sleep now.” - -And the light was gone. - -They lay huddled up in terrible darkness like two poor little orphans. -Fear kept them long awake and pursued them ever in their dreams, when at -last they had fallen asleep. The night of the earth is but a passing -shadow, but the night of fear in the heart is evil and long. And for -many it seems as if there will be no morning. - -The following day the children at Selambshof lost their mother. Both she -and the newborn baby died before their father reached home. He had been -kept late during a shoot at Kolsnäs. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - II - - +THE ROBBER’S STRONGHOLD+ - - -The children were playing up in the big attic at Selambshof. The rain -pattered against the tiles of the roof and rushed down the spouts. But -inside it was dry and dusty and mysterious in the twilight among the -roof-timbers and the chimney pipes. And there were heaps of things that -the grown-ups had thrown aside, but which for that very reason were so -tempting: old, worn-out things which had reached their second childhood, -and just for that reason suited the children’s games so well. - -It was only with great difficulty that Stellan could open the lock of -the iron-bound oak chest. Triumphant, he pulled out a torn black skirt -and spread it over the pram in which Hedvig lay on her back, pale and -with her legs hanging over the edge. He called to Peter, who was the -hearse-horse, and the melancholy procession was just about to start, -when Hedvig began to sneeze because the skirt was full of red pepper. - -“Can’t you pretend to be dead, you silly girl,” shouted Stellan -impatiently. - -And Laura bent down and giggled in the midst of the procession. Besides -these two, the mourners were Herman Hermansson from Ekbacken and little -Tord. But Tord did not want to take part in the game any longer, so he -crept into a corner and sulked. The outlook was not very promising. - -Creakily the pram began to move. They were playing “Mamma’s funeral” for -the hundredth time. - -The procession stopped before the church, which was the triangle under -the staircase up to the ceiling. Herman, with an air of deadly earnest -on his open face, stood and chimed a nail on a stove ring. But Stellan -drew the black skirt over his shoulders and climbed up on a wooden box -and pretended to be the clergyman. He threw his head back and laying his -hands on his chest began to hold forth: “From the earth you come, and -wipe your feet, and honour your father and mother and sister and -brother, and don’t hang on to people’s skirts, and don’t balance -yourself on your chair because you will fall, fallevall, appala, mesala, -mesinka, meso, sebedi, sebede, and get away now you silly, for now you -are dead.” - -This long rigmarole was uttered with the utmost solemnity and did not -fail to impress the listeners. Hedvig grew frightened of shamming death. -She was so frightened that she felt cold shivers down her back. But she -did not climb out of the coffin, she remained as quiet as a mouse, for -she knew that if she gave up the place of honour Laura would seize it at -once. And Hedvig did not want that on any account. - -Suddenly the rain stopped pattering on the roof. Silently the shadows -crept on in the dust under the heavy beams. It was as if the silence and -the emptiness of the big gloomy house had stealthily crept up among -these mourners. They really felt the emptiness after their mother’s -death, after her dainties and her scolding—perhaps most after her -scolding. Yes, formerly when Mamma was in the kitchen scolding, they -heard it up in the attic. But with old Kristin it was different. She -kept on worrying them the whole time—and they got tired of it— - -And then there was something funny about father. Since Mamma died he was -always in town, and when sometimes he came home he looked so dull-eyed -and shabby, almost as if he was drunk. And then they felt still -lonelier. Stellan had overheard Kristin say to the gardener that the -master was drinking himself to death—but Stellan could not understand -how that could happen. Surely one did not die from being drunk? - -Alas, how gloomy and empty it was up there in the big attic! Herman -began to long for his home at Ekbacken where it was not at all strange -as it was here. - -But the Selambshof children felt they must fight against the silence -with shouts and noise and quarrelling. - -“Let us play drunkards,” shouted Peter and began to slouch and reel and -push the others about in his clumsy way. - -But Stellan knew better. Both Peter and Herman were stronger than -Stellan, but all the same it was usually he who was leader. If a lot of -dogs play about on a lawn you will in nine cases out of ten find that -there is a small one taking the lead in the game. - -“No, let us get out on the roof and play robbers,” he shouted. - -With the help of Peter and Herman he managed to open the big trap door -and they tumbled out on the roof, which sloped gently and had strong -iron bars between the battlements. Selambshof was an old manor house -which had been rebuilt, during a period of bad taste, in the gloomy -style of a fortress castle, with narrow windows, towers, gables and -battlements. - -They were on forbidden ground. Hedvig stopped half inside and half -outside the trap—she was like that. “Take care you people on the roof,” -she whimpered repeatedly to the others, but they took no notice of her. - -It was awfully cold up there. And it gave you a queer feeling in the pit -of the stomach to be so high over the wet glistening tops of the trees -in the park. And she had never seen such a big black cloud as the one -which was just passing over the town. Beneath was the black smoke and -through the smoke the windows flashed like a shot. But opposite the sky -was as green as ice, except in the furthest distance over the dark and -ragged edge of the forest, where it was yellow. And the lake looked like -a piece of mirror of the sky which had fallen down among the trees. It -was quite unbroken except between Kolsnäs and Stonehill, where the -steamer was passing and shattered it. - -Stellan was the first to reach the railing. Oh, how cold he felt about -the forehead. But giddiness changed to recklessness—wild shouting -recklessness. How small everything down there looked! Just look at -Anders at the corner of the stable! Wasn’t he a mere spot. And -Kristin—what did he care about Kristin? No, now they would have some -fun! - -“Selambshof is a robbers’ stronghold!” he shouted—quite pale with -excitement. “We are wild highwaymen! We care for nothing—we just kill -and take what we want.” - -This seemed to appeal to Peter. He took aim at Ekbacken and pulled the -trigger—that is to say he levelled his finger and said: “Bang, I shot -Ekbacken! Ekbacken is mine.” - -Herman protested: “No—Ekbacken belongs to my father.” - -He was severely snubbed: “Blockhead! are we robbers or are we not?” - -And then Stellan mercilessly shot to pieces Kolsnäs, the white walls of -which peeped out behind the trees on the other side of the lake. Peter -reloaded and took aim and shot at Trefvinge, which was the finest place -within sight, a real big castle with four copper towers far away beyond -the edge of the forest. Things were now getting exciting, for Peter and -Stellan and Herman were all aiming at the town itself with all its -church towers and chimneys! _Bang, Bang, Bang_, the shots were fired -almost simultaneously. - -“The town is mine” cried Herman. “I shot first.” - -“No, I shot first,” lied Peter confidently. - -“No, mine was the only one that hit,” cried Stellan stamping on the -roof. “Now both Kolsnäs and the town are mine.” - -“That’s not fair,” insisted Herman, “I ought to have something, and I -shot first.” - -“That’s a lie,” insisted Peter quietly, but menacingly. - -Stellan was already furious: “Whose idea was it that we should play -robbers—eh? I am the chief of the robbers. And now I have taken the town -and am king of the castle.” - -But Herman would not give way, as he knew that his was the first shot. - -“It’s not fair. It’s beastly unfair. I won’t play robbers with you if -you are unfair.” - -It looked like a fight. - -Laura had been watching with her teeth chattering and trying to hide her -little fat fingers in the sleeves of her frock. Now she jumped excitedly -down towards the infuriated robbers. Unobserved, even Hedvig left her -spy hole in the trap. - -Stellan and Herman had already come to grips and scratched and tore at -each other in the artless way of children. At last they began to wrestle -and Stellan, who was the shorter of the two, was underneath. - -“You see that I did shoot first,” panted Herman. - -Then Peter with his cool cheek intervened. He rolled round this human -knot and extricated Stellan, who, rather shamefaced at his defeat, -withdrew with feigned contempt from the robber band. Then Peter sat down -astride of Herman. - -“Now say that the town is mine.” - -“No.” - -He began to jump on Herman. This hurt Herman, because he was lying -athwart the ridge of the roof. - -“Say that it is mine!” - -“No.” - -Peter jumped on him more than ever. - -“Is it mine, what?” - -Herman did not cry out. But he hit out wildly, and at last, maddened by -pain, he bit Peter’s hand. Peter at once uttered a wild scream. Then -Herman let go. But Peter was wise and screamed after the pain was gone. - -“Take care, you who bite,” piped Hedvig in her thin voice. - -Herman suddenly became horrified at his wicked deed. “Dear Peter, please -forgive me,” he begged. - -“Was it I who took the town then?” hissed Peter. - -“Yes, I suppose it was.” - -Peter felt better at once, but it suddenly struck him that his victory -was not worth much and so he began to moan and cry again: “Oh, Oh, Oh.” - -Herman was again alarmed and stricken with remorse: “Dear Peter, don’t -cry, please forgive me, Peter, dear.” - -“Will you give me your glass marble then?” whimpered Peter pitifully. - -Herman pulled the glass marble out of his bag with a sigh and gave it to -Peter. So at last Peter had gained something real from his robber’s -career. He stood smiling to himself and weighed the five heavy marbles -in his right hand but did not trouble to wipe off the blood from his -left hand. It might always be useful to leave it there. - -During this scene little Tord had also clambered out on to the roof. But -he took no notice of the cries and noise of the others. He sat apart and -leant over an old green box where nasturtiums had once grown, but which -was now half-filled with rain water. Something moved in the depths. -Strange little creatures with only heads and tails teemed in it. And -they rose to the surface with little jerks and then disappeared again in -the black, brown depths. Oh! how wonderfully mysterious it all was! He -drew himself up silently. He cast anxious side-glances at the fight -which was going on. Soon they would probably come and kick over the -whole of his wonderful find. He hated his big brothers and sisters, who -never let him enjoy anything in peace. - -A voice was heard from the stairs and he crept behind the chimney. - -It was Kristin. She emerged from the trap door like an old witch ready -for a ride on her broom. She shook her fist, which was covered with -gouty lumps, but nevertheless still had an iron grip. - -“Were there ever such heathen children. You will break your necks and be -good for nothing—that’s what will happen to you. Come down at once from -the roof.” - -The children slouched back to the trap door. Each one of them felt -Kristin’s fingers in his hair. Peter approached cautiously and hunched -up, holding his wounded hand like a shield in front of him. Kristin -caught sight of it. - -“What have you been doing, you naughty boy?” - -Peter did not tell any tales himself but he looked beseechingly at -Hedvig. He knew that she could not resist. - -“It was Herman,” she panted. “He bit Peter until the blood ran. I only -went out on the roof to see who was crying.” - -In this way both Peter and Hedvig escaped a hair pulling and that was -exactly what they had hoped for. - -But Herman got a double dose and went home with bitterness in his heart. - -Not until the other children were in their beds was Tord missed. It was -not at all unusual for him to be lost like that. They looked for him in -the usual places: the empty dog kennel, the wood shed, the hollow oak by -the stable. But without success. At last Hedvig remembered that he had -been with them on the roof and there they found him huddled up on the -cold tiles, leaning against the box with the wonderful mosquito larvæ, -and wet with dew. He was sleeping with his dirty little thumb in his -mouth. - -Soon everything was silent in the big house. And one of the frosty -“iron” nights of June fell with its devastation upon the neglected -garden and fields of Selambshof. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - III - - +THE DANCE OF THE CROW INDIANS+ - - -It was a fine warm summer afternoon, when the mosquito swarms hovered -like high pillars of smoke in the avenue of Selambshof. - -But in the garden on the north side of the house Oskar Selamb was -sitting in his usual seat. He was sitting just where the mosses of the -walls hung most heavily over the grey stone base and where the damp -shade beneath the old elm tree seemed full of evil memories. His big -straw hat was pushed far back on his head and his purple trembling hands -were clasped round the handle of his walking stick. His beard grew like -a weed round his weak half open mouth, and he stared in front of him -with a lifeless, taciturn gloom that had little human left in it. - -A friend of former days would scarcely have recognized him. - -How had Oskar Selamb, owner of Selambshof, father of five young -children, and not much past fifty, come to such a pass? The immediate -cause was probably the death of his wife, but in order really to -understand this tragedy one must go back to the tyranny of old Enoch. It -was he who had broken his son’s spirit. Up to his thirtieth year Oskar -had been little more than a sort of superior farm labourer on the -estate, without any rights, without a will of his own, reviled and -ill-treated by Old Hök, who kept his claws and his beak sharp till the -end. It leaves a mark on a man to have his hopes in life picked piece by -piece out of his breast by a father who feeds his own strong flame of -life by doing so. When the hour of delivery once struck at last, Oskar -Selamb had come to hate his inheritance. Yes, he hated this place of -humiliation, for ever haunted by the old man’s shadow. But he had not -strength to throw it all off and begin afresh. He merely absented -himself as much as possible and let the estate go to ruin. And late in -life he married a servant girl, whom he had raised to the rank of -housekeeper at Selambshof. His friends were not surprised by this -mesalliance. Even during the days of his humiliation he had been fond of -the girl, for which reason of course she had at once been shown the -door. And when Oskar afterwards by chance caught sight of her behind a -bar, he took her into his house and married her, out of pure spite, as -people said, in order to make old Enoch turn in his grave. To tell the -truth, he was not in love with her. It was rather the spasmodic effort -of a weak and vacillating man to kick away the past. His wife was a -small, dark, thin woman with a pointed nose, and moderately capable and -energetic within her domain. Her voice penetrated shrill and alert -through the fumes of the kitchen or the washtub. She remained a -bad-tempered but capable servant of her husband and, later, of the -children. But for her the home would not have held together as well as -it did, for Oskar Selamb became more and more incapable of looking after -anything. And he still spent most of his time in the town. There he sat -among his fellow topers, lost at whist and in business, cursed and -harangued, as weak people do, between his draughts of steaming toddy, on -the evils of the times. Meanwhile Selambshof decayed, Ryssvik was lost, -the forest melted away and the mortgages became heavier and heavier. His -wife bore him in quick succession and with eternal lamentations, five -hungry and crying children. With the sixth she succumbed herself. When -her husband came driving home that autumn morning she already lay dead -in the big double bed. - -Oskar Selamb had never loved his wife. He had neglected her, treated her -brutally, and worn her out. But all the same her death gave him the -finishing blow. It was her scolding that had kept him going. Now he sank -irrevocably. His journeys to town grew more frequent then ever. Meaner -and meaner grew the bars outside which his shabby old coach had to wait -till late into the night. He could not even keep himself decent. Old -friends avoided him, whilst discussing with interest whether it was from -joy of getting rid of his wife or from grief at losing her that he was -drinking himself to death. - -The more subtle held that it was a combination of these two feelings. -The only one who tried to do something for his friend Oskar was his -neighbour and companion from childhood, William Hermansson, owner of the -Ekbacken sawmill and shipyard. As it happened the Ekbacken establishment -was situated just by the main road into town, and when, nowadays, -William saw Oskar’s dreary looking coach, he stepped out on to his -front-door step and admonished his old friend in carefully chosen words. -He tried in every way to tempt him to decent intercourse in his -respectable and comfortable widower’s home, reminding him of the times -when he had found a refuge there from old Enoch’s tyranny. But Oskar -always drove past with some vague pretext of important meetings and -urgent business. - -Within a few months the crash came. Oskar Selamb was brought home a -pitiful wreck after having had a stroke at a miserable little inn in the -slums. After several months he got up from his sickbed, bloated, with -unsteady hands, and no memory, scarcely a human being any more. But -still there was no sign that death would mercifully do its work. After -solemn lamentations, the owner of Ekbacken agreed to become the guardian -of the children, and through his efforts a new bailiff, named John -Brundin, was appointed. - -That is how things had been for more than two years at Selambshof. Thus -on the still summer evening we have described Oskar Selamb sat on his -usual seat underneath the old elm. He sat there so motionless that the -sparrows hopped about in front of him on the round stone slab superposed -on an enormous oak stump which did service as a table. But out there in -the slanting golden rays of the sun, round the wing where the bailiff -lived, shimmered clouds of gnats and fine spiders’ webs. - -Stellan and Laura were playing in the sand and in the lilac hedge in -front of the house. The simple games of robbers of former days were now -a thing of the past. They wore a bright array of feathers, and carried -bows and tomahawks. They had read Cooper and Marryat and knew how to -choose impressive names and make subtle stratagems. The hedge was also -dense and deep, with fine ambushes and splendid hiding places for -stealthy Indian warfare. Stellan was called “Black Panther” and Laura -“Flying Arrow.” Don’t imagine that she was allowed to impersonate some -pale squaw with a soft flower name. No, she was a young warrior on her -first warpath. “Black Panther’s” voice sounded sharp and commanding when -he was teaching his young companions the use of the bow. “Flying Arrow” -had displayed some squeamishness and had giggled in an unwarriorlike -manner, which was not in keeping with the seriousness of the moment, and -which was duly corrected. - -Peter was looking on. Big and clumsy in his outgrown and patched -sailor’s suit, he leant against a rusty rainpipe grinning provocatively. -“Black Panther” ran up to him. - -“Won’t you come and play with us and be a Pale-Face?” - -“No,” came Peter’s sulky reply in a husky voice, about to break— - -“Black Panther” looked round about him wondering how to get some new -excitement into the game, as it was beginning to become dull. His glance -fell with a sudden expression of premature and hopeless loathing on his -father on the seat. But just as suddenly he brightened up—caught hold of -“Flying Arrow” by the arm and pointed at the old man: - -“He is a Comanche. He is ‘Heavy Ox.’ We’ll creep up to him from two -sides.” - -“Black Panther” and “Flying Arrow” crept across the plot of sand with -sly, watchful eyes. Then “Black Panther” sprang up like a steel spring -released and swung his lasso. “Heavy Ox” was caught. They tied him to -the seat as to a torture post. “Heavy Ox” did not seem to notice -anything. From behind, “Black Panther” even managed to put on his head a -chieftain’s feather crown consisting of some crow’s feathers pushed into -the ribbon of an old, brimless, tattered straw hat. But “Heavy Ox” sat -there with his new and wonderful ornament as solemnly and as -apathetically unconcerned as ever. - -Shrill laughter from “Flying Arrow” greeted this ridiculous apparition. - -They began to dance round their victim. Swinging their tomahawks and -their bows, they danced to the accompaniment of wild cries of -excitement. - -“‘Heavy Ox’ can’t get free! ‘Heavy Ox’ is fat and stupid! ‘Heavy Ox’ -shall die. ‘Heavy Ox’ is fat and stupid!” - -This sudden wild joy quite surprised the Crow Indians themselves. They -perhaps did not know that there was vengeance in this game. And how much -had they not to avenge! How well they might have called out to “Heavy -Ox”: “That is for the hundreds of meals that were made disgusting by -your nasty snuffling! That’s for your horrid snuffle and for your dull -eyes that don’t see us! That’s for the neglect, the ruin, the incurable -wounds to our tender beings! That’s for the great musty hole in which we -spend our childhood.” - -Tired of dancing they sat down to smoke a calumet, whilst still deriding -and challenging their bound enemy. - -“Heavy Ox” had taken no more notice of his tormentors than of the flies -that buzzed around him. But now he showed signs of restlessness. And his -restlessness was always of the same kind: - -“Is it time for supper soon?” he stammered. - -Then they jumped up again and began to dance with a renewal of their -wild exultation: - -“‘Heavy Ox’ shan’t get any food. ‘Heavy Ox’ is fat and stupid. ‘Heavy -Ox’ shall die! ‘Heavy Ox’ is fat and stupid!” - -Peter was still leaning against the rainpipe. He followed the game with -a half troubled, half pleased, grin. “They will catch it for this,” he -thought. “I have not taken part in it. I have been standing here the -whole time by the rainpipe and have not taken any part in it.” - -Then Peter saw Mr. Brundin thrust his head out of a window. It was -beginning to get exciting. The punishment for these reckless children -was drawing nearer. But Peter was at once disillusioned. Brundin only -laughed and puffed at a big cigar. And Peter made a note in his memory -that Brundin only grinned at forbidden and dangerous things. - -Then at last something happened. Old Hermansson came walking up the -avenue. And instantly Brundin’s head disappeared from the window. But -“Black Panther” and “Flying Arrow” noticed nothing. Old Hermansson -walked quietly across the sand plot. He was as straight-backed as if he -had been drawn on a slate by a good boy. He walked with his coat -buttoned high up to the throat, his head erect, and his hands behind his -back. He walked with measured dignity and each step seemed to be an -admonition to the careless, the irreverent and the reckless. One can -scarcely imagine anything more typical to children of the grown-up. - -Peter stood still with excitement and bit his nails. This was really a -great moment. - -Then Mr. Brundin came rushing out of the door. He had put aside the big -cigar and hastened with every mark of respect to free “Heavy Ox” from -his bonds, whilst with serious and angry mien he shook his fist at the -two Indians. - -This was something more for Peter to note: a moment ago Brundin had only -grinned and now he became serious when old Hermansson was present. - -At last old Hermansson had arrived. Now at last somebody would be -cuffed. But Peter had to wait. Old Hermansson first saw that the -unsuitable ornament was removed from his old friend’s head. Then he -greeted him, obstinately maintaining the habit of speech of past and -happier days. - -“How do you do, how do you do, my dear Oskar? I hope you are well. Yes, -it is a fine day today, a very fine day. So I thought I would take a -little walk in order to talk to our good bailiff about the rye-crop.” - -Oskar Selamb had recovered his greasy old hat again. But he was clearly -completely insensible to these see-saws of exultation and degradation. -He stared sulkily in front of him and grunted: - -“I want my supper—can’t I have my supper?” - -“In due time, my dear Oskar. In due time you will certainly have your -supper.” - -Now it seemed to be Stellan’s and Laura’s turn. Their guardian placed -himself in front of them and made a little speech: - -“Listen carefully now, my children,” he said. “I don’t want to see you -show your father such disrespect again. Honour thy father and mother -that thy days may be long in the land and that it may go well with you.” - -Here he shook his head solemnly and let the culprits go. And the fair -and plump little Laura danced away with small side steps like a puppy, -but not before she had cast a coquettish and triumphant glance at Peter -in passing, as if to say,—“Cheated!—there was no thrashing!” - -But Stellan stood there with all his war-like array in his hand and with -an air of disillusionment looked at “Heavy Ox,” who was no longer “Heavy -Ox,” but only the familiar dismal figure. Then he lightly shrugged his -shoulders and quietly went away whistling among the currant bushes. With -his quick cold eyes and his proud mouth he did not exactly look like one -of those who fare badly in this world. - -It may be that old Hermansson was also somewhat mistaken. It may be that -callousness developed early in life may be one of the conditions of -success in this world. It may be that daily and hourly contact with -degraded humanity simply hardens a little Indian’s heart for life’s -cruel warfare. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IV - - +PETER THE WATCH-DOG+ - - -Peter’s school report at the end of the term was, as usual, not good, -and he was not promoted. Now he sat in the billiard room on the third -floor grinding away in the summer holidays. - -Peter sat drawing his fingers through his rough hair and bent over his -book. We all know that struggle against an incurable lack of -concentration, the bending very closely over an unfortunate text until -the letters begin to swell and jostle each other out of line and -shamelessly vanish in the blue. - -Peter lifted his head, puffing as if he had been under water and could -no longer hold his breath. But it was not only the common, boyish -instinct to throw all to the winds and rush out to the day’s adventures -in the forest and field. It was not only the healthy restlessness of a -growing boy that was reflected in his face. He turned and twisted on his -chair and looked about him, and secretly cast stealthy side-glances from -beneath his unkempt shock of hair as if fearing that somebody stood -behind him listening to his thoughts. - -Not even when he was alone could he look anything straight in the face. - -Now he jumped up and took a turn round the old billiard table covered by -an old torn dust sheet. All round him in the dilapidated room the torn -wallpaper was curling and the dry paint was peeling off the skirting -boards and window frames. Peter stopped a moment in front of a -blackboard that had once been the billiard marker, but which was now -covered with his unsolved algebra problems. He made a weak effort, but -then he flung away the chalk as if it had burnt his fingers, and rushed -suddenly to the window and peeped out. - -Since Old Hök’s time the billiard room had been generally called the -conservatory. Its high, narrow fortress-like windows faced three ways, -and from this high point one could look out over the whole of the Selamb -estate. On a stand made of three worn-out cues stood a long, battered -leather-covered telescope. It was here that Peter’s grandfather used to -sit and spy on his people in order mercilessly to sweep down on the idle -or the dishonest. You could still see his old focus marks on the brass -tube of the telescope, and they had crept further and further out as he -grew older and more short sighted. - -If anybody had seen Peter by the window overlooking the terrace he would -have thought that Old Hök was not yet quite dead. - -The bailiff was going to have a crayfish party for some friends from the -town. He was standing down there hanging up Chinese lanterns. Frida, the -new maid, was handing them to him out of a big clothes basket. - -Peter found it impossible to remain any longer at his work. Silently as -a mouse he stole out into the garden. He did not make straight for the -terrace, but walked with long, searching side-glances till at last he -settled on an observation post in the dense lilac hedge. Then he -pretended to be carving a stick, but all the time he kept his eyes on -the little lantern-scene. Brundin was standing in his shirt sleeves with -a long cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth so as not to get the smoke -in his eyes. He was a fair man with small, light, curly mustaches. He -was wearing a check waistcoat, riding breeches and top boots. But even -if he did not look like the Fairy Prince himself, he might at least have -passed for one of the members of his suite. For the moment he was -carrying on with Frida, who made eyes and giggled as if he had tickled -her. - -Peter sat and fidgetted. There was a lot of questions that tormented him -like insects. That Brundin fellow had no farm, so how could he be so -awfully smart with his check waistcoat and heavy gold chain stretched -across his vest? And his tie-pin was as big as a penny! And where had he -got all those splendid lanterns. And why should Frida stand there and -dance attendance on him and hand him the lanterns? - -All Peter’s brooding and discontent found expression in that one -question: why should our Frida stand there and hand lanterns to Brundin? -And he had to gulp it down time after time lest it should escape his -lips in a loud growl. - -No, he could not bear to look any longer. - -With his eyes on the ground and his big hands hanging awkwardly by his -sides Peter strolled round the yard and out into the fields. He lumbered -about like a watch-dog, sniffing reflectively at every corner. -Everywhere he scented decay. From his own father, who sat there heedless -and inert on his bench by the front door, and who in the depth of his -decay had no thought for anything else but his next meal, this ruin -spread itself over garden, barn, stable and granary—and out over fields, -meadows and forest. There were a thousand things that whispered of it, -the weeds in the paths, the broken glass of the cucumber frames, the -broken down, moss-covered fences, bottomless patches of road, bare -neglected forest slopes. There were a thousand things Peter would have -liked to ask Brundin about, but when he met him smart and resplendent -with a big cigar in the corner of his mouth, a kind of paralysis of fear -overtook him. Not with red-hot tongs could one have dragged a -straightforward, direct question out of the boy—and that even though the -bailiff had never uttered an unkind word to him, but on the contrary had -cracked good-natured jokes with him and had offered him good things from -town which Peter had grabbed clumsily and disappeared with, like a dog -who is afraid of a thrashing. - -The labourers on the estate were the only ones with whom Peter could -talk on the subject. Obeying the instinct of a sort of subordinate, the -future heir pried about for signs of discontent, for hints and -suggestions. But he had little success. It was of importance that he -should be very careful. He turned his questions over and over again in -his mind before they passed his lips. In his timidity and excess of -carefulness he began to beat about the bush so much that often he never -reached his point at all. Those who asked for nothing better than to -speak the truth about the bailiff did not understand what he was driving -at. And cleverer ones and those with a bad conscience saw through him in -their own way, and thought it best to beware of this sneaking, spying -nuisance of a boy and not to criticise those in authority. - -Down in the bend of the avenue Peter met Anders, who was driving home -with a load of rye from the Hökar meadow. The boy climbed up in the rye -beside the old stable hand, but he did not think how jolly it was to lie -softly like this among the sheaves glowing with blue cornflowers and to -swing gently along in the half-light under the old elms. Today his -restlessness was worse than ever, and he grew quite bold of speech. - -“How much is a load like this worth, Anders?” - -“Oh, it’s worth a good deal of money. And it would fetch more if it -wasn’t for the weeds.” - -“Who takes care of the money?” - -“The bailiff, of course.” - -“But Anders, when they pay him the money, how can he know what is ours -and what is his?” - -“Well, Master Peter, the bailiff keeps his books.” - -“But supposing somebody went and wrote something wrong in his books?” - -“No, they can’t, for he keeps his books locked up, you see.” - -“But suppose he should forget to write something in the books?” - -Peter’s tone was one of entreaty, but Anders was impossible. - -“It is his chief work to write down everything in the books,” he -muttered with a side-glance. - -Thus Peter helped to drive in the rye. They had reached the barn now and -he jumped down no wiser than before. The cracked old gong rang for -dinner, and it sounded like a funeral bell. - -The dining-room smelt of “sluring,” a soup which was the abomination of -all the children. They pushed the chairs about, kicked each other’s -legs, and quarrelled because nobody wanted to sit next to father, who -was horrid at table. They were just like a lot of crows on a branch at -night time, pecking at each other because none wants to sit furthest out -on the branch, in the darkness and emptiness. Finally Tord was pushed -there, he was the smallest and weakest. Frida flung down the soup. It -was worse than ever. There had probably been no time for cooking because -of the preparations for the evening party. Peter shrank and held his -hands to his ears so as not to hear his father eating his soup. There -came a queer smell from the neighbourhood of Tord, who did not touch his -food but pulled out a dirty handkerchief full of snakes’ eggs which he -had found in the manure heap. Stellan waited upon his father. When he -had lapped up his soup, the young man was there in a flash with his own -full plate the contents of which disappeared just as quickly. Laura’s -plate went the same way. Those two always adopted the same strategy. But -Peter and Hedvig did their duty. There were bread fritters to follow. -Old Kristin came in. Nowadays, there was not much left of her. Usually -she sat in her little room mumbling as she knitted. But she still -retained her power over Tord, so he had to sit there with his soup. He -could be shut up with his plate for ever so long without uttering a -sound. He was a strange, silent child, Tord. - -Still hungry and out of humour Peter crept down into the garden and -stole whatever he could find to eat there. - -Then the steamer arrived with Brundin’s guests. There were corn dealers, -greengrocers, and butchers from the town, nothing but rogues that he did -business with. They at once sat down to smoke and drink punch at a long -table on the terrace. From the beginning there were heard shouts of -coarse, bass voices and roars of laughter, and it was clear that they -had laid a solid foundation for their merriment in some inn in town. -Frida, fresh and not at all shy, in spite of her seventeen years, -flitted about the whole time bearing trays frequently replenished and -was vigorously pinched, tickled and caressed. But in the midst of all -shone Brundin in his check waistcoat, and whenever you looked at him he -sat with glass uplifted and “Your health” on his lips. - -Peter hovered about, gloomy and unnoticed, on the fringe of this festive -party. He loitered about the bedroom window, he crept into the lilac -hedge. In the end he secured himself up among the branches of the big -maple tree below the signal-guns on the terrace. From there he saw them -light the gay-coloured lanterns and bring in the enormous dishes of -crayfish, with their fennel crowns to the accompaniment of wild shouts -of welcome. The lanterns swung to and fro and the candles in the big -candlesticks from off the sideboard flickered and flamed as if -intoxicated, and cast a shimmering light on napkins tied round fat -necks, on rolled-up shirt sleeves and rows of sparkling glasses -simultaneously raised. - -To crown all Peter saw how Stellan and Laura who had been leaping round -with eager and unrestrained curiosity amongst the merry guests were -called by the bailiff, and how each was given a big portion of crayfish -to eat at the table. Breathlessly Peter held fast to his branch and -communed with the whispering gloom of the great, dark tree top. - -Then an old fellow rose and thanked the host. He fumbled with his wine -glass and now and then squeezed out a word, just as if he had been on -the point of suffocation before he got it out. And his shadow, ragged -and giantlike, mounted the loosening plaster of the walls of Selambshof. - -“Kalle Brundin,” he shouted, “Kalle Brundin! All here present join with -me! And what do we join in? We join in the belief that this has been a -damned fine party. Damned jolly to see you out here in your old -Selambshof! Thank you, Kalle Brundin! A fourfold hurrah for Kalle -Brundin and his Selambshof. May he live long: hip, hip, hurrah!” - -In reply Kalle Brundin pointed with an elegant gesture to the landing -stage and the steamer. And instantly the whole company stumbled towards -it, so that the table was deserted. - -Sssh! Bang! there went the first rocket. And then came cracking -grasshoppers and divers that fizzed and spluttered in the water, and -golden rains that vomited sparks round the gate posts, and bright Roman -candles, and then rockets again and crackers and starlights. - -Peter slipped down out of the tree. This was too much. He shrank as if -the sparks had rained in his eyes. What was it that sparkled and cracked -but Brundin’s arrogance. This abominable Brundin filled the skies with -his violent, sneering, exultant pride. - -But amidst the smell of powder there came some odours from the table and -then it struck Peter that Brundin for the moment was not guarding his -interests on the terrace. In a trice Peter was there. Like a frightened, -thieving dog he gulped down pieces of meat, cake and whatever was left -in the wine glasses. He had not time to taste anything properly and half -choked himself, but somehow it did him good all the same. It was as if -he had stolen back a little of his own, and with a somewhat easier mind -he stole away into the darkness again. - -The fireworks were over and the guests stumbled back to their punch -glasses again. But now it seemed as if the last remnants of their -dignity had vanished with the rockets. Some fell down on the chairs as -if their legs had been struck off beneath them. And some stood with -their arms round each others’ necks, panting, as if they would drown -each other in friendship. And others were quarrelling with raised voices -that were lost among the shy shadows of the still August night. But -Brundin sat there unperturbed and contented in the midst of the noise, -like the devil at a horsefair, smiling with half-closed eyes and puffing -at his cigar. - -Then Peter heard somebody come stamping out on the kitchen stairs where -he was sitting. It was old Kristin. In the light of the lanterns which -now caught fire and flared up one after the other she raised her -trembling, bony arms like two withered branches. And she muttered a long -string of reproaches and threats against the impious bailiff and his -inhuman company. When she caught sight of Peter her voice, which seemed -to have been worn down to a pale, feeble thread by all the unhappiness -and misery of this world, broke and putting her cold, withered hand on -his head, she said: “You poor orphan children! We all know what happens -to them. You will never grow up to sit at Selambshof. No. No!” - -Thereupon old Kristin stumped in again. But Peter felt the chill of that -withered, trembling hand through his whole body right down to his toes. - -Then Frida came carrying a tray of empty glasses, pursued by panting and -shouting figures, which let fall coins in the pockets of her apron and -in her hair and down her plump neck inside her cotton blouse. But she -looked over their shoulders at Brundin, who was standing by the corner -of his wing of the house making some mysterious signs. - -Then the whole company broke up and returned home by land and down the -avenue the babel of voices gradually disappeared. - -Peter was just going to bed. He did not light the lamp, but sat for a -moment balanced on the edge of the bed and listening to Stellan’s -breathing beside him. Then he crept to the window again. - -All was dark and silent. Only from a chink in a blind in the bailiff’s -wing a narrow streak of light cut the darkness. Over the dusky house -there hung the witchery of an unknown fear. As Peter stared out he -seemed to see a shadow cross the yard and disappear under the lime tree -by Brundin’s porch. Peter stole quietly down the stairs again. The sky -had clouded over and it had become strangely oppressive. There was -soughing and whispering in the darkness. Peter walked on the edge of the -grass so that the gravel should not crunch beneath his feet. In the -sweet smell under the lime tree he suddenly struck against something -soft, and heard a low, frightened cry. - -It was Hedvig, his sister. He had not seen her the whole evening. He -pinched her arm: - -“What are you doing here, girl?” - -Hedvig was breathing heavily. Through the darkness he could almost see -how pale she was. - -“Frida!” It escaped her in a whisper, and she pointed to a window that -stood open where the blind was drawn: “There, there!” - -Peter put his arm round her waist in order to pass her on the narrow -grass edge. She was trembling and she seemed in a cold sweat, blended of -shame, curiosity and disgust. - -“Go in again,” he mumbled harshly. - -She gave a start as if he had struck her and ran in. But Peter stepped -noiselessly up to the open window. There was light inside and he heard -the sound of chairs being moved, giggles and whispering. But it was -impossible to see anything. He carefully pushed aside the blind a little -with a pencil. - -Between a box in the window and the corner of a yellow wardrobe he could -catch a glimpse over the end of the bed of some curls of brown hair and -a big, dark hand that pressed against something soft and white. - -Peter wanted to lift the blind higher but then a bottle on the -window-sill tipped over and an arm was stretched out and put out the -lamp. - -He ran away as if possessed. - -Now he lies stretched out on his bed, staring into the darkness. He lies -as still as a terrified insect feigning death. - -Fancy that it was Frida—the Frida who brought in his shoes and clothes -in the morning! - -Hitherto when Peter had looked at the girl he felt a certain uneasiness -in her presence—an uneasiness which found expression chiefly in giggles -and rudeness. But nothing in the world would have induced him to touch -her. - -But Brundin dared! For him nothing was forbidden and nothing dangerous. -He did everything he liked. - -By contrast with his own helplessness Brundin became a monster of power -and impudence. - -The darkness became oppressive round the poor boy, he suddenly felt the -girl in his inmost being, in the very marrow of his bone. But not her -alone, that was the horror of it! This man whom he dreaded, his pet -horror was also there. His feelings were a strange mixture of shame, -lust, fear, powerlessness, loneliness and grief. The very springs of -life were diverted and unclean from the beginning. Even his first dreams -of awakening were sullied by anxiety, and by cowardly, curious hate. - -The more tired Peter became the more distinctly did he feel how the -chill of old Kristin’s hand passed through his body. And Frida dissolved -and disappeared. But Brundin remained. He pursued Peter deep into the -night’s sleep. - -His sleep was like that of one in a besieged fortress, where one hears -the shots shattering bit by bit the walls that save one from -destruction. - - * * * * * - -Yes, this was the story of Peter the Watch-dog. - -We must not forget that this thin and anxious figure was the embryo of -the future coarse and brutal Peter the Boss. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - V - - +FEAR+ - - -Excited and curious, Frida thrust her head into the girls’ room: - -“If you please, Miss Hedvig,—you ought to let me make your bed on a day -like this.” - -Hedvig was leaning over her narrow bed with her black hair full of -curling papers. She would soon be fifteen years old now. Her breasts -were already filling out beneath her bodice. Her lips were very red, and -looked almost skinless, in her long pale face. - -“No,” she said vehemently, “Kristin must come up.” - -For some time past Hedvig had made her own bed. She could not bear Frida -to touch anything of hers. She seemed to shiver as in a cold draught and -her teeth began to chatter as soon as the plump, laughing hussy came -near her. But the maid did not pay her back in the same coin. The -excellent Frida had no stiff-necked pride. With a mixture of good nature -and bad conscience she only became more servile. “Kristin? very well.” - -Humming softly as usual she vanished down the stairs. - -Laura yawned, stretched herself lazily and shook her fair hair. For all -her laziness her arch eyes sparkled. She was not in the least like her -elder sister: - -“You really are mad, Hedvig,” she said, jumping out of the bed. - -Then Kristin came puffing and muttering up the stairs. Her old black -frock had not shrunk as she herself had done, and it seemed almost empty -when she sank down on the edge of the bed. Her hands twitched and -trembled as if they had gone to sleep in her lap and were dreaming of -knitting needles. - -“Well, Hedvig, do you know your catechism, so that we need not be -ashamed of you?” - -Laura came up, stark naked, with a lather of soap on her neck: - -“Know her catechism? when she is overflowing with it!” - -The old woman had no smile for this fresh, plump young thing. - -“Are you not ashamed, child, to talk like that of God’s word? And you -won’t be ready in time either.” - -Hedvig had done her hair and Kristin helped her on with the white frock -that reached almost to her ankles. She fumbled a long time with the -fastenings at the back, and then she arranged the pleats with bony, -trembling fingers. - -“Just like dressing a little bride,” she muttered. “And truth it is that -it is the best of bridegrooms you are meeting today!” - -But behind Kristin’s back Hedvig stole a glance at herself in the -mirror. It was with a shy, unsteady look she saw her own image. There -was not a spark of fresh and natural joy. - -Now it was breakfast time. The other children, arrayed in their poor -best, were already sitting round the table. But it was impossible to get -Hedvig down. She remained in the little girls’ room, and in the end -Kristin had to take a plate of porridge to her. Laura also soon came -running back. A new frock was anyhow a new frock. And this was almost -the beginning of long skirts and putting the hair up. And perhaps she -might even see Hedvig cry! - -A carriage was heard crunching the gravel outside. Hedvig jumped up. It -was only old Hermansson. Yes! of course he must come with them. She sank -down on her chair again. Laura was looking at her with big greedy eyes, -purring like a cat. - -“_He_ is also coming,” she said suddenly in a sleek little voice. “I -heard him order the dog-cart.” - -Hedvig turned pale, just as one’s knuckles whiten when one clenches -one’s fist. - -“What _he_?” - -“Mr. Brundin, of course.” - -Over Hedvig’s face spread an expression of anxious and obstinate -defiance which made it look almost old. Everybody was waiting about for -an opportunity to point her out, everybody— - -“What right has he to come. His place is among the farmhands.” And with -that she pushed Laura out of the room and locked the door. - -But then she stole to the window and stood there hidden by the curtain. - -Then the bailiff, Brundin, came driving in his little dog-cart. He wore -a fur coat, a top hat thrust back on his head, and red dogskin gloves. - -Hedvig devoured him with her eyes, just like a boy who steals his first -glass of strong drink, and is frightened when it burns his throat. Then -she caught sight of Peter. He was standing some distance away with his -coarse red hands hanging out of his short sleeves. He pulled a face at -the bailiff and then looked furtively up at the girls’ room. Hedvig ran -away from the window, and sat down in a corner fidgetting with her -handkerchief. She looked as if she had been struck. - -Now they were calling her. Now she _must_ go down—“God! if only it were -over,” she thought. Stiffly and hesitatingly, as if afraid to lose her -balance, she greeted old Hermansson. But she shot past the outstretched -hand of Brundin as if impelled by an invisible force, rushed out to the -carriage and crept into a corner. With her pale face and her screwed-up -eyes, she looked like some strange creature of the twilight which had -been forced out into the merciless spring sunshine. - -Old Kristin had to run after her with her coat and hat. - -At last the carriage was full and they started off. Out in the yard in -the sunshine it was still temptingly warm. The lilac bushes had great -green buds and the damp soil of the flower beds was steaming round the -bulbs. But in the avenue they met the cold air from the dirty snow in -the ditches. And whenever a little cloud hid the sun for a moment, they -were back in winter again. It was one of those treacherous and dangerous -days when the cautious and the wise, such as old Hermansson, prefer to -keep their fur coats on. - -It was some distance to the Church, which was situated at a crossing of -two roads, by the side of a plain which was chequered by the black, -brown, and green of fallow land, pastures, and young rye. - -Behind it rose a bare slope sprinkled with juniper trees which resembled -dark solid flames. The Church was very old, without a tower. With its -high black roof, its coarse walls of rustic stone, it resembled a -fortress, a barn, or a cellar. And there was a musty smell beneath the -vaulted roof, for in spite of the big rusty stove, the cold winter air -still lingered. - -With the troop of children close upon his heels old Hermansson squeezed -himself into the high narrow pew. He did so the more calmly as the pew -was at this moment the most respectable place. But to Mr. Brundin the -hard wooden seat of duty at once seemed repugnant. - -Hedvig stealthily joined the other children who were to be confirmed, -and sat down under the pulpit. - -The clergyman was an old shaggy-bearded man with a face like granite and -reindeer-moss. This teacher of Our Lord began the catechism in a dry, -hard voice, as if he were engaged in an interrogation on the four rules -of arithmetic rather than in partaking of the divine sacrament. In this -severe old Church, confronted by this severe old man, the gospel seemed -to be a vain mockery and punishment, the great punishment, the only -reality. It was strange to hear the young girlish voices answer his -lifeless voice as it spelled out, without a spark of fire, the long -record of judgment. It was as if Death had been sitting on a stone and -piped a tune on a dry bone, while frightened Echo answered from the -green shores of life. There was in the quick, breathless repetition of -the lesson every degree of fear, from the side-glance which would avoid -the whip, down to the low trembling sigh that dies out in a sob. But he -who had ears to hear would nevertheless have been startled by Hedvig’s -voice. She knew her lesson and her voice did not shake, but there was -something unnaturally tense, something of keenest anguish in her voice. - -What sort of a God was it whom Hedvig feared and whom she was to receive -today at the altar rails. Let us pause to reflect on his origin and on -his history, which is much older than Hedvig’s first meeting with the -clergyman. From the beginning, he was a God from the Servants’ Hall and -he was an inheritance from Hedvig’s first horror, the Bogey Man! - -We never escape from our first impressions and experiences. They bind us -with the fibres of deep-seated roots which we never draw up into the -full light of consciousness. - -There Kristin, severe and foreboding, stood over the little sugar thief -whom she had caught: “Hedvig, if you do not leave the sugar box alone, -the Bogey Man will come and take you.” - -From the beginning these two experiences blended, and each by -unfortunate association strengthened the influence of the other. The -more frightened she grew of the Bogey Man, the more she thought of the -sugar box, and the more she thought of the sugar box, the more -frightened she grew of the Bogey Man. At last he overshadowed her whole -existence. He was in the dark hole under the kitchen stairs; in -Kristin’s big black book; in the dull eyes of her moribund apoplectic -father, in the hawk-like face of her grandfather in there over the green -sofa. The darker it grew, the more dangerous the Bogey Man became. She -ate her supper slowly, slowly, in order to postpone the inevitable. -Alone and silent in her fear, she sat amongst her sisters and brothers -who romped and struggled round about her. Then they were driven to bed. -“Please, Kristin, don’t pull down the blind. Dear Kristin, please leave -the lamp a little longer.” - -It was no use. In vain she pulled the bedclothes over her head, the -Bogey Man was still there, the blackest thing in the darkness. And he -came sneaking into her dreams and groped with his shadow hands about her -little trembling heart so that she often awoke with a loud shriek in the -middle of the night. - -In her terror, Hedvig attached herself more and more closely to old -Kristin, who knew all about all these ominous mysteries. And thus it -came about that God succeeded to the Bogey Man. - -But this intimacy during the long hours of twilight with an old, tired, -and harried creature who had not the sense to spare tender ears, was -dangerous. In everyday life Kristin’s God was a mean and nagging -kitchen-God whose chief business was to punish the maids’ laziness and -pilfering. But he had also his greater and more threatening moods when -he emerged from his past in a small soldiers’ cottage in a mighty -Småland forest in order to punish incendiaries and murderers and to look -after brownies and trolls. When on Sunday evenings Kristin sat reading -aloud from the Old Testament her voice would assume an expression of -cruel lamentation, something submissively threatening which gripped -Hedvig with a deep awe of the people through the dim and distant ages. - -In the dark, Hedvig grew frightened of God. Not even school when it -began with its monotonous and mechanical cramming, not even the -alleviating joys of companionship, could kill her fear. Amidst the noise -of the class-room she sat alone in communion with both the great and the -dangerous. Before she could read properly, she spelled out greedily and -eagerly the tale of the fall of man and the ten commandments. Especially -the seventh commandment made a deep impression on her. Here was the -terrible fascination of the unknown. By and by she began to read the -Bible for herself. There was much to brood over, much that nourished her -fears, which now began to undergo strange transformation. She could sit -for hours thinking of such expressions as “circumcision,” -“menstruation,” then she imagined she bore a son. Her gaze fastened on -passages concerning the sin of fornication, the great Babylonian harlot, -Absolom’s exploits on the roof of the house with King David’s -concubines. - -The darkness enclosing Hedvig’s God began to be oppressive. His too -early threats provoked the very sins which he intended to prevent. She -brooded over evil till at last it began to stir in her blood. Her ever -present fear developed into stealthy, premature curiosity. It was no -longer anything so white and innocent as sugar that Hedvig now stole. -No! In the forbidden box now lay worm eaten, half rotten fruit fallen -from the tree of knowledge of good and evil. But there was still the -same fatal and even more intimate association of ideas as in the case of -the sugar and the Bogey Man. - -Soon Hedvig’s curiosity found something different from the shadowy -figures of the old rat-eaten family Bible to brood over and to spy out, -namely, the bailiff and Frida. - -That sultry night when Peter caught her peeping under the blind into -Brundin’s window had been a fateful night in her life. The discovery of -the secret of the bailiff’s wing was the greatest and most dangerous -discovery she had yet made. Hot and cold by turns, tempted, frightened, -caught in the act, she had crept to bed. Her soul was outraged. Night -and day the memory of that scene remained with her. She was afraid of -Peter, disgusted with Frida, but could not get the man out of her -thoughts. It was like an obsession. She avoided him, scarcely greeted -him, could not for anything in the world look him in the face. But -secretly she devoured him with her eyes. His bold, wicked self-assurance -had some inexpressible allurement for her. She found herself incessantly -following this sinner, and then fled, frightened and ashamed, to her -bed. But as she had shaped her God out of fear, he had no pity and could -not help her. This girlish love might have been the means of leading her -out into the fresh air if it had not been of such a strange and stunted -kind. As it was, it only threw her back more and more upon herself. - -Such was the Hedvig who now knelt by the altar rails and received the -bread and the wine from the hand of the old clergyman. She had grown up -in the shadow of her own dreams like one of those long white shoots that -grew down in the deep darkness. Not one poor single little bud of her -being had been able to open out in the clear sunshine of the busy, -living world. In a pew behind sat the genteel farmer, Brundin, with his -pert military moustache, not for a moment suspecting that he was a -terrible Behemoth, sucking the nourishment out of a poor little woman’s -soul. - -Communion was over. The girls rose with tear-stained faces and walked -slowly, hesitatingly, down the aisle. Hedvig was pale and dry-eyed. -Outside it had suddenly begun to snow, wet ice-cold snow, and it was -pathetic to see her as she stood amongst these thinly clad, shivering -children, slowly and awkwardly bidding each other good-bye, and looking -like butterflies that have left their chrysalis too soon and have no -flowers to rest on. The girl from Selambshof was better dressed than the -poor peasant girls. And she was the prettiest of them too. But she -looked more forlorn and colder than the poor lonely little snow-drops -that shivered amongst the snowflakes on a poor man’s grave behind her. - -Old Hermansson had something to say to the Vicar. Brundin came up to -Hedvig and made his compliments. - -“Well, Hedvig, that went off splendidly! Now you are a big grown-up lady -and I suppose I must call you Miss Hedvig. But we must not let it snow -any longer on your white hat.” - -He led her to the carriage which was waiting with the hood up, helped -her in and fastened the apron. Hedvig drew back as if his touch had -scorched her. When he had gone she sat there trembling and with -chattering teeth. Will he drive before or after us, she thought. If he -drives before us, I can sit and look at him the whole time. But when her -guardian at last arrived and they started with Brundin in front, she -stared obstinately at a hole in the apron, because she was afraid of -God. - -Both old Hermansson and Brundin were to stay for dinner. A gloomy snow -light filled the dining-room and there was a fire burning, just as in -mid-winter. Hedvig sat stiff and silent in the place of honour, and -scarcely tasted the food. Then her guardian solemnly drew forth a -present from his coat pocket. It was a little watch with Hedvig’s -initials engraved on it. He made a short admonitory speech before giving -it to her and hoped that she would learn to make the same good use of -time as he had done when he was young. He even finished with a little -verse: - - - “May this watch the right time tell - To a little girl who works right well.” - - -Hedvig sat fidgetting on her chair with downcast eyes, as if she were -being scolded. It was with difficulty that she stood up and returned -thanks for the gift with a stiff curtsey. - -Now it was Brundin’s turn to put his hand in his pocket. He pulled out a -red case, opened the lid with a snap and, bowing gallantly, handed her a -narrow gold brooch. - -“Well, Miss Hedvig, I also take the liberty of offering a simple little -gift. Please accept it, Miss Hedvig. Hall-marked!” - -Hedvig blanched. Her glass trembled against the edge of her plate as she -set it down. Her dark eyes fastened, wide-open with fright, on a spot on -the wall opposite. She stretched out her hand like a blind man and -groped for the case. But she stopped half way. She had suddenly caught -sight of Frida, who, with a bottle of port in one hand and a napkin in -the other, forgot her duties and bent over Brundin’s shoulder to stare -greedily at the glittering ornament. Hedvig’s voice, unnaturally tense, -suddenly cut the silence: - -“No, I don’t want the brooch—give it to ... to Frida instead.” - -She covered her face with her hands and ran upstairs and threw herself -on her bed. - -Nobody round the table said anything. Frida tittered a little. Then she -stood crimson and fidgetted for a moment before she could pull herself -together and go out. Brundin muttered something that sounded like a -curse, and sat silently playing with his little fair moustache, looking -half embarrassed and half self-satisfied. Peter almost collapsed with -excitement. - -Now Brundin will be kicked out, he thought, and an agreeable, cold -shiver passed through his bones. Old Hermansson had become rigid, with -his spoon half way between his mouth and his plate and looking very -upset. At last Laura’s voice broke the spell: - -“Hedvig is mad,” she said and jumped up as she sat on her chair, for she -had a curious trick of being able to jump whilst sitting. - -“There now, she is spoiling everything,” thought Peter, and gave her a -pinch under the table. Quite right, old Hermansson did not seize Brundin -by the collar and kick him out. Instead he rose with slow dignity, and -took up the case and the brooch: - -“I will teach this ill-bred girl how to receive a well-meant gift,” he -said, with an air that promised full amends to Brundin. Then he stalked -off after Hedvig. - -He found her lying full length on her bed in her white frock, which -looked like a shroud. She lay there dry-eyed staring up at the ceiling. - -“Now put this brooch in your frock, Hedvig, and go down and say thank -you nicely,” he said. - -A shiver passed through her and the skin on her thin arms looked like -goose flesh. - -“Please, please, leave me alone,” she begged. - -“Put the brooch on at once!” - -“No, no, it is sinful,” she stammered and turned her face to the wall. - -Then old Hermansson thought he ought not to insist any longer. He left -the case on the table beside the bed and went downstairs again. - -“The poor child has had a trying day today,” he said to the bailiff. -“She seems strangely upset. I thought I ought to let her put off her -apologies.” - -Then he returned to his tart. - -But up in her room Hedvig lay with the red case on her breast. Suddenly -she tore out the brooch and stuck the pin deep into her left hand. Then -she sucked drop after drop of the slowly oozing blood. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VI - - +THE TWO FAIR HEADS+ - - -The terrace at Selambshof was adorned with two small ship’s-guns on -gun-carriages of decayed oak. They were spiked with pine-needles and -twigs, and it was long since a birthday salute had been fired with them. -Laura sat astride of one of these, swinging her legs lazily and catching -maple-blossoms in her hat. It was a fine day in the beginning of June, -and with each breeze there rained down over the old cannon golden green -maple blossoms, and the pools glistened after the night’s rain. - -Sometimes it almost looked as if an idyl could exist even in the -presence of the sham Gothic of Selambshof. - -The sun gently warmed the fair down on Laura’s neck. She kept behind the -house today, because she had put up her hair for the first time, though -only for fun, of course. She thought it would be jolly to see what sort -of a face Herman would make. He would probably appear in the avenue -soon. - -Otherwise it was rather empty at Selambshof this summer. Peter was laid -up with measles. And there was not even Hedvig to quarrel with. She had -been sent away to an old aunt in Sala. Usually she had sat and sulked in -a corner since the day when she behaved so idiotically to Brundin. It -was impossible to get her down into the garden, for she was frightened -to approach the bailiff’s quarters. And when into the bargain old -Kristin died she became so refractory that old Hermansson had to send -her away. - -Not that Laura understood the reason. But when she sat lonely like this -and looked at the shadows of the leaves dancing and jumping about and -overtaking each other down on the gravel, it amused her to think of that -story. And then suddenly Laura thought of Herman again. Why was he -really so anxious to be alone with her lately? Herman was not like his -old self, no—there was something strange about him. - -There he was already in the avenue! - -Yes, there was Herman Hermansson coming up, with his schoolcap on the -back of his head and swinging a stick. He tried to look quite -unconcerned and indifferent. But he did not succeed, because secretly he -stole anxious glances on all sides, and even his whistle sounded somehow -shy, humble and supplicating. - -Laura’s little woman’s heart beat happily and she felt a gay and -mischievous wish to play a little with old Hermansson’s tall, fine boy. -So she hurried into the kitchen before he had caught sight of her. - -There sat Miss Isaksson, the new housekeeper. She was tall, pale, and -thin, and she held the coffee grinder in one hand and a fat novel in the -other. And she ground and read and nodded her head sadly to herself. - -Laura peeped out of the window. - -“Do they get married?” she giggled. - -“I won’t look at the end,” sighed Miss Isaksson, “but it is a sad book, -so they will probably both die.” - -Now Herman was on the terrace. He glanced shyly round him and had a -guilty look. Laura was enjoying herself and did not hurry. She had a -vague feeling of superiority over both Herman and poor, thin Miss -Isaksson. At last she was pleased to emerge on the steps with an air of -marked indifference and boredom. - -Herman jumped up as if someone had commanded “attention!” He certainly -did not dare to make any comment on Laura’s having put her hair up, for -that only increased his shyness and diffidence. - -“Will you come fishing with me for a bit, Laura?” - -“What! fishing?” - -“Do, please, only for a short time.” - -“Well, perhaps I will, if Stellan comes too.” - -It was always the same, Stellan had to be there too, and so Herman was -forced against his will to go and persuade that young lordling, who lay -in a tattered old hammock in the park, staring at his toes, to join -them. Only after a long discussion did he lazily get out of the hammock. - -At last three floats bobbed about on the half-clear, glittering, -greenish June water which can look so warm and inviting from the shore -and is yet so icy cold when you venture in. - -Stellan had the first bite. - -“What rotten fish! Not worth while getting dirty for!” - -He was in a bad temper. It irritated him that Herman could find any -pleasure in putting on worms for that fat Laura. - -Now it was Herman’s turn. His float dived deep down without his noticing -it; he was so absorbed in Laura. And when at last he awoke he pulled so -violently that the roach got free and the hook caught in Laura’s hat. -Then Laura scolded him and Stellan shrugged his shoulders. - -“Were you hoarse yesterday, Herman?” he said in a cold, mocking voice. - -This formula had a crushing effect. Once when Herman had been reproved -because he did not know his history lesson he had stood up and said: -“Please sir, I was so hoarse yesterday that I could not learn my -lesson.” Since then he was always asked the unfortunate question: “Were -you hoarse yesterday, Herman?” And each time Laura laughed heartily. It -was a cause of inexpressible suffering to his proud, chivalrous nature. -Herman tried to keep up an appearance of gay indifference and to join in -the laugh of these cruel companions. But his was a poor, weak mockery of -a laugh. - -They were already thoroughly tired of fishing and began to jump about on -the stones and the roots of the alder trees along the shore. This year’s -reeds were just beginning to come up between the yellow stalks of last -year’s, the dragon flies flew past like blue, silken threads in a -current of air, and dark, green beetles hovered up and down like little -balls supported by an invisible force. The day was almost too warm and -fine. They could not make up their minds to do anything—they only teased -each other and had their little quarrels. Now they are amongst the cows -in the Hökar meadow, and Herman catches sight of a starling hopping -between the hind legs of the bell-cow and incessantly flying up to catch -a fly on its udders. - -“Look at that starling, Laura!” he cried, proud of the interesting -observation he had made. “Look at that starling, he is friendly with the -cow.” - -“That’s nothing compared with Egypt,” snapped Stellan. “There the birds -come and pick the teeth of the crocodiles. And they keep their mouths -quite still. But of course, you haven’t heard of that.” - -No, Herman had not heard of that, so probably he had been hoarse again. - -Then Laura had an idea. She drew her brother aside. - -“I say, Stellan, shall we get Herman to climb the oak?” - -It was an enormous oak growing on a green hillock by the roadside, just -where the avenue ended. - -“All right!” - -They sat down on a stone in the shade. Stellan looked up at the tree -with the eyes of an expert. - -“I say, Herman, that is an awfully difficult tree.” - -“Not so very. If it weren’t so hot....” - -“Yes, the first bit is easy. I can see that too—but further up there is -a long bit without branches.” - -“Nonsense. You can swing yourself up. If it weren’t so warm....” - -“Of course—you can brag—but you daren’t do it,” scoffed Laura. - -“Daren’t I?” - -“No, you daren’t.” - -Herman jumped up, red in the face, and tore off his coat. At last he had -a chance of shining, and of dazzling the cruel one by a knightly deed. - -“I’ll show you whether I dare!” he cried. - -And then he began to climb. It really was a difficult tree. His fingers -were already bleeding and, ritsch! he tore one of his shirt sleeves. For -a moment he was on the point of falling down. The perspiration stood out -on his forehead and his heart beat fast. But he set his teeth and -struggled on. _She_ was standing down there admiring him. - -Now he had reached the very top swaying in the wind. Breathless he -pushed away a branch in order to be seen and to enjoy his triumph. - -But the stone was empty. Nobody was visible. - -“Laura,” he called, “Laura, do you see that I was not afraid?” - -No answer. Down below everything was green, silent and empty. Above, -abandoned, covered with dirt from the wet bark, Herman was sitting up -among the whispering, swaying masses of leaves. His hands were aching, -and he had an unpleasant sensation in his stomach. Most of all he would -like to throw himself down and break his neck in order to punish a hard -and unfeeling world. - -He resisted this temptation, however, and climbed down with moderate -care; he put on his coat and walked home in order to grind at the -subjects in which he had failed in his examination last spring. You -could see even by his back that he was deeply hurt and had nothing left -but duty to live for. - -But Laura stepped out from behind one of the trees in the avenue where -she had been hiding with Stellan. She smiled and danced and her voice -rang out clear and mocking in the mellow summer air: - -“Were you hoarse yesterday, Herman? Were you hoarse yesterday?” - -Herman did not answer. Only his back stiffened still more and he took -still longer steps. And then he disappeared behind the willows by the -wash house. - -The next day Laura again sat astride the gun catching maple blossoms in -her hat and looking down the avenue now and then, ready to begin the -jolly game over again. - -But that was not to be. Herman did not come. It was almost dinner time -and still Herman did not come. “I see, he is sulking,” thought Laura. -“Well, let him!” And with her nose in the air she hopped away to the -lean Miss Isaksson and borrowed a big novel. - -But Stellan was lying in the hammock like a fish in a net and yawned and -became more and more sleepy and bad-tempered. At last he climbed out, -however, opened the gate with a kick, without taking his hands out of -his pockets, and slipped down to the jetty where the washing and rinsing -was done, and where Selambshof’s rotten old rowing boat lay hopelessly -water-logged and simply could not be made water tight. - -“What an establishment this Selambshof! What a dilapidated, dull, -impossible, old place!” - -And just at this moment the special steamer with the usual Stonehill -party for the summer arrived. He could see little Percy in white sailor -trousers walking along the pier. - -Stonehill lay on the other shore opposite Selambshof. It was an awfully -fine place with a big globe mirror and white plaster statues and -coloured glass windows round the verandahs, as was the fashion in the -villas of the well-to-do at that time. And there were temples and -hothouses with peaches and grapes, for Percy’s mother was awfully rich. -His father had got his money by smuggling during the war in America. But -now he was dead. - -Stellan kicked angrily at what was left above water of the old rowing -boat. How could he get across to Stonehill now? - -It was only last summer that he had made the acquaintance of the “china -doll.” He called Percy Hill “china doll” because he looked so brittle -and so fine. That summer he had also had plenty of fun on the lake with -Manne von Strelert at Kolsnäs, for Manne never wanted to be at home -because his tutor was there. Stellan thought this was a pity, because -there was nothing he admired so much as the horses at Kolsnäs. But Manne -was so obstinate! And there was added spice in their excursions on the -lake since they had noticed the boy in white stealing behind the rose -hedge and the fine, high fence at Stonehill, and gazing enviously at -them. In order to tease him they used to hover about the Stonehill -landing stage. One day Manne called out: - -“Won’t you come out on the lake with us?” - -“I’m not allowed.” - -“Come out on the landing stage, then.” - -“Mother is afraid I might tumble in.” - -“What have you got a sailor’s suit on for, then?” - -The boy could not answer. He was a prisoner of the roses. He was a poor -little land sailor, and the two sunburnt sailors jeered at him -mercilessly. - -“You’re a beastly coward,” called Manne. “I have ridden the legs off a -horse and I have thrashed my tutor. You are a beastly coward.” - -Then the boy in white stepped out on to the stage. - -“My name is Percy,” he said with a wan, little smile, “and I am not a -coward.” - -Then he climbed into Stellan’s boat. - -“Now, let us see who can splash the other most!” cried Manne, and Percy -was wet through at once. - -“Now you will be spanked when you get home.” - -Percy’s face looked troubled. - -“No, but I shall have to go to bed. And then the doctor will come, of -course.” - -At this stage in their acquaintance Stellan suddenly checked Manne’s -arrogance and changed his tactics. He had suddenly come to think of all -the fine things visible through the railings round Stonehill. - -“Take off your coat and spread it out on the seat and it will soon dry,” -he said. - -Percy obeyed. After a moment’s reflection Stellan continued, “So you -never get a thrashing?” - -“No,” said Percy with something of a sigh. - -“Must you go without your dinner, then?” - -“Without dinner?” asked Percy astonished, “they stuff me with food.” - -This somehow appealed to Stellan. - -“Perhaps you are allowed to eat as much as you like in the hothouses,” -he mumbled, almost shyly. - -“Of course,” answered Percy with indifference. - -“May I come with you some time?” - -“Yes, come tomorrow, both of you, and we’ll have fruit juice and -biscuits first, and then go into the hothouses.” - -It was in this way Stellan penetrated beyond the high, white fence round -Stonehill. From the beginning he tried to imitate the aristocratic -indifference of the “china doll” to all the good things to eat. Except, -of course, when he thought nobody was looking, and then he gobbled up -all he could. Worldly wisdom and fine manners are all very well, but we -are only human after all.... - -Yes, all this had happened the year before. Now he was cut off from all -that splendour, because of the rotten old boat, and the gardener’s -tarred punt he was ashamed to go in. - -Stellan was already walking away from the pier, where the water -glittered and beat so mockingly against the wet boards, when it suddenly -struck him that at Ekbacken old Hermansson had a smart little craft that -was decorated every Sunday with a fine display of streamers in the stem, -and a flag in the stern. - -“I was beastly stupid, yesterday,” he thought, “beastly stupid,” and his -usual expression, the cool, half-sneer returned. - -Stellan stole cautiously across the park so as not to be seen or have -Laura on his heels. From the bend in the avenue he got a good view of -Ekbacken. And he stopped a moment, impressed by the sight. It seemed as -if he were looking at Ekbacken for the first time. An expression of -amazing cunning came into Stellan’s face, as he passed in through the -red wooden gateway. Already his thoughts travelled far, far beyond to -old Hermansson’s fine, little boat. - -Ekbacken Sawmill and Shipyard was a fine, old business that ran itself. -Trustworthy, leisurely, old workers stalked about on the timber rafts -inside the boom, and there were steady, old, grey sailors who had sailed -in all the seas of the world and were caulking old brigs and barges. And -inside in the office sat the book-keeper Lundbom, with eyeglasses and a -leather shade, writing out bills to a lot of good and safe customers, -who paid in cash and not with miserable acceptances. There also sat old -Hermansson reading his paper. There was such a blessed peace that he had -smoked half his cigar and the ash was still on it. - -He looked up at Stellan with an expression of fatherly benevolence. - -“Good-morning, my dear boy. You are looking for Herman, I suppose, but -he is at his lessons now. Yes, that’s what happens when you flunk. Come -along now, and let us have a talk.” - -Stellan asked for nothing better. They went over to the house in a -pretty oak wood just by the road to town. On the other side spread soft, -billowing, green fields set with old, brown barns. This land also -belonged to Ekbacken, but was let to tobacco growers. On the town side -the estate was sheltered by some stony hillocks with a few pines here -and there, behind which, however, some high, bare walls had entirely -shot up and threatened to destroy the idyl. - -The house itself was an old, but well-preserved one story house, long -and low, where everything from the door handles to the brass doors of -the Marieberg earthenware stoves was radiantly clean and polished. - -“Why have I not been to Ekbacken more often?” thought Stellan. - -Old Hermansson talked about school and praised Herman because he had -worked hard, which praise the young man listened to with an open -countenance. It opened up further vistas to him. Cleverly he manœuvred -the conversation in the direction he wanted. School and school friends, -of course! There was Manne at Kolsnäs. He was a jolly decent fellow. And -his father, who was a chamberlain to the King, could come and go at -court just as he pleased. And they had footmen and horses and everything -else. It really was strange that Herman did not see more of Manne. Manne -liked Herman awfully. He had told Stellan so—and fancy what fun it would -be for Manne to look at all the boats in the yard. And Percy Hill. -Didn’t Mr. Hermansson know him and how tremendously rich he was. And -Percy was so awfully generous and kind and obedient. Mr. Hermansson -would certainly like him.... - -It became clearer and clearer to Stellan. It was as if he could look -straight through old Hermansson and discover his little vanity. Victory -seemed already secure, when at last he got out his real purpose. It -would soon be his birthday. He had been so often in Manne’s and Percy’s -houses that he was really ashamed and wanted most awfully to invite them -to something in return. But he could not do so at home, as Mr. -Hermansson would understand. There was poor father who was nothing for -strangers to look at. And besides, Peter had measles. So wouldn’t it be -nice if Mr. Hermansson would be so awfully kind as to let him have a -little party here at Ekbacken, where everything was so fine and elegant. -And as to the cost, well, his mother had left Stellan something and he -might use that. - -“Nonsense, my boy,” beamed old Hermansson, “I will give a little dinner -for you with pleasure.” - -Then Stellan rushed into Herman and slapped him on the back: - -“I say, you’re not angry still, are you? We’ll stick together—what?” - -Herman, in the loneliness of his heart, was not the one to reject a word -of reconciliation. - -Next day they rigged out old Hermansson’s little lugger. For many years -it had done nothing but lie by the pier and look smart, for old -Hermansson was rather afraid of the lake, even though he was owner of a -shipyard. But now, as I have already mentioned, the boat was fitted out. -It was also the result of Stellan’s diabolical powers of persuasion that -the boys were permitted to sail the boat. Herman had never dreamt of -such happiness. They started at once for Stonehill and Kolsnäs and -conveyed the invitation for the birthday party at Ekbacken. - - * * * * * - -At home at Selambshof Laura sank into ever deeper and deeper -reflections. Herman no longer came up the avenue. And Stellan was also -away most of the time. Our young lady felt lonely and very bored. -Whenever she did get hold of Stellan he only shrugged his shoulders and -looked contemptuous. And he always managed to get away without her -discovering where he went. - -But one fine day when she was sitting on the landing stage, there came a -smart, white sailing boat gliding past. At the foresail-sheet sat -Herman. But astern Stellan was lounging like a prince, his head against -the tiller and his feet up against the gunwale. When he caught sight of -Laura on the landing stage he put about so that Herman should not notice -her. And Laura was so dumbfounded and furious that she did not call out -to them. She roamed about on the shore and felt deserted, cheated of her -fun. To crown all she saw Stellan try on an absolutely new, black suit -with long trousers which had been sent from town. - -“What are you getting a new suit for?” - -“I’m giving a dinner,” said Stellan carelessly. - -“Where? Here?” - -“No! At Herman’s. My birthday’s coming.” - -“I suppose I am to come too?” - -“No, it’s a men’s dinner, you see, ta-ta!” With that he pushed Laura out -of the room. The new suit was the logical result of Stellan’s diplomacy. -Hang it all, you can’t very well appear in anything when you have such -smart guests. - -But Laura threw herself down on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She -did not cry—but she wanted to tear her face. “How stupid I have been,” -she thought, “goodness, how stupid I have been!” - -Next morning she got up early. It was not yet nine o’clock when she came -dancing into her guardian’s room at Ekbacken as he sat shaving with -deliberate and methodical dignity. She shone like a little sunbeam, and -had a bunch of the brightest wild flowers in her hand. Then she ran -about for a vase and placed it between the washbasin and the soap dish, -so that nobody could mistake the object of her attention. - -“How awfully good of you, uncle, to give a dinner for Stellan.” - -“And of course, you would love to come,” muttered her guardian through -the lather. - -“Rather, as it is Stellan’s birthday. But there are to be only boys?” - -“Yes, but we ought to have a hostess, even though it is a men’s dinner.” - -Laura suddenly grew serious, terribly serious. - -“Oh, but my old red frock is worn out, and besides the sleeves are too -short.” - -“But supposing you came to town with me one day and bought a new -frock....” - -Laura jumped up in his lap and kissed him in the middle of the lather: - -“Oh, thank you, dear darling. But don’t tell Stellan and Herman!” - -Thus it came about that when at last that birthday dinner came off and -the boys had already been down to look at the sawmill and had been -climbing in the shrouds of the old brigs and had been chatting with the -jolly old tars—who should be standing on the front steps to receive them -like an amiable hostess but Laura, dressed in a brand new silk frock, -almost down to her ankles and full of bows and frills. - -For a moment Stellan frowned, but his face soon lit up with involuntary -approval. At least one didn’t need to feel ashamed of the girl. - -But Herman grew quite red in the face and was unable to get out a sound, -but stole in without daring to look at her. She was altogether too -lovely. - -It was quite a smart dinner. Old Hermansson offered wine and even made a -little speech for the young people. Speechmaking was his weakness. - -While the others were going out into the garden for coffee, Laura seized -the opportunity and gave Herman a kiss behind a door—a swift, fugitive, -little kiss on the cheek. But for Herman it was as if the doors of -Paradise had been suddenly flung open. He sat there mute amidst the -chatter and laughter, and revelled in the wonderful thought that the -girl in the silk frock, the beautiful Laura, had kissed him. - -And Laura also paused in drinking her coffee and munching her sweets and -remembered how his cheek had burnt her lips. It really was rather -pleasant to kiss. Neither did it cost anything—possibly just the -contrary.... - -They carefully avoided speaking to each other and they could not for the -world have looked each other in the eyes. - -After this Stellan and Laura detached themselves more and more from -their brothers and sisters and came more and more frequently to Herman’s -house. They both felt that the sombre and shabby Selambshof was not -their chosen field. No! Ekbacken was quite different—here you escaped -the sight of your father sitting about in his dull fashion. From here -intercourse with Stonehill and Kolsnäs was easiest. Here, with their -guardian, they had the exciting and pleasurable feeling of being at the -heart of things. They felt already, those two fair heads, that it was -Ekbacken that was to be their stepping stone to success in the world. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VII - - +BRUNDIN’S DOWNFALL+ - - -It had been a long autumn. With grey creeping mists and ankle-deep -slush, November had drawn a close ring round Selambshof. - -Peter was alone in the day time. As he had failed again in his -examination, he had had to leave school and it was not yet decided what -he was going to do. But time passed quickly all the same, for recently -he had lots of things to attend to. - -For example, the great pig-slaughter. Since six o’clock this morning he -had been strolling about in the dark yard and as soon as dawn came he -was down by the pig-sty behind the cowshed. - -The cowherd came trailing one poor pig after another. Then they were -raised on to the slaughter block and instantly Anders, the stable man, -stuck them in the neck so that the blood spurted out. The bailiff was -there himself, and scratched the pigs’ backs with his stick and chatted -in friendly tones to them before execution. But old Kristin was no -longer there with the pail to collect the blood. As long as she kept -going, she had taken part in the slaughter of the pigs. Silent and -solemn she used to stand there bent over her pail, stirring the blood as -did the rest of the tribe in days of old at the great winter sacrifice. -There was a strange emptiness after her. But the crows were still here. -Flocks of them settled in the high bare lime tree and their croaking -seemed like the voice of the grey November day. Now and then they flew -for a moment down towards the steaming hot tripe as if to give a -reminder of their ancient rights. - -I-i-i-i! squeaked a pig again, and the crows rose for a moment as if -from the pressure of the cry. But Peter kept near the corner of the -cowshed the whole time; he came no nearer, and Brundin thought he was -frightened: - -“Come and help us. What kind of a country lad are you to be frightened -of the killing?” - -But the bailiff was mistaken. Peter was not at all frightened because -the pigs were squeaking. He was only afraid that they were squeaking for -Brundin’s benefit and not for his own and Selambshof’s. He stood anyhow -sufficiently near to hear what was called out at the weighing machine, -and if you looked carefully you could see that his lips moved the whole -time. He stood there counting and muttering the figures in an undertone -in order to get them to stick in his memory. For Peter had really a -great deal in his memory. It was not the first time he had stood aside -like this and counted and measured. But then he also knew to a nicety -how much grain, potatoes, milk and butter had been driven into town -during the whole autumn. What cunning, what tricks and pretences, what -long patient watches had not been necessary to keep count of all this. -No, Peter was not troubled for the pigs’ sakes. There was good reason to -look out for Peter the Watch-dog nowadays. He no more looked as if he -was afraid of a beating. And he had become bigger of body and deeper of -voice. - -Of course Peter was still afraid of Brundin. But his terror no longer -rose up like a mountain in front of him. Brundin’s great and wonderful -power had already been dealt the first blow. That was when the mighty -Brundin had agreed without protest to Frida’s being dismissed. Peter had -brooded for days over this. And as he pondered he observed that Brundin -did not reach into the clouds. And his great fear shrank up exquisitely -into a little heap of envy, anxiety and angry suspicion. - -Peter did not go to his guardian, because it was he who had placed -Brundin in authority. Perhaps he was even in league with the dangerous -fellow. Imagine suspecting old Hermansson! Ignorance is either very -credulous or very suspicious. In this case it was suspicious. And -besides Peter the Watch-dog was one of those who prefer hunting alone. - -The pig sticking was finished. The November day was silent and grey as -before. - -Peter was still standing on his stone by the corner of the cowshed. -Round him the filth resembled a bog and Brundin came splashing through -it. He no longer looked so good-tempered. His little fairy moustache -curled contemptuously at the rain, the mud, the smell of manure, and the -whole of the November atmosphere. He stopped just in front of Peter, -rocking on his heels and reflecting: - -“Yes, Anders, get the dog-cart ready. I am going to town after dinner -after all.” - -Peter started. Brundin going into town! Here was an opportunity. He -leaped after the bailiff through the mud. Outside the bailiff’s quarters -he even sidled up to the object of his fear. And he was still like a -great mountain when you came near him—a high mountain with mocking -superior airs. - -“I just wanted to come in and glance at the map for a moment,” muttered -Peter. - -Brundin hummed a little tune and good-humouredly led the boy into the -office which lay to the right of the entrance hall in the bailiff’s -wing. - -Now Peter was actually in the lion’s den. The yellow cracked old plan of -Selambshof hung over the sofa. For a long while Peter was tremendously -interested in it. Then he began to glance round to right and left, and -make strange trampling movements to and fro like a bear on a hot plate. -Indeed he was not exactly beautiful to look at, but deserved perhaps a -certain admiration. As a matter of fact he required a great deal of -self-control to remain in Brundin’s room. - -Peter looked for the accounts books of the estate. From outside he had -often stolen a glance at them where they were lying on the writing desk. -But now they were not there. They could not be anywhere else but in the -big brown cupboard between the windows. - -The key was in the lock. - -Peter sat down on the sofa and turned over the pages of a price list. -Brundin lit his pipe, looked over his papers and did not seem to be in a -hurry. Peter perspired more and more. - -At last the bailiff had to leave the room for a moment. Instantly Peter -jumped up and took the key out of the cupboard. And he did more than -that—he lifted off the hooks of one window, both the inner and the -outer—Then another idea seized him: he took up another key from amongst -the rubbish on the writing desk and pushed it into the keyhole of the -cupboard so that nothing should be noticed. He was no fool. - -Now the cracked old dinner gong sounded and with his booty in his damp -hands, Peter stole out of the lion’s den. - -After dinner came the first disappointment. The dog-cart was never -brought out, for Brundin received some Saturday-guests and put off his -journey to town until Sunday. Peter had got to wait—a difficult task. He -could not stay at home. He felt so brittle and queer from the strain -that he scarcely dared to put his foot down on the ground and still he -had to go on walking and walking. Now he had already reached town and -once there he of course made for the hay market. Shivering, and with a -queer trembling in the pit of his stomach he stood in the Saturday -crush, amidst sacks of potatoes and sides of beef, staring at a big sign -on a low yellow house with a tiled roof: - - - AXEL BRUNDIN & CO. - - Cereals, grain, and vegetables. - - -It was not the first time Peter had stood there spying. He felt a need, -as it were, to assure himself all the time that the shop was still -there. A fat old man usually stood in the doorway with his thumbs stuck -in the armholes of his waistcoat. He was Brundin’s brother. He knew him -from the crayfish party. Most of the produce of Selambshof went to him. -And Peter had an intuition that here lay the solution of some of the -problems that worried him. - -Just fancy if only he could send in a policeman to take a big bag of -money from that fat old rascal! Slowly Peter the Watch-dog sauntered -homewards in the dark and raw November night. - -He awoke very early on Sunday morning. First he examined the office -window. Yes, the hooks were still unfastened. Then he might just slip -down to the outhouses for a little. There had been frost during the -night and there were a few light snowflakes in the air. Peter crept into -the barn through a broken shutter. On the ground floor the pig carcases -gleamed with a pale light in the deep twilight. He touched the hard cold -fat. He felt how the pigs hung helpless there. And once more he had a -frantic sense of his duty to defend them against Brundin. He promised -them that they had not died in vain. - -Then Peter climbed to the next floor. Here the grain lay about in big -heaps on the floor. He sat down and let the wheat run through his -fingers. Usually it is pleasant to sit in a granary and let the cool, -round, fragrant grains of corn run softly through the fingers. It makes -one think of summer and sunshine and the wide green fields. - -But Peter, poor boy, had no such spacious feelings of the prospective -farmer. Everything had been spoilt for him by Brundin. The gifts of the -soil were poisoned for him by a premature greedy anxiety. - -At breakfast Peter was very silent. He did not fight with his brothers -and sisters, but of his own free will sat down next to his father, even -though it was not his turn. Today was a great day and he tried to -propitiate the Gods by this sacrifice. You must neglect nothing if you -would succeed. He also stole to Church afterwards in order to be quite -on the safe side. Straight as a poker he sat there trying to be really -attentive, though of course he only listened to his own thoughts. Peter -had a long intimate conversation with his God. And what kind of God had -Peter the Watch-dog? He was related to his sister Hedvig’s God. Both had -grown out of a common parentage. Old Kristin’s servants’ God. Both had -drawn their nourishment from the terrors of those years of helplessness. -But, whilst Hedvig’s God had been reared on the fear of desire and of -sex, Peter’s God was from the first an economic potentate, who severely -punished torn clothes and broken money-boxes, and he had gradually -developed into a protector of the rights of property with the more -specific function of making the bailiff of Selambshof smart. But Peter -was afraid that God might not have had time to consider the matter -properly and therefore he gave him in all humility a number of delicate -little hints as to the most suitable way of dealing with Brundin. - -Yes! such was Peter Selamb’s communion with God on this day of great -expectations—which, however, became a day of disappointment. - -At last evening came. The bailiff had already driven off to town and the -yard was in darkness. Then Peter crept out in order to steal back -Selambshof from Brundin. If only he could get a glance at that armful of -big blue books all would be clear. His house-breaking was quite -successful, the windows opened, as did also the door of the cupboard and -in there he felt the books side by side. With the precious burden in his -arms Peter stole up the dark stairs to the Observatory. He locked the -door carefully, lit a piece of candle and sank down trembling with -expectation at the table and began to examine the books. - -And then he made a terrible discovery. He understood nothing, absolutely -nothing of this system of figures and lines. “Debit,” “credit,” “carried -forward,” etc., stood there. What it all meant he could not make out. -The name Axel Brundin & Co. he found everywhere in the books. It stared -out at him with ever-increasing mystery. It was not at all the -straightforward way that Peter had imagined in connection with sacks of -flour and barrels of potatoes. He found nothing to hold fast to. At last -his head swam. He could not master Brundin’s row of figures. - -Peter struck his forehead against the table, cursing and sobbing. This -was a terrible defeat. Hopeless, miserable, stiff with cold, he stole -down from the icy Observatory and put the books back in the cupboard -without having succeeded in stealing a single one of the bailiff’s -secrets. - -That night chronicled a grievous relapse into the old sense of -impotence. Peter lay again in a besieged fortress. And the Giant pursued -him through a cycle of gruesome dreams. Amongst other things the -“Dreadful One” ate six recently slaughtered pigs in a trice, whilst -Frida stood stark naked before him and stirred a pail containing Peter’s -blood. - -But in spite of all this the old days were over. Peter the Watch-dog -began slowly to pluck up courage again. As he brooded and brooded he -realised at last that it was no longer possible to hunt alone. And so it -came about that Peter too began to haunt Ekbacken. But he took very good -care not to run up against Stellan and Laura, whose road lay in the same -direction. He did not aim so high as they. He had no desire to talk to -his guardian. No, Peter hovered about the old book-keeper, Lundbom. His -opportunity came in the evenings when the old man sat in his own room -smoking his pipe and drinking his hot whisky, with his books in front of -him. He questioned him patiently and insistently until the old man felt -touched by the interest of this promising youth in double-entry Italian -book-keeping, and gave him proper instruction. Peter literally sucked up -the information. He was not difficult to teach. Now he could -calculate—he who had always failed in his examinations in mathematics. -With every successful addition he added something to his power and with -every correct subtraction he subtracted something from Brundin’s. Oh, -what bliss it was to feel how his bugbear was again shrinking and -growing less each day. - -During these efforts, Peter had not ceased his observations. Now he knew -what had been sent from the estate during four whole months, prices and -all. Then he repeated his bold stroke one Saturday evening when the -bailiff went to town as usual to enjoy himself. But this time he could -decipher the mysterious writing. Oh! it was an hour of feverish triumph -up there in the Observatory. Peter the Watch-dog found at once audacious -frauds to fasten his teeth into, amongst other things, Axel Brundin who -was only debited for 60 barrels of potatoes during November and -December. But Peter knew for certain that the correct figure was 73. -There he had a bite at the two brothers’ hind legs. - -Peter lay sleepless the whole night and fed his revenge on Brundin. - -Early on Sunday morning he stalked over to Ekbacken and found his -guardian in bed. Now he no longer shunned the public gaze or beat about -the bush. He went straight to the point, was bold and insinuating. He -cast the stolen rye and potatoes straight in old Hermansson’s face. But -his guardian jumped up highly offended. - -“What are you saying, boy? Remember that you are talking of a person I -have appointed. How did you get hold of the books? What do you know -about the yield of the estate?” - -But Peter was not to be intimidated. He came back time after time with -his rye and his potatoes. Gradually his guardian began to soften. - -“But it’s not possible,” he sighed dismally, “I am not accustomed to -people betraying my confidence in this way. Very sad, really very sad, -why did I ever undertake the thankless task of becoming your guardian. -Most sad and unpleasant!” - -After this he ordered his shaving water and began to dress. Peter sat -still with his armful of books and watched his guardian. As soon as he -was dressed he recovered his dignity and his authority: - -“I shall arrange for an investigation,” he said. “Go back to your -lessons now, my dear Peter. This is no matter for children.” - -No, there Uncle Hermansson was right. This was no matter for children. -That’s why he ought to have looked after it better himself. - -Peter sauntered home again entirely liberated from his frightened -sensation in the presence of grown-ups, and of their authority and their -ability. - -After service old Hermansson came solemnly driving up to Selambshof and -conducted a great investigation in the office in the absence of Brundin. - -There was no end to the revelations now. Everyone had something to say -against the bailiff. As soon as the ice was broken, accusations poured -in against the culprit. They almost fought to stick their knives into -him in order to save their own skins. - -Evidently Selambshof had been systematically robbed for years. - -In the midst of all this, Brundin came driving back from town in a state -of mild intoxication. The old Fairy Prince now cut a poor figure. He -seemed quite nonplussed that the old servants should have so completely -forgotten his gifts to them, his snuff, his gin, and his blind eye to -their own little peculations. For a moment he stiffened and made an -insolent effort to deny everything, but he failed miserably in the face -of Anders’ evidence. Anders had become anxious about his carelessness in -the matter of receipts, etc., and had himself written down all that he -had driven into town in order to protect himself. - -Peter did not now stand aside as at the sticking of the pigs. No, he -stood in the midst of the crowd. Now he had a voice in the matter. -Sometimes he laughed suddenly, a giggling, nervous laughter. The boy -seemed suddenly to have grown into something more like a man. When the -examination was over he suddenly looked quite disappointed. For his part -he would have liked to go on for ever. The old servants left, however, -and old Hermansson went home to consult a lawyer. Brundin sat alone in -the office, ruminating. Then Peter thrust his face through the door, -grinning: - -“You thief,” he cried. “You cursed thief.” - -Oh, it was heavenly to spit at the cracked Colossus, really to trample -the old fear under foot. - -No action was brought against Brundin. He himself possessed nothing, but -his brother was frightened into paying a round sum corresponding to the -proved losses of the estate. - -Then came the ignominious departure. He had been ill for some days, but -now he was off at last. - -Peter did not show himself at first. But down under the lime tree stood -Hedvig. She had come straight home when she heard of the scandal. There -she stood pale and stiff and motionless and watched Brundin’s furniture -being carried out. God only knows what she thought and felt. Perhaps it -was a feeling of dismal deliverance. - -Now the sledge with its load of furniture slipped towards the town -crunching through the half-melted snow mixed with sand—a bad surface for -sledging. Brundin had not even put his head outside the door but now he -had to get out. Crestfallen, grey, with downcast eyes, he came out with -a dining-room clock under his arm. Hedvig only stared at him. His eyes -met hers for a moment when he was getting into the sledge. He bowed -awkwardly and then the spring of the clock made a noise as if it had -been broken. Hedvig did not bend her head, did not return his greeting. -She stood there like a graven image and there was something of a rigid -dark triumph in her expression. - -But when Brundin disappeared down the avenue she stole into his empty -house and with a face suddenly grey with the hunger of love she rubbed -it against the empty walls. - -But Peter stood down at the corner of the avenue. He had relapsed into -his old habit of going somewhere alone to meditate. He wondered how it -was that Brundin was not put into prison. Fancy if it was because old -Hermansson did not dare to bring Brundin into Court. What was it Kristin -used to say: “It’s a pity for those children who have to have a -guardian,” she used to say. Well, Peter did not exactly believe that old -Hermansson had cheated them. But he had all the same a vague feeling -that the matter ought not to be forgotten. - -The distrust we learn during the years when we have a right to be -trustful easily becomes a dangerous weapon. - -It was now a little later in the spring. A new bailiff of proved honesty -had been appointed and Peter was sent to an elementary Agricultural -School in the Upland plain. - -He did not like being there. The other pupils seemed to him dull, the -soil unfavourable. The Brundin case was still fermenting within him. He -longed to be home. There are many kinds of homesickness, and one of them -is of a kind not suitable for poetry. - -Let us now look at our friend Peter during the spring ploughing. The -pupils were standing in a bunch out on the clay and each one had to -plough a plot with the new American steel plough. - -“Press harder on the right guide. Not too shallow and not too deep. Look -at the horses. The furrows must be straight as a die.” - -Thus said the teacher. Peter was the last. He stood there changing feet -and thinking that he would take root in the clay. At last it was his -turn. He called to the horses and the furrow was started. It was a still -April day with big white clouds in the sky. The horses’ sides and the -newly turned clay soil shone in the sun. Down in a hollow hung a blue -mist and further away a wood of budding birches shimmered like a -purple-brown cloud. But Peter neither saw nor felt anything of all that. -Nor did he enjoy seeing how finely the ploughshare cut through and -turned up the frozen soil. He had no desire just to add furrow to furrow -in the ploughed field. He only thought it was heavy, tiresome, lost -labour. And all the same he looked like a peasant with his coarse -features and his heavy awkward carriage, which he had probably inherited -from his mother’s side. But a poison had entered into the peasant’s -body. It was the infection of the town—the town that had begun to creep -nearer and nearer Selambshof. It was anxiety to turn everything into -money. If only he were back at Selambshof, he thought. But he did not -long for the house or the trees. He longed to sneak about, and spy and -struggle for possession of the money that he already scented. To go -about here ploughing soil that was not even his own made him sick. He -had already developed the habit of looking at everything from the point -of view of ownership. You cannot take any interest in a thing for -itself. No, nothing exists in itself but only as “mine” or “yours,” -principally “mine.” To whom did this field belong? To the County? That -is the same thing as nobody. That was empty, strange, and simply -repellent, thought Peter. He had already begun to fear common interests -and common institutions. They constituted a kind of silent affront to -his selfishness. - -Then Peter came slowly back on the return and moved alongside his first -furrow. It did not look very straight. He was reproved by his -instructor—he heard the mumbling and suppressed laughter of his fellow -students. What stupid country bumpkins they were with their lazy -self-confidence. Their rustic self-importance about spray-drains and -dung-wells irritated him. What experience of life had they had? It would -do them good to get caught in the snares of somebody like Brundin and to -be really, thoroughly cheated for once. And then he began to think of -that old story again. There was something strangely fascinating in -thinking of Brundin’s tricks and wheezes. Of course he disapproved of it -all. But he could not help thinking of it, all the same. “So that is -what they call business,” thought Peter. “That is the way to get rich.” -He felt a strange disquietude, one moment he was hot and the next cold. -“I shall never allow anybody to cheat me,” he thought. “But how can you -really make sure? The only way is, of course, to go to meet one’s enemy -and forestall him. You must practise deception, not much, of course, but -sufficient to prevent him from deceiving you.” - -Peter had now done his allotted share of the ploughing. He stopped the -horses and wiped his brow. - -“You are not ploughing deep enough, or straight enough. This is not a -surface-plough. You ought to get down to the subsoil all the way. What -sort of a growth do you expect to get here?” - -“I don’t care a damn,” thought Peter. - -Then the Farm gong sounded and they moved homewards along the wet road. -Peter jogged beside the horses with half-closed eyes. He was dreaming of -Selambshof in figures. He had seen them,—when he pried into the books of -the estate. There were rents for land and houses, for fishing rights, -and quarries, for cartage and for the produce of the estate. Enormous -sums in his eyes. “I shall control all that money,” he thought. “I shall -be bailiff, and I shall have my reward, because I saved the estate from -Brundin. No, don’t imagine that I can be kept out of all that.” - -Peter breathed heavily. He felt a queer sucking sensation in his -stomach. Fancy if it should all be his. Fancy if one day he should -become rich, rich! No, he no longer had only fear and worries—certain -timid, trembling voluptuous desires contracted his throat. - -Is it then to be wondered at that Peter Selamb did not plough deep -enough in the alien and unsympathetic Upland clay? - -_These were the days of his betrothal to wealth._ - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VIII - - +SEPTEMBER SPRING+ - - -Laura lay awake the whole night reading a novel, and at breakfast she -only played with her food. Then she stole out into the pantry and took -her usual draught of vinegar. - -It was a day in the late summer, warm and still. Down the slope the -August pears were tempting, the hammock and the lazy lapping of the -water against the shutters of the bathing box were also a standing -temptation. But Laura resisted them. For a whole fortnight she had -struggled to get rid of her sunburn and to become pale and thin. Slowly -she went back to her room and tried to think at each step that she was -rather weak and feeble. - -Laura’s room was small and shady. It lay on the ground floor overlooking -the avenue. She walked up to the mirror and scrutinized herself -carefully from head to foot. She was no longer a plump little -bright-eyed imp with plaits of fair hair dangling behind, and fat legs. -No, it was a pale, interesting-looking young lady who stood there with a -curled fringe, neat waist and a tired and dreamy look in her eyes. - -When Laura had gazed at herself for a long while, with mixed feelings of -complete approval and vague pity, she stole to the window and sat down -very carefully as if she had been made of some very brittle material. It -was a narrow and rather dismal window in the thick walls of Selambshof. -A spray of the sparse and dying vine on the north side of the house -flapped against the window-sill. It bore a small bunch of grapes, green -and no bigger than pin-heads. What sweet doll’s grapes they are, she -thought suddenly, and she had a vision of a doll’s party in the nursery -with grapes for dessert, but she punished herself immediately for this -childishness. She had indeed other things to think of. Piously she laid -her hands one over the other and settled down comfortably in the chair -and with her newfound refinement of melancholy, she dreamed that she was -in very weak health and very sad—a really seductive little dream! - -Then Herman came walking towards the house, straight, smart, and -correct. He was wearing a student’s cap, for by dint of hard work and an -ambitious spirit he had come so far. And in spite of the heat he did not -wear it tipped back, but on top of his head as if it were a part of the -uniform of manhood and knowledge. And he did not look around him so -nervously under an affected unconcern. No, now he looked just a little -haughty as he came straight up to Laura’s window, climbed up on the seat -and shook hands with her. - -“Why do you never come to Ekbacken nowadays? It’s a fortnight since you -were there.” - -Laura half-closed her eyes and smiled a wan smile. Her hand dropped out -of his and lay like a tired little bird on the window-sill: - -“My dear Herman, we have been there too much already.” - -“What nonsense!” - -Laura was vexed at his clumsiness in not noticing her haggard -appearance: - -“Besides, I don’t feel very well, you know, Herman.” - -That was too much, even for Herman. He could not help laughing. - -“You ill, Laura! don’t talk such rubbish!” - -What unfeeling, hard-hearted laughter. After all her efforts. At that -moment she thoroughly detested him. But she did not answer sharply, she -only looked deeply grieved and pained: - -“Good-bye,” she murmured, “I am too tired to talk to you any longer. I -must lie down for a while.” - -Thereupon she closed the window in Herman’s face and pulled down the -blind. Then she lay down on her bed and thought how unseeing and -cold-hearted people were. Did they want to make her drink more vinegar? -Well she was not frightened, although she had heard that it might make -her really ill. - -For another week Laura continued the darkness and vinegar treatment and -then walked resolutely down to old Hermansson. - -At Ekbacken the saws were humming as smoothly as ever in the red shed. -The sailors were still there caulking the old smacks and old Lundbom was -still casting up not unfavourable balances. Nothing had changed at -Ekbacken except that it had grown a little older and more peaceful. But -now and then a certain ill-disposed rival would rub his hands and think -that Ekbacken would prove too good for this world. - -Old Hermansson was not in the office. He did not often appear there -nowadays. He sat in his dressing gown and smoking cap in the big easy -chair in the drawing room, reading a newspaper that he held far from his -eyes as if not to come into close contact with the restlessness and -misery of the world. - -Old Hermansson had aged considerably of late. He was almost always -poorly now. But he did not complain. He protested with more and more -marked dignity against his weakness. Unconsciously the Brundin case had -dealt a nasty blow to his assurance and comfort. In consequence, his -tone had become more self-satisfied and domineering than ever. The old -man was really quite tender-hearted beneath his hard exterior and -Stellan and Laura had at once perceived this, with the cruel insight of -youth. They did not hesitate to exploit their guardian’s weakness for -their own comfort. - -Laura said “Good-morning,” and sank with a sigh into a chair, and looked -worse than ever. - -“What’s the matter with you, dear child? At your age one should not go -about looking ill. Look at me, I shall soon be seventy and I am as well -as ever.” - -And saying this, he relapsed into the soft upholstery of his chair, his -face twitching from rheumatism. But this had no effect on Laura: - -“I can’t help it, I cough and have no appetite. I think I need a change -of air.” - -“Change of air! When do you think I have ever had a change of air in my -life? And yet I have never been ill more than three days together in all -my life!” - -“Everybody can’t be as well as you, Uncle. And I am only a girl. Oh! if -only Mother were alive so that I might have somebody to talk to.” - -Laura’s voice trembled and the tears were already in her eyes. Her -guardian grew alarmed: - -“What’s the matter? What do you want to do, then, my dear child?” - -Then Laura could restrain her desire no longer: - -“I ... I want to go to a boarding school ... in Switzerland. You get -such an appetite there. It would do my chest good. Elvira Lähnfeldt at -Trefvinge is going to Neuchatel. Stellan told me so, for he was invited. -Neuchatel is said to be so very suitable. And fancy to be able to talk -French properly—and then the air,—” - -Old Hermansson’s horizon did not stretch beyond the frontiers of his own -country. He was dumbfounded by the audacity of the proposal: - -“Impossible, my dear child, impossible!” - -After the first attack Laura collected her forces for a more systematic -siege: - -“Oh, Uncle, you should live at Selambshof,” she wailed. “You would be -ill in a week. Yes, it is so unpleasant at home since that dreadful -business with Brundin.” - -Laura glanced at her guardian; she seemed satisfied with the effect and -continued: - -“It is worst with Peter. He curses like a farm labourer and he swears at -table. He is really no company for a young girl!” - -That also had a good effect. Old Hermansson could not bear Peter since -he had exposed Brundin. Laura already knew so much about the human -heart. The old man nodded pensively: - -“I admit that your brother Peter is not all that he ought to be. But if -it is not always pleasant at home, you know that you are always welcome -at Ekbacken.” - -“Thank you. You are so awfully kind, both you and Herman. But ...” -(Laura flushed beneath her self-induced pallor and glanced archly at her -guardian) “but ... it looks strange for me to be always here. I don’t -know if it is right any longer and then I thought that both you and -Herman would like me to have some sort of education.” - -Here she was interrupted by an attack of coughing, and she put her hand -to her chest with an anxious and sudden air of distraction. - -Her guardian looked very perplexed. As a matter of fact he looked upon -the affection of the young pair for each other with some pleasure. He -himself had originally been a poor clerk who had risen to his present -position by marrying the daughter of his employer. To him Selambshof and -the Selambs still seemed an old distinguished place and family. Yes! -secretly he was even flattered by Laura’s walks with Herman. The thought -of his future daughter-in-law being in a Swiss boarding school like the -young lady at Trefvinge was also pleasant. So he slowly assumed an -expression which was more of anxiety than of opposition. - -“Well, my dear child, we must think it over.” - -Laura had to control herself not to dance for joy so long as she was -within sight of Ekbacken. But when she reached home she ate for the -first time for a whole month till she was satisfied. - -The following weeks were for Laura a time of glowing expectation, -blissful faithlessness, touching farewells and a feeling almost -approaching love. - -On one of the first days of September, when the air had all the coolness -and clearness of autumn, she and Herman were walking through the garden -of Selambshof. The garden was situated on the southern slope, between -the avenue and the lake, screened by a row of tall ash trees from the -dismal, brooding, heaviness of the house. It was much neglected but it -was a pleasant sort of neglect and this was after all a little corner of -Selambshof where something of an idyll still lingered. - -Laura and Herman were strolling slowly along the wet, half choked paths -between currant bushes smothered in weeds and scraggy old apple trees -covered with grey moss which still as if by a miracle bore beautiful -shining apples. Here a tumbled-down fence lay with an appearance of -infinite fatigue, and there the pestweed had pushed up into the light -out of a half smothered ditch, and with its dense growth of enormous -leaves had vanquished a row of raspberry bushes, where dry branches -stretched up helplessly out of the green sea. Then there was a row of -frames with broken glass and a bed of cabbages looking quite blue in the -shade. Then came the long beds with a few asters and dahlias in front of -the gardener’s dilapidated old cottage. - -“It is very beautiful here,” whispered Laura. There was a note of -surprise in her voice. It had evidently never occurred to her that it -might be beautiful here. She glanced sideways at Herman who looked at -once shy and hurt. - -“If it is beautiful here why are you going away?” - -The sun was not less bright because Herman turned away from her and -grumbled. Laura pressed his hand encouragingly: - -“I’ll soon be back,” she whispered softly. - -She felt very superior to Selambshof and Herman and all the other -everyday things which remained where they were put and never moved. But -all the same there was a strange tenderness in her feeling of -superiority. Sometimes she did not quite know if it was gay or sad. - -Old Johannes, the gardener, sat in his porch and looked tranquilly at -the neglect around him. He had been a sailor in his youth and divided -his day into watches, four hours he smoked his pipe and four hours he -rested. But during the day watch he slept. But somehow he managed to pay -his rent so that he was not driven out. Until today Laura had only -thought of the old man as something unkempt and dirty. She had never -given him a further thought as she munched his apples. But now he -suddenly appeared quite nice to her, sitting there in the sunshine. A -bumble bee buzzed lazily round the patches on his trouser-knees. His -hands seemed as if made of bark. His whole face was smothered with hair, -just as the garden was with weeds. When he scratched his beard with his -coarse nail there was a grating sound. But his eyes were wonderfully -calm. It was as if in a quiet, still, protected corner the sun were -shining down on a barrel of rainwater. - -Laura suddenly realised why Tord spent so much time with the gardener. - -“How is Tord’s fox?” she wondered. - -She referred to a fox that had been caught in a trap and which Tord had -been allowed to keep. It lived in a shed. - -“Tord has got him on the leash,” smiled the old fellow, pleased at the -interest in their common pet. - -The door of a big grateless room stood open. The floor was covered with -fruit. Laura dived in with the gardener and came out with her hat filled -with the rosiest apples that ever woman tempted man with. Herman sighed -and ate. It was all “sour grapes” to him. He pulled at Laura’s arm. He -wanted to be alone with her. He was jealous of the garden, of the -gardener, of the Swiss Alps, and of everything. - -They moved on. - -On the other side there was a hillock with terraces and ledges and some -tumbled-down summer cottages. Here everything was silent, mysterious, -and abandoned. Laura and Herman walked about in the small devastated -gardens and peeped into the empty rooms where the winter seemed already -to have thrown its shadow. Squeezed in between the lake and the hill lay -a rambling old house given over to the rooks. It was a high house with -three balconies, built over the water and embellished with some -extraordinary extensions on the land side. Here the water splashed -against the piles, covered with a green ooze, and the aspens, burnt red -by the autumn, rustled, and the whole was illuminated by a strange light -reflected from the paths covered with yellow leaves. - -Herman succeeded in opening the door. Past empty cupboards, garden -furniture and old gate-legged tables covered with marks left by glasses -they penetrated to the highest balcony. Here the last flies of autumn -buzzed against the window panes and tendrils of Virginia Creeper pushed -in through the chinks and cracks. - -They sank down on a garden seat strangely moved by this sunny brightness -and forlorn melancholy. Herman dug his stick into the floor-boards and -then he suddenly threw it aside and kissed her. He kissed her -passionately and violently with bitter sealed lips. But she pulled him -towards her and opened her lips softly. And she loved to feel how he -tried to resist her but was not able to do so. No, humbly and helplessly -he clung to her lips. This was their first real kiss. Everything before -had been play. And she was going to leave all this behind. She felt so -tenderly, so blissfully, so lovingly faithless. The tears came into her -eyes and she smiled like a real little angel. - -At this moment Laura happened to look out through one of the side -windows. Who was that standing far away on the hill, almost on the same -level as they were, if not Hedvig. She pretended to be interested in -something out on the lake. But the expression of offended loneliness and -stern disapproval in her pinched face was not to be mistaken. She had a -disagreeable way of stealing upon you, had Hedvig. Of course she had -seen everything. Of course she was green with envy because Laura had -caught Herman and was going to Switzerland and was not as silly as -Hedvig herself. - -“So now we shall have her haunting this place,” muttered Laura. “Now -this jolly place is spoilt for us.” - -They pulled an old curtain before the window so that Hedvig should see -nothing and then they stole away from “The Rookery” as silently as -Indians. Now they were out in the wood on the other side of the avenue -and they kissed each other again, but without lingering. A restless -longing drove them on. They walked all the way to Träskängen and when -they got there it was almost evening. A cold breeze met them as they -jumped about from one dry spot to another. - -In the deepest hollow there lay a white mist over banks of reeds and -pools. But when they came up again on the other side of the hill towards -the quarries it was so hot that they had to stop. In the twilight the -scene around them seemed ragged and gloomy and deserted. - -It was old Enoch who had started blasting here once upon a time. It -seemed as if an evil spirit had ruled the forest, or some barren -destructive fiend. Everywhere there were ravines, caves, treacherous -holes and screes of clattering stones and loose boulders ready to slip -away beneath your feet, and everything was enveloped in an almost -impenetrable growth of young golden aspen. - -And then the autumn moon rose above the forest in the west. - -“It really is wonderfully fine,” whispered Herman, fascinated by the -romance of this desolate wilderness. - -“Yes, it is almost like the Alps,” answered Laura, and groped for him -that she might feel him tremble with jealous love. But as soon as she -had said it she trembled herself. Yes, she was playing a dangerous game -up there among the rough boulders of Old Hök’s overgrown stony -wilderness. Laura suddenly felt love clutching her heart with burning -fingers. For a moment she gave herself up to this new and painful -sensation, but then she became frightened, with the violent fear of a -threatened egoism. She jumped up and pushed him away from her: - -“No, now I must go home.” - -But Herman insisted: - -“No, we must go up to Enoch’s gorge,” he panted. “It is haunted, and up -to the old quarrymen’s shed.” - -His voice had never sounded so near her, so strangely near. She followed -him against her will. - -Enoch’s gorge was a perpendicular precipitous gully, blasted out of the -rock. They held each others’ hands and crept up to the edge with their -heads swimming. It was dark down below. Fancy if he pulls me down! the -thought flashed through Laura’s head, and she suddenly tore her hand out -of his. - -Then they came to the shed. There were stones in front of the door, but -Herman rolled them away. Inside something lay on a couple of overturned -empty boxes. In the light of a match they saw a few books, a heap of -strange stones, shells and horses’ teeth, a dried-up lizard and a broken -bottle with fish spawn, by the side of a half-eaten piece of bread and -butter. - -Then somebody stood in the doorway. It was Tord. He looked unusually -tall in the twilight. In spite of his sixteen years he was dressed in -breeches and an outgrown sailor blouse, his long wrists sticking out -from the sleeves. He stood quite still and stared at the invaders with -an expression of fear and anger. And between his legs the fox thrust out -his pointed nose and his bright eyes and sniffed. He had only three -legs, poor thing, the fourth had been caught in the trap. - -“What are you doing here?” growled Tord at last in a thick voice. - -Herman and Laura were embarrassed to have been taken unawares and in -their haste resorted to jeers. - -Laura pushed some beetles on to Tord’s bread and butter. - -“Here you are! a beetle sandwich!” - -Tord turned pale. This was his refuge, his peaceful retreat. Here he had -all his trophies from Träskängen, his lonely and glorious hunting ground -for frog spawn, lizards, divers, birds’ eggs and bats—and now his poor -secrets were captured by intruders. He stood there swinging his long -bare arms. He gave one the impression of a dumb captive creature like -the fox beside him. It was as if he could only express his feelings by a -shriek. But now he clenched his fist and his face twitched with sudden -and violent anger. - -“Go away,” he cried. “Get away. This is my place.” - -“All right, we are going.” - -Laura dragged Herman with her. In the bushes beside them they heard the -flop of a stone that Tord had cast after them. And then he called out -something coarse after them, one of those impossible, foul expressions -of impotent boyhood. Herman wanted to rush back and thrash him, but -Laura stamped her foot on the ground and commanded him to take her home -at once. She was suddenly short, cold, and offended, just as if Herman -had injured her. - -“You are silly,” she snapped. “What business had we up in that stupid -quarry? Tell me what business we had there!” - -In reality Laura was not in the least angry. She was afraid, and she -sought relief for her fear in scolding him. Love had touched the egoism -of her heart with a burning finger, and she felt restless in the -twilight. That was the reason why she was so anxious to get home. - -Poor Herman got no benefit from his kiss that evening. And there were no -more kisses before her departure. Laura had suddenly grown careful, prim -and full of moral qualms. Only at the very last, when her ticket was -bought and the retreat clear did she recover some of her old amiability -and mischief, and deigned graciously to cajole his heart out of his -breast so as to have something to show to the other schoolgirls. - -Now she was already standing on the step of the railway carriage with -Elvira Lähnfeldt and Manne and his mother who were also travelling -south. Cheerfully and with perfect ease she chatted to everybody. She -was radiantly happy and her happiness made her beautiful. How could she -be so happy when Herman was standing there with a void in his breast? - -The train started. Her handkerchief was lost in the enveloping white -steam. - -On the way back to Ekbacken, Herman instinctively joined Stellan. With -him the air seemed less oppressive and it seemed that something of Laura -remained after all. - -Stellan had not been very often at Ekbacken lately. And if he came it -was to scold Laura, who was always there. Sisters are a doubtful -blessing when they begin to take your friends away from you. - -No, nowadays, Stellan went mostly to Manne at Kolsnäs. He had nobody -else to turn to, because Percy was away in Jämtland for the summer on -account of his chest. And Stonehill had been sold. Lake Mälare was -beginning to be unfashionable and nice people moved out to sea. And then -the town was creeping nearer, and it seemed to make the whole landscape -look poor and ugly. They were already laying the foundation of a factory -close to Stonehill. In those few years the fine place had already begun -to look insignificant and neglected. Stellan avoided looking that way -when he rowed over to Manne. He had to think of the footman and the -horses at Kolsnäs in order not to feel sick of the old lake. - -Manne had had a horse given to him in the spring, when he had at last -succeeded in squeezing through his matriculation examination. The whole -summer had been spent in wild riding. Every second day Manne lent -Stellan his black horse, “Sultan,” for Manne was always a good friend. -He had a kind, open smile and blue, somewhat misty eyes. He had already -begun to lose the hair on the top of his head, but that did not prevent -him from looking as boyish as ever. Nobody could look so splendidly -unaware of the fact that necks can be broken. But his wild careering -about was not restlessness. He did not worry about what he was going to -be. That was quite superfluous, for his future was written on his face -and the shape of his legs. He was a born Cavalry officer! - -For Stellan the matter was not quite so simple—he was poor and besides, -confound it, he had brains. - -Anyhow, he enlarged his horizon. In company with Manne he sometimes rode -across to Trefvinge, the great and magnificent Trefvinge. Stellan had -always a strange cold sensation, a mixture of voluptuous ease and of -hatred when his horse carried him across the grand stretch of gravel in -front of its great white façade. Trefvinge was a real castle, a famous, -historic castle of the seventeenth century. It impressed everybody -against their wills, except the owner, Count Lähnfeldt, who had not been -born a count. The lord of the castle himself scarcely ever appeared, but -Elvira rode out with them. She was a slender girl with a shrill -commanding voice, especially when she was excited. There was nothing shy -about her and she had no particularly girlish manners, so she did not -spoil sport. None of the young men were in love with her. Stellan used -to tease her in a way that was sometimes cold and biting. It was as if -he wanted to take his revenge because the castle in which she lived was -so shockingly big and aristocratic. - -In this way, then, the summer passed, and then Manne got the silly idea -of going to Germany with his mother. That Elvira and Laura should go, of -course, made no difference to Stellan, but Manne! That was a -blow—because of “Sultan.” - -Stellan had nothing but Herman and the sailing boat to fall back upon. -And so after all the wild riding began sailing just as wild. Stellan -could not remain still. In the autumn he felt that the cessation of the -constraint of school had left a certain emptiness and restlessness. The -future worried him. - -Herman was with him in the boat. His future was Laura. He had thought of -going to an English shipbuilding school in the autumn. But he could not -make up his mind. He was caught in the memory of their kisses. He clung -to Stellan, her brother. Yes, it was only for Stellan’s sake he took -part in those chilly autumn sailing trips. He sat there huddled up in -the spray and hugged Laura’s solitary little letter in his pocket and -hoped that her brother would talk of her. - -Stellan saw very well that Herman was not living in the same world as -himself and that irritated him. He shrugged his shoulders with a -contemptuous pity which perhaps at bottom was nothing more than the -secret envy of the poor. He smiled grim little smiles when he saw -Herman’s eyes directed towards him with the same expression of -supplication. He pressed the helm and conspired with the autumn, the -wind and the lake against this obstinate love. He was happiest when -Herman was fully occupied in bailing out the water. - -Herman sat by the fore-sheet, and slackened and made fast. Now and then -he looked astern at Stellan. There was a mixture of admiration, anxiety -and something akin to secret pity in his look. Stellan wore the same -expression now as at school when things were at their hottest—bold, -independent, and scoffing. Oh! how Herman had envied him that he never -allowed himself to be impressed by his teachers, that, in spite of his -laziness, he always knew how to answer. Ugh! the water dashed in from -the lee! But Stellan never condescended to luff up. It was almost -terrible to see how indifferent he was. He was quite capable of sinking -them. Herman was not afraid for himself. But he felt a pang in his -heart. Was there not something strangely forlorn about Stellan. Did he -not sit there alone with the wind and the grey lake. It seemed as if -poor Stellan had been locked out from something. And he did not even -know that he could knock at the door. - -These were Herman’s thoughts as he clung wet and cold to the weather -gunwale and received the worst spray over his back. For he had a little -letter in his pocket to hug furtively. - -One day something happened. But this time Herman sat at the helm and not -Stellan. - -There was a dash of fitful April weather at the beginning of October. -The hot sun shone between big clouds and below were black squalls. It -was not rough, but there came treacherous gusts of wind by the dips of -the land. And into the bargain it was Saturday. - -Old Hermansson’s trim little “Ellida” lay for the moment to lee as on a -mirror. The sails hung slack, the boat lay over to windward and the sun -was deliciously warm. Slowly they overhauled an absurd little overrigged -boat, a real caricature of a boat. It was painted white, and on the -stern was painted “Kalla,” in big black letters. Aboard were three -workingmen from the new factory under construction. Their half-drunk -bass voices rolled out over the water. One of them stood with his foot -on the gunwale, gripping the stays with one hand and flourishing a -bottle in the other. Never had the sun shone on such recklessness. - -Stellan’s eyes flashed: - -“This will be interesting,” he muttered. - -“Ellida” was now in the shadow of a racing cloud. They stared back at -the man with the bottle. They had a sudden horrid sensation of cold in -the pit of the stomach. Heigh Ho! Then the dark squall came sweeping -along. It first struck the small boat. She instantly went round as if by -a single turn of the hand of Fate. The three workingmen had not even -time to utter a curse before they were in the water and the boat had -sunk. - -On the “Ellida” as I have said before, Herman sat at the tiller. Not for -a moment did he think of their own danger. He only wanted to rush to -help the drowning men. But in his flurry he put the tiller over to -windward instead of to leeward. And in an instant the “Ellida” had the -same fate. The whole thing had not taken more than five seconds. - -The water was ice cold. The boat disappeared quickly under them. Herman -saw Stellan appear beside him. He did not say anything, but began to -swim towards land. Herman followed. It was a fair distance, but at last -they crawled up amongst the boulders along the shore, stiff and tired -out. - -“How idiotic,” gasped Stellan. “You don’t sail a boat to capsize it!” - -But Herman stared, as if suddenly turned to stone, across the lake. It -was empty and silent. The water shone green again, with little white -crests, in the sun. Only a few floating bulkheads and oars bore witness -to the catastrophe. Ashore nobody seemed to have noticed anything. - -Herman ran out into the water again up to his waist: - -“Help!” he cried, “Help! They are drowning! Help!” - -The echo came back from the nearest cliff: “Help! Help!” - -Stellan pulled him by the arm: - -“There is no use calling. They are where they are. Now let us run home!” - -“Drowned! All three. It’s dreadful,” moaned Herman. - -Then they began to run. At the corner of the avenue where they must -separate to reach their respective homes, Stellan caught hold of his -friend’s arm again. There were blue and yellow streaks on his face from -the soaked lining of his cap, but his expression was both tense and -elated: - -“Don’t forget that we capsized in trying to rescue them,” he muttered. -“It looks beastly bad otherwise.” - -That same evening they were sitting out on the long landing stage by the -yard. It was quite calm now. The atmosphere twinkled coldly between the -black fleets of cloud. Over the oak trees out on the spit of land the -lights of Stockholm lit the sky. There is always something both of -exhortation and menace in the pale radiance in the sky over an invisible -city. Now the crescent moon peeped out over the serried edge of the -forest behind Stonehill and threw a few shafts of light over the dark -water—the dark water holding the three dead. - -Herman was talking of the accident. He could not let the subject drop. -He returned time after time to certain points, in order to prove that -they could have done absolutely nothing to save the drowning men. There -was a note of supplication in his voice as if nevertheless he felt -remorse. He also shivered secretly. The world seemed to him -gruesome—gruesome but still blessed, because Laura was in it. Her smile -was there and so were the cold stars, over the black water. He was -sitting beside her brother. Again Herman felt that burning desire to -talk of her. But he did not dare, there was something in Stellan’s tone -that kept him back, that made him vaguely uneasy. And he was too young -too, thought Herman, to understand how different people can be. - -Stellan walked up and down the landing stage. He talked in short, jerky -sentences about sailing and riding and sport. He seemed strangely -excited. He was one of those who are stimulated by the icy blasts of -life. It was as if the dead out there helped him to come to a decision. -With complete detachment from all this talk he suddenly came to reflect -coolly, clearly and swiftly on his own future. Life is short and -uncertain, he thought. Life is a gamble. It is silly to take it too -seriously. I shall be an officer. I shall have a smart uniform. I shall -spend my time amidst arms, horses and smart people. I want to be on top. -I shall have excitement, adventures, be in danger, and perhaps go to -war. But the money? It is expensive to be an officer. Well, there will -always be a way out. I suppose I shall have to use Laura as a lure. Poor -Herman has surrendered unconditionally. I can get him to do what I like. -He just goes about begging me to trample on him for Laura’s sake. He -will do the hard work for me with the old man. Anyhow he can’t say “no” -to anything, poor old fellow. I’ll be an officer all right if I play my -cards properly. - -Thus it happened that Stellan Selamb found his guiding star one autumn -evening. It was a bright, frosty star twinkling keenly over there in the -pale light halo over the town, the town that lay thus waiting on the -confines of his childhood’s kingdom, the town with the cross lightning -of fate and a merciless consuming fire. - - * * * * * - -That same evening Laura stood with a bag of sweets in her hand and -looked out through a small half-opened ground glass window. She was, -with due respect, in the smallest room in the school, a room with a bolt -on the inside. She had withdrawn there in order to eat her sweets in -peace. If you were to share with all the other girls there would be -nothing left for yourself. - -Whilst Laura munched sweets her glance strayed up the sloping expanse of -roofs and treetops of the town and out over the calm Neuchatel Lake, -which seemed to her as large as a sea, and on to the towering Alps in -the distance, whose snow covered tops soared out of the shadow and -silence into the light of a crescent moon of the palest silver. - -Laura stared, ate, and dreamed. How perfectly lovely, she thought. And -she was right. Not even a poster could be more beautiful. - -What was Laura dreaming about now in the glow of this eternal snow? Not -about silence, the infinite withdrawal from the world, oh no! Laura was -dreaming about a long honeymoon, a long, long honeymoon. She was walking -on wonderfully soft hotel carpets, she was eating seven course dinners -in luxurious dining-rooms, she was furtively kissing in dark rumbling -tunnels, she was saved by strong arms on the edge of dizzy precipices. -And it was of course Herman who kissed her in the tunnels, and saved her -with his strong arms. Of course it was Herman. She never thought of -anybody else. It was not at all disagreeable to dream of a long wedding -trip with Herman. - -But of a home with him she did not dream. - -The bag was suddenly empty, and her throat was burning after all the -strong-flavoured sweets she had eaten. Laura had to run down and drink a -whole bottle of water and somehow she did not write any letters as she -had intended. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IX - - +PETER THE BOSS+ - - -Already at the Agricultural school a strange change had begun in Peter -Selamb. And it became still more pronounced on his return home. He -somehow became more positive. He realised that one cannot go on for ever -merely watching and spying on others. It is better to be the object of -attention. - -Peter wanted to be bailiff at Selambshof and for that reason he tried to -get friends and supporters. Was the spying and grumbling Peter the -Watch-dog endeavouring to secure friends like a politician before an -election? Was he not doomed to failure? No, because Peter was no longer -the same after his victory over Brundin. Fear had thrown a spell upon -him. It had made him ugly and repulsive. But now he had somehow broken -the enchantment. To the naked eye he seemed almost human. From fear he -had passed quite readily to lying, a not uncommon step. Fear is the -parent of a real and deliberate mendacity and somehow it persists under -the smiling exterior. As yet Peter did not lie consciously. Alas! the -conscious lie is so slight, so harmless, so transparent. No, give me the -real, thorough, unconscious lie, especially if it is joined with that -particular greed that so often grows up from the deep root of fear. Then -we may expect consequences. - -As Peter changed, the people round about him also began to change. They -were no longer dangerous and malevolent people before whom he had to be -on his guard every moment. He began to see them in the light of his -desires, and that is also a light of its kind. He found to his surprise -that these people, formerly so unreliable, not unwillingly allowed -themselves to be manœuvred to his advantage. Sometimes they seemed to -move round him like mutes in a play, in which Peter Selamb was the hero, -and which play must end with his enrichment and aggrandisement. But do -not suppose that Peter grew proud, extravagant or reckless. No, he took -good care not to awaken any dangerous fear in others. Quite -instinctively, and only to hide his real self, he gradually grew more -and more good-natured, pleasant and cheerful. It cost him no effort -because he felt he would earn money by it. Yes, even his body assumed -something of his cunning and grew and expanded about the chest and -stomach, in order to remove all angles and give him a more trustworthy -appearance, so that he might the more easily achieve his end. Peter -never looked so pleased as when someone joked with him about his getting -fat. - -The first indication of Peter’s new frame of mind was that of learning -to play “vira.” He made a third with the bailiff Inglund and old Lundbom -from the yard. - -As a matter of fact Peter had never been on a really bad footing with -the new bailiff. Inglund was an experienced farmer, but obstinate and -averse to everything new. He was fond of his ease, the type of man who -has worked his whole life for low wages for other people. He did not -love authority and was not unwilling to divide his responsibility. He -did not mind Peter shadowing him under the pretence of helping him. He -liked to teach whatever he knew of his trade. “Next time I can send the -boy and need not go myself,” was his thought. And then he would remain -on his sofa smoking his pipe and smiling at silly Peter, who ran his -errands. Meanwhile Peter’s knowledge grew daily and as he advanced with -rapid strides to his position of authority he became more and more -indispensable. And both were satisfied. - -Thus Peter played “vira” with Inglund and Lundbom. With what an -agreeable feeling of dangers overcome did he not sit there in the -bailiff’s quarters smoking and drinking and sending forth his orders -from these seats of power and knowledge. This was different from roaming -about in the dark outside, hungry, lonely and frightened. Peter enjoyed -the old men’s calm and circumstantial way of talking and telling -stories. It was somehow informed with a superior and yet harmless and -benevolent wordly wisdom. And one could still feel one’s superior -strength. Warmed by his grog Peter sat smiling contentedly and drank in -their golden lore of the changing nature of the earth and the varying -seasons and the strange ways of money among the labyrinths of the law. -And all the time he saw visions of future wealth in the thick clouds of -tobacco smoke. - -Like all new beginners Peter had, of course, shamelessly good luck. But -he did not become disagreeably smug or unpleasantly overweening. That -was a great feature in his character. He tried to moderate his good luck -in order to be tolerated in the company. And soon he had become quite a -shrewd and skilful player. - -Peter never regretted having learnt to play “vira.” The cards soon -proved an excellent means of communication with useful people. The -gatherings in the bailiff’s rooms soon had some offshoots in town. Peter -accompanied the bailiff to cheery drinking and card parties with -business friends, both buyers and sellers. Thus it was by the paths of -rye, potatoes and bacon that Peter penetrated into the town. Here Peter -recognised amongst many new faces some of the old ones from Brundin’s -great crayfish party. They were all men of seventeen stone with heavy -fists and well filled purses. But they no longer pressed Peter down to -the ground. On the contrary, he felt a solemn exhilaration mingled with -hopeful expectation as he sat among these bulging pocketbooks. And -whilst he arranged his cards and watched his play he kept his eyes and -ears open, learned the correct jargon, studied the market, and did not -lose a thread in the skein of business names and connections. During all -this time there often came over him the dreamy expression of one who -stops in his walk to listen to the rush of a still invisible cataract. -It was the rolling of money that Peter heard in the noise of the -streets, which is so unfamiliar to country folk. The town to him meant -money, the money that would one day roll into Selambshof and fall into -Peter’s pockets. - -But let us return to the bailiff’s rooms and see Peter’s second -adversary. Old Lundbom, who was an expert in the difficult game of -“misère,” sat muttering, with his spectacles slipping down over his nose -and his extinguished cigar stuck into a gap in his front teeth. From -him, too, could Peter derive much useful knowledge. As a managing clerk -he knew not only the recognised forms of business and ways of money and -the setting forth of it in columns with figures and names. He was also -secretly a keen amateur lawyer, was this old nutcracker. The Law of -Sweden, text books of civil law, reports of law cases and judgments -constituted his favourite reading in his spare time. Once started on -that subject he was difficult to stop. It was with a peculiar enjoyment -that Peter heard him tell of long and involved lawsuits in which large -sums had changed hands. To Peter’s simple understanding the law was -nothing else but a collection of all the tricks that could be used to -get hold of other people’s money. Old Lundbom would have been very -perplexed in his unselfish complacency if he had seen how greedily Peter -picked up any information that might possibly be of use to him some day. - -One evening—it was as a matter of fact a fine and calm evening in the -beginning of July and the hay had just been got in—the usual trio sat -playing by the light of a lamp out in the porch. Then Peter suddenly -heard something which made him think hard. Old Lundbom was speaking -about a business that had to be sold at a great loss after the death of -the owner because one of the heirs was a minor and had to receive his -inheritance in trustee stock. - -Here at Selambshof both Laura and Tord were minors! And their father had -lain in bed for half a year past. If he died now—how could Peter become -bailiff? - -Peter tried in vain to lure Lundbom into a discussion of the case of -Selambshof. He could not force a direct question over his lips. He was -somehow afraid to give himself away, and his old lurking fear beset him -again in this stupid, meaningless fashion. It would have been quite -natural for him to ask questions about the future risks of the estate. -But then we all have such fits.... - -That night Peter lay sleepless. Selambshof was once more a besieged -fortress. Even Brundin’s ghost haunted the dual silence. A sad -relapse...! - -As early as four o’clock he put on his trousers and stole to his father. -The old man lay put away in a small room by himself far away on the -ground floor towards the north. In former days the soiled linen had been -kept there. Oskar Selamb had now overlived his time seventeen years. -There must after all have been something in old Enoch’s toughness and -vitality. But last Christmas he had been ill for some time and since -then he had never troubled to get up again. He thought it more -comfortable in bed. Now he lay there with his chin in the air and his -long grey beard in waves over the sheet. He did not snore at all. A -spider came out of a corner and ran quickly over the counterpane. Was -the old man dead? Peter started and stole with trembling limbs up to the -bedside. No! Oskar Selamb lay awake staring with his bleared, grey eyes -at the brown damp stains on the ceiling. - -“How are you, father?” Peter said anxiously. - -The old man’s voice was as rusty as if it had not been used for years: - -“Been running,” he muttered pointing at the damp stains. - -“But I asked how you were, father.” - -Hedvig occupied the room next door and it was she who nursed the old -man. She insisted on doing it. Now her father pointed with his thumb to -her room. - -“Up?” he wondered anxiously. - -“But I wanted to know how you felt, father?” - -“Must not wash me,” whined Oskar Selamb. “Cold water!—don’t wash me...!” - -Then Hedvig suddenly stood in the door. She was dressed in a torn old -dressing gown. Her black hair was brushed tight over the temples and -hung over her shoulders in a long shining plait, which looked as if it -had been plaited by hard, mean fingers. She was still pale with a -strange, deathly pallor, and her dark eyes were awake, as intensely -awake as if the sweet drops of sleep had never been poured into them. - -“What’s the matter now?” - -She spoke in a tone as if she had been lying reproaching herself the -whole night. - -Peter felt uncomfortable. Did people not sleep in this house of a night. -He did not particularly like to see Hedvig. Brundin’s shadow hung over -her still. She was like a ghost from the time of his great fear. And -then she was religious. She had a sort of secret understanding with the -gods of which Peter in his innermost heart was still rather frightened. -Yes, however one approached her, one seemed to be burnt up. But all the -same Peter managed the business splendidly. He resembled a man playing -ball with a live coal which is still too hot to hold for long in his -hand. Though frightened himself he directed her fear into a channel -where there might slumber things of use to Peter Selamb. - -“I woke up and felt so anxious about father,” he muttered. “I felt as if -something was going to happen to him.” - -“Do you think I am not listening?” Hedvig said, shrugging her shoulders. - -“We have not always been as we ought to be to poor father,” sighed -Peter. - -Hedvig’s beautiful face hardened and she assumed the expression of an -injured martyr. - -“Don’t I wear myself out for him? Haven’t I nursed him day and night -since he has been confined to his bed?” - -Peter was not so convinced that her nursing was so tender. When he -thought of lying ill and being washed by Hedvig’s hands he felt cold -shivers down his back. But he took care not to show it. - -“Yes, Hedvig, you are a real saint. But Laura and Stellan, who never -come to see father—and I who—yes, we shall get our punishment.” - -Over Hedvig’s face there spread a glimmer of satisfaction. - -“What kind of punishment will that be?” - -“Oh, father might die, for example. Do you know what would happen if -father dies before Tord is of age? They will sell the estate for an old -song and we shall become paupers. But if we can keep it we are sure to -be well off, all of us.” - -Peter said no more. He only sighed and then he went back to his room to -recover his lost sleep. - -That same day old Selamb was moved up into a big, light and airy room -facing east. Peter spied on Hedvig and received several proofs that his -words had taken effect. She was evidently frightened, for secretly she -redoubled her efforts. Enviously and with a look of silent reproach to -the whole world she watched incessantly over her father. With a sort of -gloomy, obstinate determination she wore herself out with her cares. - -Peter’s own worry was agreeably relieved. He felt that he had given the -matter into good hands. Sister Hedvig was now to be numbered among the -many that struggled in the cause of Peter Selamb. - -Peter had a habit of stealing in to glance at the old man now and then. -It was quite edifying to see him lying there washed and brushed between -white sheets in the sparkling sunshine. Peter felt something of the -pleasure of the merchant who goes to his safe and turns over his -gilt-edge securities. One day Peter brought a bunch of flowers in his -hand. Flowers in Peter’s hand! That was, of course, a piece of pure -superstition, the offer of a bribe to the Powers. His expression was -strange, for he was probably afraid of being found out. But as nobody -was in the room he put the flowers quickly into a glass and placed them -on the bed-table. Then he stood there quite a long while with his head -on one side and he felt quite moved. - -After that there were almost always flowers in the glass when Peter -came. Yes, Hedvig had also begun to pick flowers. And they did not -wither in her hand. No, they looked perfectly fresh and bright on the -bed-table. But all the same there was a kind of suspicious aversion in -her movements, and she did not like to look at them. It was all so new -and strange. One would scarcely have recognised the old Selambshof. A -stranger coming in for a few days only would have thought that he was -moving amongst the angels. - -The only one who did not like the change was old Selamb. He had grown -accustomed to the dim light, the dirt, the knocks, and sour faces. This -quiet, bright room worried him in some way. Into his dull brain some -thought of illness and death must have penetrated when he found himself -treated like a feeble invalid. He followed Hedvig’s silent movements -with suspicious glances. He was stubborn, whined, and indulged in -foolish little pinpricks and impotent acts of spite, all of which she -suffered with a secret joy as adding spice to her martyrdom. But the old -man’s hate was especially directed towards the flowers, that strange -innovation that smelt of a funeral. One day the glass was empty and he -pointed with a grin under the bed. He had thrown them into the -bedchamber. - -And so that was the end of the flowers, and indeed there could never be -flowers for long within the four walls of Selambshof. Peter was not very -disappointed. One can’t always be sentimental. Moreover during -subsequent “vira” parties Peter had made further inquiries and now knew -more. The matter would not be so hopeless even if his father did die. -But he took good care not to tell Hedvig. There was no harm in being -careful. - -It now only remained to enlist old Hermansson in the company of those -who lived and worked for Peter Selamb. He felt that this was where the -shoe pinched. But though he loitered about Ekbacken he still refrained -from approaching the old man. He came over to consult his guardian about -the management of the estate. He did not directly complain of the -bailiff, but he managed to convey discreetly that the bailiff spent most -of his time lying on his sofa, smoking his pipe. But still the old man -did not grasp his excellent idea of dismissing Inglund and making the -capable and conscientious Peter bailiff. - -However much Peter pondered over the matter he could not guess why old -Hermansson was so distant and on his dignity toward him, whilst he yet -seized every occasion to show his fatherly interest in Stellan. That -lazy, supercilious Stellan who strutted about in his uniform and sneered -and looked important when he occasionally came home after his idiotic -drill. Peter had an economic contempt for everything in uniform, which -showed how simple he was, and how much he still had to learn from life. -If he had only observed old Hermansson a little more closely, as with -his head held high and his hand inside the lapel of his coat he strutted -up and down the avenue by the side of Stellan with his glittering braid -and sword belt, he would perhaps have understood a good deal better. - -Everything striking and challenging stirred Peter’s egoism, though it -still sought to hide itself. - -Whilst he scratched his head, a thought flashed through his brain: “If I -could think of something sufficiently mad, perhaps it would work -better,” he thought, and soon after he conceived the brilliant idea that -was to bring matters to a successful issue. - -After weeks of careful preparation he marched off one day to Ekbacken. -It was a fine windy day in May and down at the repairing slip they were -just fitting out Herman’s fine, new cutter. Herman himself was standing -on the pier dressed in the uniform of the Royal Yacht Club and gave -orders to a crowd of lazy-looking youths who had succeeded the old -sailors. Peter shook his head as he passed. It positively hurt him to -see such expensive toys. - -In the smoke-room at Ekbacken a card table and an easy chair were placed -between the Marieberg stove and a new piece of furniture, a mahogany and -glass monstrosity containing coloured silk ribbons and the gilt insignia -of all the secret societies in which the owner of the house held high -rank. There old Hermansson now sat playing patience. - -“What do you want here, my friend?” muttered the old man without looking -up from his cards. - -“Well, there was something I had to tell you. You know that it is a very -long time since father said anything rational. But today when I went in -to see him as usual he seemed to have brightened up. He fumbled after my -hand and then he said: ‘You must go and thank my old friend. You must go -and thank old William for all he has done for old Selambshof.’ Yes, -that’s what he said. And I felt so strange because it was just as if -father would not have long to live. That was all I wanted to tell you.” - -His guardian looked up from his cards with an expression of solemn -sympathy and quiet reproach: - -“Well, well, did he really say that, dear old Oskar? Yes, it really does -me good to hear that there are still some people who are grateful. I -will go and see him as soon as possible.” - -Peter went home contented. A visit was exactly what he wished for. The -following day old Hermansson came. It evidently affected him to see the -invalid. Much moved and very solemn he walked up to the bed: - -“Good-morning, dear old Oskar!” - -Old Selamb grunted something in his beard. He did not seem specially -pleased at the meeting. - -“How are things with you, old friend? I am ashamed that I have not been -to see you for such a long time.” - -The invalid was still not interested. Peter had to intervene. - -“It’s William. Don’t you see, father, that it is William who has been so -good to us all?” - -“Yes, Oskar, you recognise old William, don’t you?” - -Old Selamb seemed to be growing impatient. He looked critically at his -old friend: - -“Seedy,” he muttered, “damned seedy.” - -Peter did not like the turn the conversation had taken. - -He suddenly sat down on the edge of the bed with his back to old -Hermansson. Then he looked his father full in the eyes, touched his -pocket and showed the corner of a paper bag. Then the invalid’s face -suddenly assumed a keen, wide-awake and almost human expression, and he -stretched out a trembling hand to his son: - -“Peter ... look after ... estate,” he muttered, in his deep, rusty -voice. “Peter shall manage the estate....” - -“Now he seems to be getting excited again,” whispered Peter to old -Hermansson. “It is dangerous for him to get excited. But he usually -calms down if he gets something to chew.” - -Peter took some crumbs of cheese out of the paper bag and gave them to -his father, who devoured them with avidity and then sank into his usual -apathy again. - -Old Hermansson stood in deep thought. Here lay the sick friend of his -youth on the bed he would never leave. In a lucid moment he first sends -a touching greeting and then when he came to see him his reason once -more flashes up and he begs help for his first-born. It was almost like -a command from the grave. - -Peter’s guardian seized his hand and pressed it warmly: - -“Old Oskar shall be obeyed,” he said, “you shall manage Selambshof!” - -Peter, alarmed and startled, protested, but the old man was firm: - -“You and none else,” he said in a tone that suffered no contradiction. - -Then he went home to his patience again. - -Peter had succeeded by a clever use of his father’s insatiable greed for -old cheese with caraway seeds in it. Day after day he had been sitting -there on the edge of the bed tempting him with a piece of cheese in his -hands, till the old man learnt the formula that opened the gates of joy -to him. - -It is generally the boldest and stupidest tricks that succeed. Peter -never forgot the caraway cheese. He used it, as a matter of fact, -throughout his life. - -Thus half a year later Peter became manager at Selambshof. He had -developed quickly. He began as a coarse, lumbering, hulking hireling. -But this massive foundation concealed by a certain smiling good temper -and maudlin sentimentality was rather misleading to those who were not -warned by the quick flashes in his cunning bear’s eyes. - -It was at this point that the firstborn of the family got the nickname -“Peter the Boss,” a name which stuck to him all his life and under which -he was known in wide circles. - -Thus Peter the Boss now sat enthroned in the office at Selambshof. Now -he wandered in the perfection of his power through the domains of -Selambshof, controlled only by Peter the Boss himself. But he did not -swagger. He did not become an absolute tyrant as old Enoch had been in -his time. He did not worry people too much. He only had a habit of -turning up grinning on the most unexpected occasions. You never knew -where you had him. There was no possibility of pilfering as in Brundin’s -time. Peter was content with that. His desire was not power, but -possession. There were many things he reflected upon, but always from -the point of view of “yours” or “mine,” preferably “mine.” And then -slowly he began to walk in Brundin’s footsteps. But without the boldness -and rashness of that “fairy prince.” He felt his way carefully. He left -no traces. He began with modest schemes. He joked his way through, so -that you never knew when you had him until you suddenly found you had -agreed to something after a jolly evening with cards and drink. One of -the old customers of the estate, for instance, wanted potatoes at the -old price, which was really too low. Peter laughed at him. But when they -sat down to cards, he said he would be damned if he shouldn’t have the -potatoes if he won that night. In this way Peter recovered half the -difference of price and the matter was settled in the early morning. -Peter pretended that he settled the business whilst in his cups, and the -other was welcome to think he had got the better of Peter. Or perhaps -some cab proprietor wanted to buy hay. There was a scarcity of hay that -spring—but not at Selambshof. This was a fine chance for Peter. He -snapped out a very high price. The proprietor offered two-thirds. -Business seemed impossible. But as they sat there hobnobbing with each -other they began to argue about the height of the Eiffel Tower. Peter -maintained it was 300 metres high. If he had not just been reading about -it he would not have mentioned it. The cab proprietor doubted it. - -“All right, let us lay a wager,” said Peter. “All right,” replied the -cab proprietor. “A thousand kronor,” said Peter and winked. But the cab -proprietor became thoughtful. - -“I am like a little child when I have won a wager,” grinned Peter. The -cab proprietor made a rapid calculation and then agreed to the bet in -the cloud of smoke. And Peter won the bet and the cab proprietor got the -hay at his own price. So you see that even the Eiffel Tower has its -uses. - -In this way much business was done in the good old times. - -Soon there was not a single turnip sold but Peter the Boss managed in -some cunning way or other to exact his toll. The money came rolling in -and he already had a nice little banking account. - -But conscience! Did not Peter understand that this was bad faith towards -his principals? Did he not think it ugly to rob his brothers and sisters -in this way? No, when it came to the point Peter did not think of -principals or brothers and sisters or anything at all in that way. The -whole thing was a matter between himself and Brundin. Peter was taking -his revenge on Brundin, that was all. He beat the nightmare of his -childhood on his own ground. So strange are our victories sometimes. -Peter felt a delightful relief after each successful coup, a relief that -was almost related to a good conscience. - -Meanwhile Peter the Boss grew fatter and more good-tempered and jovial. -He patted Isaksson, the housekeeper, on the back and lent Stellan, who -was always in a tight corner, money with pleasure. Then he offered punch -and with his customary luck won the whole lot back from him again, so -that Stellan had to write an I.O.U. for the double amount, for he had to -have the money. Stellan rose, shrugging his shoulders, when he had -written it and looked contemptuously at his elder brother: - -“Just like the Jews,” he said in his sneering voice. “Hang it all, -Peter, you do look common. It is so under-class to become bloated with -spirit!” - -“Dear, oh dear!” said Peter in his softest voice, “didn’t you notice -that before you began to play?” - -It is true that Peter drank a good deal. Spirit and business melted -together with him so that he could not distinguish one from the other. -That was why he always drank with a good conscience and grew fat with a -good conscience. Because in Sweden in those days it was still easier for -fat people to do business than for thin. - -If Peter could think of nothing else he used to put a bottle in his -pocket and march down to Tord, who now lived in “The Rookery,” with all -his crows and snakes and foxes. He was a queer fish, Tord, but he was -always good enough to drink a glass with. In school he had made himself -impossible long ago, but instead of school he sat at home reading a lot -of bulky old volumes, and amongst the working people of the estate he -was the object of a certain superstitious reverence on account of his -strange ways and his learning. Then one day he flung the books on the -floor and decided to turn painter—animal painter. That was after he had -taken in another inmate, a two-legged one this time, a mysterious -creature who seldom appeared in daylight, but who passed for an artist, -a real artist from the Academy. His name was Eklund and he was an -incurable bohemian, contemptuous of the world, and cynical. Nobody knew -where Tord had caught this fish, but it was probably in some ditch on -the outskirts of the town. Anyhow he was now going to teach Tord to -paint animals. - -Yes, Tord was a queer fellow who sooner or later would be sure to go to -the dogs, but nobody would be any the poorer for that, at least not -Peter, so he could always drink a glass with him in anticipation of the -catastrophe. And that strange creature Eklund did not spoil things -either. It tasted rather good to drink with such impossible fellows. -Tord did not, of course, talk much—he usually sat and stared. But with -Eklund one could discuss the profoundest problems, if only he had enough -inside him. He was one of those radical devils who believe neither in -Heaven nor Hell. Peter protested with inimitable sentimentality against -his acid cynicism, but secretly he enjoyed it. In his inmost heart he -had a feeling it somehow sanctioned his little tricks.... - -About that time the guardian of Selambshof died. - -Old Hermansson had of late been so unnaturally sound that he could not -have long to live. And one morning he could not get out of his bed. He -had died during the night from paralysis of the heart. - -At the funeral in the little granite church Herman sobbed between his -two old aunts, his only relations. But Peter clung instinctively to his -sister Hedvig. This was something in her line, he thought. Here she held -the direct connections. Far away from the cynicism of Eklund Peter the -Boss stood there anxiously wondering if this business would not bring -him some profit in its train. And had he not been kind to his own aged, -sick father, and had him removed into a better room, and seen to it that -he had the best care? Yes, there in the church Peter was still making -his little efforts to cheat the Almighty. But out here beside the open -grave he grew unctuous. It was no longer cowardice in face of the last -judgment. That was an exquisite refuge when compared with the dark hole -in front of him. Before the grave every man is shaken down to his most -elementary instincts. Peter the Boss ate ashes at the thought of -creeping down there away from everything that he possessed and would -possess. Fancy having nothing more, absolutely nothing! He stood there -pale and ill with his hat in his hand and gulped down the lump in his -throat like a fish out of water. He would willingly have sacrificed a -whole year’s salary if he could have got away from it all. - -At last he sat in his carriage and rolled away from Death’s domains into -those of Selambshof. His sickness disappeared by and by. He felt with a -feverish sigh how business was resuming its normal sway over his -thoughts. But still he was like a man who, after a dangerous sea voyage, -feels the movement of the sea even though he is walking on the green -earth. - -There was a dinner at Ekbacken. To everybody’s amazement, Peter rose and -made a speech. After the day’s emotions he was very sentimental. Oh, how -delightful it was to let yourself go and to be moved by, and grateful -for, everything, and to be filled with great, beautiful and solemn -emotions. There were no bounds to the greatness and noble philanthropy -of old Hermansson and to what they all had to thank his noble generous -heart for. Peter then turned to the only son of this great and noble -man. He did not need to describe what Herman was suffering at that -moment. But he must not feel himself alone in the world. Everybody -present suffered with him. And if it was hard for Herman to throw -himself at once into business in the midst of his grief, he must never -forget that Selambshof lay next door to old Ekbacken. A helping hand -from Peter Selamb would not be lacking when required.... - -Peter had tears in his eyes. He was whole-heartedly a “helping hand.” -His emotion was almost genuine, and he felt that his tears watered soil -of which he might himself reap the harvest. - -Herman had never liked Peter, but had rather avoided him. But now he had -no power of resistance. Childishly ashamed of his own tears, he sought -cover behind these of Peter. He believed him because just now he felt -the need of belief in somebody. And there was nobody else to hand. -Stellan was so strangely silent and cold just now. He was somehow not -made to be a consoler. But Peter overwhelmed him by his rhapsodies, -helpfulness, and his massive vitality overflowing with life and -animation. There were not many moments when he left Herman alone during -the following days. And he used to talk about Laura. It helped Herman in -the bitter loneliness that fastened upon his still unguarded soul. Twice -Laura had been allowed to go back to her boarding school. And hitherto -she had to a certain extent been right when she thought that both she -and Herman were too young to get married. But now she was to stay at -home, said Peter. He had telegraphed her on the day of the death of -Herman’s father and could not understand why she had not come back -already. Did she really deserve such a husband as Herman, such a jolly -good fellow, heir to an honourable name and a substantial fortune? And -so Peter’s thoughts turned to money again. Did Herman fully realise how -rich he was? Ekbacken—oh, it had immense possibilities! Peter saw them, -because he had already had business experience. And, as he had said -before, he would help Herman in word and deed now when everything had to -be cleared up after the death of his father. - -Everything went as Peter wished. He became administrator of the estate -of the late timber merchant and shipbuilder, William Hermansson. A week -ago he would have shaken his head at such a possibility. Now the thing -was almost obvious. - -Old Lundbom had to supply the necessary expert knowledge. He was so -touched and so flattered when Peter came and wanted to make him guardian -over his father that he willingly sacrificed his evening hours to clear -up all difficulties of the administration. He had managed Ekbacken’s -business practically alone during recent years—but without having asked -for a penny’s increase of salary. The old man had never realised that -one might be clever on one’s own account too. He was a servant and -nothing but a servant. And now in the midst of his sincere grief at the -death of his beloved old master he took a childish pleasure in seeing -his knowledge of law being put into practice on such an important -occasion. - -The winding-up of the estate was entirely Lundbom’s work. It gave Peter -a very interesting insight into the affairs of Ekbacken and six thousand -crowns into the bargain. At first he made a few diffident attempts to -refuse the money that Herman pressed on him. Herman was flushed with -excitement and very stiff in the back. Had not the estate shown more -than three hundred thousand crowns assets? Then he supposed he could -afford to pay a friend for his solicitude and care. Peter gave in in -good time and put the cheque in his pocket with a sigh: - -“Thank you, dear Herman! We Selambs are unfortunately too poor to say -no!” - -When this matter was settled they walked about a long time on the estate -discussing the future of Ekbacken. Herman wanted to give up building -barges and instead wanted to build racing yachts of a type that had just -won through. It was a high-class and interesting-quality work. He would -build his own boats and compete for prizes just as people kept -racehorses in their stables. It would be a fine advertisement and would -perhaps interest Laura. - -Peter looked thoughtful but did not contradict him. - -They came out on to the highroad, which was dusty and worn out by the -constantly increasing traffic. The heaps of road metal and the -stone-cutters’ sheds were drawing nearer the old oaks. The town was -grinding the hills around it to powder. Soon the last grey granite -fortress of Ekbacken would fall. But Herman swore that he would defend -his own idyllic home. There were already plenty of people who came to -him and wanted to buy sites for factories. But his father’s old Ekbacken -must not be split up and spoilt in that way. - -Peter still did not contradict him. He was absorbed in deep thought. -Suddenly he warmly pressed his future brother-in-law’s hand: - -“You are a fine fellow, Herman. Damn me, but you are a fine fellow!” - -After this Peter the Boss stalked homewards—with the first great cheque -of his life in his pocket he stalked homewards this cold, still evening -in spring. He felt strangely cool about his forehead, and sometimes he -felt as if he were treading on air. Strange how everything played into -his hands. By making Lundbom guardian he ruled absolutely at Selambshof. -Through Laura he would soon be able to control Ekbacken. And the town -with its thousand possibilities, crept nearer and nearer with every -hour. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - X - - +LAURA’S MARRIAGE+ - - -For more than two years Laura had been at a boarding school in -Neuchatel. She had been home a few times, at Christmas and Midsummer, -but soon she had contrived to get away again. It was quite amusing to -meet Herman for a week or two. And it was awfully nice to have him to -think of in lonely and sentimental moments. But she was afraid to bind -herself to him quite definitely. - -“We can’t marry yet, of course,” she said, “and then it is better not to -wear out each other’s feelings.” - -It was always so delightful to say good-bye to Herman. His grief did her -good. There was always a faithful heart waiting for her whilst she flew -out into the wide world. - -And it may even have happened that Laura cried a little in the train. - -But it was always with the happiest laughter and the most excited talk -that she rushed back to her school friends. And she was greeted with -delighted shouts of welcome. For though she had no real friend, she was -liked by all. They never got tired of ruffling her unusual, fair hair, -which in the general opinion, was frightfully pretty. She was the -obvious leader whenever they wanted to throw dust in the eyes of the -poor teachers on returning home too late after walks or after mysterious -expeditions in the dense garden of an evening. With a mixture of fear -and unwilling admiration, the good German teachers nicknamed her “Die -blonde Lüge.” - -Had Laura so much to lie about then? Well! perhaps a little flirtation -with the students in the town. But nothing serious. As a matter of fact -Laura was very careful—much more careful than one would have believed if -one had been allowed to read her diary, written in profoundest secrecy. -For there she exaggerated and romanced in a most charming manner and -seized every opportunity to make herself interesting to herself. Yes, -she falsified her own memoirs, quite gaily and airily. All of which your -moralist would no doubt consider the height of mendacity, but after all -it does not signify very much when you are at boarding school. - -“Die blonde Lüge” had nothing to do with a certain little Polish lady -who was packed off because she came home much too late one evening ... -and who received the following morning a parcel containing neither more -nor less than her corsets. - -That was a great and mysterious event which became the subject of -endless whispered conversations, when the light was turned out in the -evenings. - - * * * * * - -But then there came a telegram and a letter, saying that old Hermansson -was dead and that she must go home. Then Laura felt at once that the -best thing she could do was to fall seriously in love with her faithful -Herman. And strange to say, it was not at all so difficult to say -good-bye to Neuchatel, as she had thought it would be. The prospect of -meeting Herman alone, free, and independent was quite agreeable to her. -Strange, but it actually seemed as if old Hermansson had, in spite of -all his kindness, stood between her and Herman. Now she really enjoyed -indulgence in all the romantic sentiments of her diary. - -Before Laura left, the idea came to her that she would become properly -engaged to Herman at a distance. This they did and they exchanged rings -by post. It was a sentimental idea of a schoolgirl conceived in order to -impress the other girls and to make a brilliant exit. - -And so Laura at last returned home to make ready for the great wedding -trip with the luxurious hotels and shops and the tunnels and moonlight -nights. She sat there in the train and grew more sure of her love for -Herman. She felt a real thrill when she saw him on the platform, a -delicious thrill straight through her heart. He looked so awfully -handsome, refined, and serious in his tall hat and mourning band, one -could not really wish for a better companion on a wedding trip. - -Herman wanted the wedding to take place in the autumn. One could not -have the wedding immediately after the funeral. - -Summer came, a delightful summer of sunshine, and Herman was pleasant, -devoted and chivalrous. There was nothing but flowers and admiration and -knightly courtesy. They were out sailing a great deal in Herman’s fine -new cutter, which of course was called “Laura.” Herman himself had -designed the boat and expected a lot from it. He was known as “The -Engineer” at the yard. He had spent a couple of years at the School of -Technology but he had left it because he was dissatisfied with the -instruction. Now he was sitting there holding the tiller, tall, slim and -sunburnt, wearing the uniform of the Royal Yacht Club, which was also -very becoming. And Laura lay in a white sweater and white yachting shoes -in the sunshine on deck and thought it was good that he sat and kept a -look out with his faithful blue eyes whilst the ship of their lives -elegantly tacked into the brilliant future. - -Herman entered the boat for several races. Unhappily owing to a series -of annoying accidents, such as bad luck with the wind, and small -breakdowns, he was unable to win a prize. But anyhow there was open-air -dancing afterwards and a regatta with Chinese lanterns and fireworks. -And Laura came home quite excited with dancing and wine and the sound of -lapping water in a blue darkness full of kisses and the sound of -clinking glasses and songs and hearty curses and bright, sinuous, -reflections and sudden bouquets of light shooting up above the edge of -the forests. - -Laura was really unreservedly happy during this period. It seemed as if -the happy care-free years down in a Southern atmosphere had set fire to -her and thawed her. She had acquired a certain sweetness that was -unusual under the skies of Selambshof. During these summer months it -seemed as if Selambshof had lost its power over her. She hovered -laughingly around the coarse and greedy imp, Peter the Boss. She smiled -at Hedvig’s bitter, stiff and offended airs. She moved like a happy and -contented stranger in and out of this dreary malevolent house, where the -former naughty Laura had once sat drinking vinegar in order to escape -into the world. - -Laura was just twenty years old. The particular kind of egoism that -comes from bad nerves was completely alien to her. She blossomed out -under kisses, which had not yet become the serious business of life. It -was her season of roses. All the good elements in her nature had their -great opportunity. Would this soft mellow rose-perfume penetrate to the -core of her being? Where there is a fund of health there are always -possibilities. Things had never looked so promising. - -Laura had taken it into her head that they would take a flat in town. -The idea was constantly in her mind. What supreme comfort it would be to -live amongst restaurants, shops and theatres with plenty of pin money! -She begged and implored Herman, but on this point he was really -immovable. He felt it would be treason to his dead father to leave -Ekbacken. And lo! Laura yielded like a good child. She even liked him -because he knew his own mind. - -She also gave in on another point. She had dreamed that they would start -on their great wedding trip at once. But Herman, who had a dispute, -concerning shore rights, with the town to attend to, had to wait till -the spring, when the matter would be regulated. He had to defend his -dead father’s old Ekbacken. He seemed to gather strength from the -mourning band on his sleeve. - -If only that strength had survived a little longer.... The wedding day -came nearer and nearer. - -Stellan came home from the summer manœuvres, brought his heels together -with a slight click of his spurs and greeted his pretty sister with -ironical politeness. He had grown into a witty and elegant young -officer. The uniform was exactly the right mask for his easy cynicism -and light irony. Now he kissed Laura’s hand. - -“So you’re going to get married,” he said, “and you’re sticking to your -old lake. What an idyl, my dear Laura.” - -Laura snatched her hand away shyly. She somehow could not answer with a -smile. Stellan made quite another impression on her than the others at -Selambshof. He was the real brother of the old, naughty Laura. Her love -was in some way afraid of him. Yes, she was also afraid on Herman’s -account. Quite instinctively Laura did all she could to avoid Stellan -during the next days, though it was he who had undertaken all the -arrangements for the wedding. - -Now the morning of the wedding had arrived. Laura came for the last time -out of the room in which she had slept as a little girl. She left it -without regrets. Selambshof had never been a home. She remembered how -lonely she had been these last days. Nobody had sat by her bedside the -last night and talked late in whispers far into the night. She was not -afraid. One could not be afraid of Herman. No, but she had been lying in -her bed longing to have at least a little letter from a school friend to -read. - -As Laura walked down the passage she suddenly heard Stellan’s voice in -the smoking room. It must have been Peter he was talking to, because the -replies sounded like coarse mutterings. She was just stealing past the -door to find Hedvig, for today she felt a strange aversion to meeting -her brothers alone. But then something made her stop and listen. She -heard her own name and Herman’s pronounced. “Laura ... she ... will be -able to twist the poor boy round her little finger....” - -It was Stellan’s voice—curiously penetrating—like drinking iced water. -Then she heard Peter mumble in a thick voice, expressive at one and the -same time of satisfaction and discontent: - -“There are sure to be difficulties in the long run with Ekbacken—not a -business man at all.” - -Laura heard no more, for somebody had begun to hammer in the hall. For a -moment she stood motionless. She felt a little sick from the smell of -freshly scrubbed floors, which lingered in the dark passage. She -suddenly felt the oppressiveness of the high dismal house again. For a -fraction of a second a strange sensation of being in some way cheated -shot through her. Then she became angry—exceedingly angry with Stellan -and Peter. But she said nothing, she did not go in to them, but hurried -down to Ekbacken to greet Herman and convince herself that he was still -the same. She remained there so long that he grew anxious lest she -should not have time to dress for the wedding. - -Then the guests began to arrive. Stellan had managed to collect quite a -fair number of fine folk. The dowager from Kolsnäs and her son were -there. Lähnfeldt’s elegant carriage drove up to the door. But Percy Hill -was abroad and was only represented by the fine old Dutch master he had -sent as a wedding present. Peter’s contribution was a collection of the -wealthiest customers of Selambshof. Herman had very few relatives left, -except the two old aunts, who had been at the funeral and who looked -very shy and plain. - -Hedvig demonstratively put on a dark severe-looking frock and she spread -a chill around her. Tord was not there. He did not go to bourgeois -parties. - -The marriage ceremony was to take place in the hall, which was decorated -with all the bright autumn flowers the old gardener had been able to -collect in the garden. - -They had almost succeeded in concealing the shabbiness and gloom of the -room. Laura was late. The clergyman had already had time to smell the -dahlias three times before she appeared. Her expression had something of -both defiance and anxiety, as if the guests had assembled there to amuse -themselves at her expense. But Herman’s looks apologized both for the -delay and for his having to stand on the right of his lady. - -Laura’s voice sounded impatient when she answered her “yes.” It sounded -as if she had been kept waiting at the booking office window before a -long journey. - -During dinner she was also nervous. She was silent, and emptied her -glass absent-mindedly, and drummed with her fingers on the table during -the clergyman’s speech. The speech was somewhat lugubrious. It seemed as -if he had only two speeches to choose from, one for weddings and the -other for funerals, and as if he had fallen on the wrong one. - -Laura’s brothers were sitting opposite, further down the table. There -was a challenging and hostile flash in her eyes, as she looked at them. -She suddenly raised her glass to Peter, who looked like a dressed-up -farmhand: - -“Your health, Mr. Bailiff!” she said. “It feels queer to be in evening -dress, doesn’t it?” - -Her voice sounded strained. She looked quickly and appealingly at -Herman, who, however, did not seem to understand. Angry at not receiving -any support, though it was for his sake she was taking her revenge, she -now turned on Stellan. Stellan had placed himself beside Elvira -Lähnfeldt, now a slim and distinguished-looking young lady, who chatted -about horses and tennis. He seemed to enjoy paying her attention. He did -it with the expression of a man who is already accustomed to succeed -with the ladies. “Look at me,” he seemed to be saying, “I am privileged -to wear a full dress uniform. I belong to the few who look dressed up -when they wear civilian clothes. I am born for the good things in life, -for pretty women and a fine setting.” But Laura knew her elegant -brother. She knew how to penetrate his arrogant self-assurance. Her -voice became suddenly tender and affecting: - -“Stellan,” she said, looking into his eyes over the sparkling champagne, -“Old Hermansson died so suddenly that neither you nor I had an -opportunity of thanking him. Now as you are sitting with Herman in front -of you, I think you ought to stand up and make a speech to his father’s -memory. For if he had not been so awfully decent and helped you, instead -of being such a really smart officer and lady’s man as you are now, you -would have been quite an ordinary little bank-clerk or teacher of -mathematics or something equally ridiculous and civilian!” - -Miss Lähnfeldt looked as if she had heard something positively indecent. -Stellan bit his lip and grew a trifle pale. He did not rise, and he made -no speech, but he straightened himself as if to salute and lifted his -glass, without saying a word, to Herman, who looked very embarrassed and -could not understand at all what had come over his dear Laura. - -But Laura at once became wildly gay. She had had her revenge and she -could now say good-bye to stupid old Selambshof. - -She looked smiling over all the flowers and the heads in order to say a -last contemptuous good-bye to the old dining-room where she had eaten so -much porridge and where they had given each other so many kicks -underneath the table. Then her glance fastened on the portrait of old -Enoch over the green settee. It was more visible than usual because of -two sconces which had been moved in from the blue room. The old man -stood there with his steel-capped stick in his thin claw-like hand and -fixed his glance upon her. Laura had never observed before what -scornful, sneering eyes he had. It was as if he looked straight through -her love. - -“You may wriggle about, my doll, but you can’t get away from me, -anyway.” - -She took Herman’s hand: “Won’t it soon be over?” she murmured. - -At last they said good-bye. Laura was already standing in the porch -dressed in her fur coat. Then she saw Herman walk up to Stellan and -Peter and pat them on the shoulders. He looked very moved and solemn and -magnanimous. She could understand that he asked them not to be annoyed -with her. Stellan shrugged his shoulders, and she could see by his lips -what he answered: - -“Stage-fright....” - -Then the silence of the cold star-lit autumn night was broken by a roar -of deep bass voices, and then there was the pattering of rice against -the carriage windows and a forward jerk of the horses. - -Laura flung herself into Herman’s arms. She wanted to flee away from -something at any cost—as if she did not want to see anything or know -anything. - -The following day Hedvig came in to Peter, who was lying on the sofa -with a pipe that had gone out in the corner of his mouth, feeling a -little stale after the wedding celebrations which he and his companions -had continued noisily until the early morning. Hedvig came slipping in -and looking paler and more severe than ever. Peter felt really -frightened of her. He felt like a big, swollen gland which has secreted -the worst excretions of sin. - -“You will have to get somebody else to nurse father,” said Hedvig, “I am -not going to stay here any longer. There is nothing but dissipation and -vileness. Nobody seems to think that we may be dead tomorrow. I am going -to take a course in nursing and then I shall join the Red Cross.” - -Peter began to fear new unforeseen expenses. He begged and prayed, he -clumsily touched on all sorts of points. Finally he stretched out a -finger and poked it into the region of her heart: - -“Hedvig, dear, one fine day you will also get married.” - -Peter stopped dead. He felt as if he had sandpaper in his throat. Hedvig -stood motionless and stared at him, with loathing in her eyes: - -“You are disgusting” she said, in a low voice. “I hate all men. I will -never, never marry!” - -And with that she left the room. - -A fortnight later Hedvig had started as a probationer at a hospital. And -she never put her foot inside Selambshof. - -Peter did not know if he felt this as a loss or relief. Sometimes he -felt as if his bad conscience had left him. Sometimes he felt a little -alarmed. With the departure of Hedvig he seemed to have lost his last -connection with “The Powers.” - -But Mrs. Laura at Ekbacken was very annoyed when Peter stalked in one -day and told her about Hedvig’s new move. - -“It really is a pity about Hedvig,” the little wife exclaimed. “Just -think how really beautiful she can be sometimes, Herman. It almost hurts -one. Couldn’t we find her a husband some way or other, Herman dear?” - -Mrs. Laura still lived on her honeymoon and she thought that all people -ought to marry. - -Herman moved away the pink silk ribbon of her coquettish boudoir cap and -kissed her hair: - -“She is as pretty as anyone can be who is not fair,” he whispered. - -By now Peter had gone again. This sort of thing was unbearable. They -don’t care a straw either for me or Hedvig, he thought sadly in his -loneliness. But wait a little, Laura has still got claws in her silky -hands. Herman will feel them soon enough. - -This thought consoled him a little. - - * * * * * - -The honeymoon was scarcely over before Mrs. Laura realised that there -would be no wedding trip that spring. - -No, she was definitely cheated of it, cheated of her grand wedding trip. -She had not imagined things would turn out like that. This might -possibly have been permitted to occur in the remote future, but just now -she had desired nothing but happy surprises. - -At first Laura told Herman nothing. She felt that it would be -humiliating to admit her condition. But she observed him secretly. She -watched for a searching or a triumphant expression in his face. Has he -been expecting this? Was he only playing with me when he spoke about the -wedding trip, she thought. And she felt something in her heart that -almost resembled dislike. But then it struck her how sad and strange and -really impossible it was that she was feeling dislike of her _own_ -Herman. And then she went down to the office and let him kiss her behind -old Lundbom’s back. But she was not yet able to speak about it. She felt -a strange cold shame at her condition. In her there was nothing groping -with tender hands towards the new life. It was as if this tender seed of -life had been growing outside her and not beneath her heart. - -After a few weeks Laura had no need to decide whether to tell or not—she -simply could not hide it. She felt sick and she could not for ever run -away and hide every morning. Laura had never been ill since she had the -measles as a child. She felt a cold dread. It was as if her body were -insulted every day. In her mirror she seemed to see how ugly and pale -she was already growing. Still Herman said nothing. He was only doubly -tender and attentive. But Laura saw all the same a flash of irritating -pride and satisfaction in his eyes. And she turned away and set her -teeth. What sort of a knight was this whose kisses at once produced -sickness. She seemed to feel his pride like a pain within her. And then -a torrent of complaints and accusations broke from her. Herman had -cheated her out of her wedding trip! And she had not been allowed to -live in town, as she wanted! And now she was ill, awfully ill! And she -was getting ugly, old and ugly! And soon she would probably be dead—Yes, -this would certainly mean her death! - -Herman made no reply to all these accusations, which induced in him a -solemn mood. He stroked her hair softly and calmly as one would in -putting a crying child to sleep. And in the end Laura could find no -other place than his arms in which she could cry out her heart. - -After a time she grew calmer. The first crisis was over. It looked as if -she would submit to her fate with a certain equanimity. - -One dark and wet December day Laura was sitting in the bedroom window -sewing some small garments. She always locked the door so as not to be -taken by surprise. The sewing did not amuse her, but she did it in order -to pass the time. - -“Ugh!” she had pricked her finger. She stared at the red drop of blood, -and with a long sigh let the sewing fall into her lap. - -Out of doors it was drizzling from the grey winter sky. Through the bare -lilac hedge Laura could see the yard. There lay the cutter, their -cutter, drawn up forlorn under its ugly unpainted cover. Their beautiful -summer cutter! It looked like a butterfly with the wings pulled off, and -the crutches were its legs. It suddenly occurred to Laura that the boat -had never won a prize. There had always been something to prevent it. -Supposing it was not so finely designed and built after all! - -Laura suddenly felt terribly depressed at this thought. She could not -understand herself why she felt so sad. She rose up groaning and went to -her chest of drawers. In the bottom drawer beneath her chemises and bits -of ribbon, there lay a small locked box. She found the key hidden -amongst her jewellery. Then she took out her diary, the romantic diary -from Neuchatel, and sat down to read it from beginning to end. She -hastened nervously through its pages and it seemed as if she had jumped -with great anxious strides back into the past. But there was no refuge -there. She could not help sneering at all that sloppy, girlish nonsense. -No, the past was past. As she was turning a page, a drop of blood fell -on it. Laura threw away the book. Then she saw that there were many -drops of blood on her light grey dressing gown also. “Blood,” she -thought with a shiver. “I shall give my blood. I shall suffer and -sacrifice myself for another. People say that it is a splendid and -glorious sensation. But I am not made that way. Herman must teach me. He -must treat me more severely—bend me to it—.” - -Laura dashed on her fur coat and galoshes and flew down to the office -where Herman sat talking to Lundbom about the lawsuit, which looked as -if it would be prolonged. - -But Herman did not handle her firmly. He was only kind and indulgent and -gave her much well-meant advice: “You must not go about thinking of -disagreeable things: you must just make yourself comfortable and let me -look after you.” And then he telephoned for theatre tickets for the -evening. - -Herman did not understand that he had a soul to fight for, a soul round -which the magic circle was about to close again. - -Laura could not help pondering over this lawsuit, over the shore rights. -If Herman had not allowed it to interfere she would now have been on her -wedding trip. And then all this would not have happened. No! then this -would not have happened. How Laura arrived at this conviction seems -strange, but, as we all know, our most sensible thoughts are not the -most persistent ones. - -Laura began to hate that lawsuit. Sometimes it almost seemed as if she -wanted Herman to lose it. What if she should go over to Peter and talk -it over with him for a moment. For the first time Laura had a certain -furtive feeling of attraction to Selambshof. She had not been there -since her wedding. But now the spirit of family called gently to its -erring child. - -Peter sat in his office writing in his books. The room was thick with -tobacco smoke and Peter the Boss looked so coarse and vulgar that Laura -at once dismissed all the subterfuges she had thought out. - -“Herman’s lawsuit?” muttered Peter, “well, between ourselves, I should -have settled the matter while the door was still open. The Town Council -offered forty thousand for the little strip of shore and it was a fine -offer. If Herman had accepted, they would never have found out that his -title was doubtful. It all hangs on some old papers dating from the -eighteenth century, and then justice is like a lottery. But Herman won’t -give up the least bit of Ekbacken of his own free will, and of course -that’s very fine of him—but, if one wants to strike fine attitudes...!” - -Peter leered with half-closed eyes through the smoke, with his dull -peasant cunning. Compared with Herman, Peter looked a real monster. But -all the same Laura listened attentively to his words. She waited -greedily for a shrug of his shoulders or a note of tolerant contempt, in -order that she might, as she thought, become angry with him and say -something really nasty. But in point of fact she was seeking with a -strange sort of hunger to effect a secret reconciliation with something -within herself, something that had been concealed by the rosy veil of -her foolish sentimentality. - -On her way home Laura stopped in the course of the avenue by the big oak -which she and Stellan had tricked Herman into climbing. “Were you hoarse -yesterday, Herman?” Oh! how furious she was with her husband for having -allowed himself to be tricked that day! - -For several days she went about at Ekbacken looking at Herman from -hiding places and ambushes. She felt a stranger to him as she beheld his -open countenance. A certain expression of unperturbed self-confidence in -him annoyed her in some way. What was he really so confident about? He -does not listen or watch, nor does he fight to defend me and mine, she -thought. Why is he not cleverer and quicker than Peter and Stellan? Why -does he not look through them? Why does he not look through me? Laura -had a strange feeling of the insecurity of Herman’s position—that there -was a conspiracy against him, against them. And she had an irresistible -desire to arouse him, to perturb him, and goad him on with insidious -words. They were sitting planning summer yachting trips, when she -suddenly exclaimed: - -“Fancy if you could explore a little ashore too, Herman.” - -When that shaft missed its mark she began to prophesy losses and -misfortunes: - -“I am sure you will lose that stupid lawsuit, Herman.” - -Herman replied by placing a shawl over her shoulders. Then she seized -the most dangerous weapon she could think of and told him of the -conversation she had overheard between Stellan and Peter on her wedding -day: - -“Just fancy! they said that you were not a business man at all, Herman; -that you were a good-natured simpleton that anyone could twist round his -little finger. That’s what they said, and I think they ought to pay for -that. You ought somehow to put them down a peg.” - -However strange it may sound, Laura was nevertheless still fighting for -her love when she spoke like this. It was the last spasm of her feeling -for him. But Herman understood nothing. He only became serious and -pulled a face for a moment. Then he dismissed the subject: - -“Nonsense, child, you misunderstood them. How can you imagine such a -thing. Near relations like that! Besides I have stolen from them the -best thing they had, their pretty sister.” - -He wanted to kiss her on the neck, but Laura pushed him violently away -from her and ran into the bedroom, seized by an unreasoning frenzy. - -The last months before the birth of the child were very difficult for -Herman. He was exiled from the bedroom into the smoky atmosphere of the -study, where he had to sleep on a sofa. He was a ridiculous, superfluous -and disagreeable person in his own home. Even the maids were rude to -him. He went about in a constant state of nervousness in this house -where he was the only man. The poor fellow did not revolt, but his face -grew longer and longer. He busied himself with his beloved cutter, since -he was not allowed to busy himself with Laura. Above all he felt a -compelling need to go and amuse himself with his summer things. It was -as if he were still a child, longing for the promise of the summer -holidays. He still cherished their semblance of liberty without -responsibility. But in the evening he took refuge in spirit and his -father’s game of patience—hoping that his beloved and exquisite Laura -would return to him after the birth of her child. - -But Laura lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. She was full of -bitterness and disappointment. Something within her that had been -deliciously softened now hardened again and left a scar behind. She was -full of anger against Herman, who was not man enough to break down her -egoism; who gave her a child but was unable to make her feel a mother. - -Laura was very ill towards the end. She felt her pains and her -helplessness as direct insults by Herman. Sometimes she almost went mad -with fear at her approaching delivery. For a woman whose being is -cramped by egoism the agony of childbirth is doubly terrible. There is -no joy in the suffering. It is martyrdom without faith. After a struggle -of three days she gave birth to a boy. When they wanted to place the -child beside her, she pushed it away with her last remaining strength: - -“Take it away,” she muttered, “I don’t want to see it.” - -That was the first day. Afterwards she calmed down and showed a certain -interest in her child. But she could not bear to hear it cry. Then it -had to be taken away into another room at once. And she could not be -persuaded to suckle the newborn child. Thus far Nature had forced her, -but now at last she could say “No.” Oh what a joy to be able to say “no” -at last! - -When a mother is not delivered of her egoism it grows sevenfold worse. - -There is something mysterious in the quick recovery of women after -child-birth. In a week and a half Mrs. Laura was up again, well and -flourishing, more beautiful than ever, without any trace of all the -suffering that she had passed through—at least no outward traces. She -made a very charming picture with her son, when she occasionally -condescended to bend over his bed and pat his cheek. Herman, who had -already forgiven her for not wanting to suckle their little Georg, was -quite ready with his admiration and chivalrous attentions to the young -mother. - -And Laura accepted the homage calmly and unmoved. - -Herman was still a very young man. He could not go about for ever -satisfied with the sensation of being a happy father. There came a -moment when he wanted to receive some of the gracious caresses that were -occasionally bestowed on little Georg. He found something especially -bewitching in Laura’s new fulness, in the milky whiteness of her skin, -in her lazy, contented, catlike purring after the storm she had passed -through. But he was far too sensitive to behave roughly. And there was -something in that purring that made him a little shy and timid. He went -about with a new and hesitating love as if he were the fiancé of his own -wife. He seized every opportunity to pay her little attentions and to -make her little presents which she graciously deigned to accept. Soon, -Herman thought, I shall be a happy man again. But Laura smiled and -shrugged her shoulders. She was playing with her tall fiancé. She gave -him her little finger. But when he suddenly wanted the whole hand she -shook her head and said “no,” a pitiless purring little “no.” - -Herman reproached himself. “I have not behaved properly,” he thought. “I -have been too rough and hasty.” And then once more he played the -chivalrous fiancé for a while, and tried to get her out in the yacht as -he did last summer, but no! the lake amused her no longer. Then he -heaped amusements, jewels, and pretty clothes upon her. She developed a -studied coquetry and opened out boldly in the sunshine. - -Now it was their wedding day. Herman waited on her with an enormous -bunch of red roses; he appeared at dinner in full dress and drank her -health in champagne and appealed to their sweet memories. At last he -thought she would be able to celebrate the anniversary of their wedding. -For a moment Laura seemed touched. But it was only the champagne. At the -last moment she turned away from him, froze up, and talked of her -delicate health, of an uncontrollable anxiety, and held up the child as -a shield between herself and her husband. And then the key grated in the -bedroom door and Herman was shut out. - -Laura sat down on the edge of her bed and slowly picked Herman’s roses -to pieces. She felt that she would never again belong to him. It was not -only cowardly selfishness in face of the new demands of life. She was no -longer afraid, because her body had already forgotten. No, she no longer -wanted to belong to _him_. It was the air itself here at old -Hermansson’s Ekbacken that did not suit her. - -Laura flicked away the last rose petal. “He allowed me to lock the -door,” she thought, with a shrug of her shoulders, “I am much stronger -than he is.” - -It is dangerous for a woman of Laura’s temperament to begin to think -like that. - - * * * * * - -Herman’s wounded pride did not rebel, he did not seek any revenge. He -was miserable, and in despair. He fell on his knees and begged and -entreated her, humiliated himself before her. And then she despised him, -grew tired of him, and became cruel, deliberately cruel, so that -afterwards she was half surprised at herself. - -Herman flew to drink and neglected his work. All ordinary business was -of course still in Lundbom’s hands but Herman supervised the building on -the slips. Now he roamed about brooding and gloomy, gave orders and -counter-orders, began to quarrel with his men and then suddenly he threw -it all up and went down to stare at the dump. Yes! that had been the -result of his lawsuit. The ground over which the town had acquired the -shore rights was his, but they had begun to fill in the lake in order to -build a quay. Barge after barge came along with broken china and bricks, -rubbish, and sweepings. The evil smelling dump already stretched far out -into the lake. One could see it all from the windows of Ekbacken and the -comfort of the old place was gone. Herman would stand there for hours -with his hands in his pockets, and reflect with a certain melancholy -pleasure how the town dumped its rubbish there under his very nose. Then -he would go inside and sit down and drink. - -Once when he was half drunk he struck Laura, when for the fiftieth time -she cast the unsuccessful lawsuit in his face. It was a feeble -hesitating blow that only recoiled on his own suffering heart. But Laura -accepted it with secret satisfaction. She had already begun to plan how -she might escape with the greatest possible profit from this besieged -fortress, whilst retaining all the honours of war. - -An unhappy marriage is the finest arsenal of egoism. In the constant -clash of two wills, selfishness sharpens its edge, and in the suffering -of an opponent tempers its steel. - -Laura developed surprisingly fast. It was not long before she understood -with masterly cunning how to push Herman to extremes and to make him -compromise himself seriously whilst she herself wisely kept quiet. It -was she who encouraged him to seek men’s company and to amuse himself in -town so that he should be spoken of as a reveller and a drunkard. -Finally it was she who in devious ways reminded him that the world was -full of women and thus furtively placed in his hands an instrument of -revenge for her coldness. Otherwise Herman would never have been able to -make up his mind. He was, as it were, hypnotised by her. Certainly it -seemed as if it was directly by her secret influence that he threw -himself with the courage of despair, and without a spark of desire, into -the arms of a waitress at the nearest public house. But all the same, -some childish hopes of making Laura jealous must have seized him, for a -woman’s voice began to ask for him on the telephone and the poor boy -tried to look provokingly cheerful when he answered. These conversations -on the ’phone were followed by nights out which in their turn were -followed by forced explanations which Laura had never asked for. -Finally, in order to reveal the situation quite clearly to her, he began -to forget and leave lying about short incriminating notes where Laura -must find them. She almost felt sorry for him. But anyhow she took great -care of the letters. - -With a selection of these documents in her little silk bag Laura now -paid a visit to Selambshof. She went off in a state of clear, cool -exhilaration like a business man who is about to settle up a difficult -piece of business. It seemed as if she wanted to gather strength amidst -the old surroundings before the decisive battle. But all this did not -prevent her from playing the martyr, a rôle that was really more -pleasant than she had anticipated. Even when confronting Peter the Boss -it had its satisfaction, though she felt that he looked through her -completely. Peter, of course was disgusting. She was almost ashamed to -meet him in the streets in town. And all the same here in his office she -felt a strange affinity to him. Yes, it was almost like quenching one’s -thirst to look at his coarse ugliness. And now she suddenly knew -instinctively that their wishes concerning Herman coincided. - -Laura presented her husband’s compromising letters with a tragic mien -and she soon saw Peter’s eyes looking at her with almost frightened -admiration. “How the deuce have you already brought him so far?” they -seemed to ask. But meanwhile he poured forth expressions of good-natured -and sentimental commiseration, in much the same way as a dog dribbles -when it catches sight of a rich piece of food. But afterwards he showed -his teeth: - -“Valuable papers,” he muttered. - -It came out so suddenly that Laura had some difficulty in preserving her -mien of martyrdom. - -“Of course I can no longer live with Herman,” she sighed. - -“These letters are worth at least a hundred thousand,” said Peter. - -“I want to know how to set about getting a divorce. It’s probably a -dreadful business.” - -Peter thought for a moment and then he brightened up: - -“I will speak to Lundbom. He knows everything.” - -“Lundbom?” - -“Yes, Lundbom’s the man. He won’t suspect that it concerns you two. He -is absolutely blind to everything personal.” - -In spite of her martyr’s air Laura laughed low: - -“Hum! That really would be rather funny.” - -Peter had a free consultation with Lundbom at their next card party. -Lundbom saw no escape for the faithless spouse; either hopeless and -scandalous divorce proceedings or a friendly settlement with a promise -to surrender the children and a handsome allowance. - -Armed with this information Laura made a great scene with Herman. Now -all of a sudden she pretended to be insulted, in despair, and mortally -wounded in her wifely dignity. She took the matter in such deadly -earnest and was so absorbed in the dramatic situation that she almost -began to believe in her feelings herself. Herman was aghast. His first -feeling was one of wild joy that she had after all suffered, that she -still loved him. This made him forget that it was she herself who had -placed his revenge in his hands. But after her first outburst Laura -continued more calmly, with profound reproach in her tone. Herman might -have waited for her. A little patience only and everything would perhaps -have been all right between them again. “You might have excused a poor -woman who has had to pass through so much.” - -Laura was magnificent when she said all this. Her words fell like molten -lead on Herman’s heart. He confessed his helplessness, his despair at -his indulgence in spirits, and his disgust at his sorry folly with the -other woman, who had never given him a moment’s relief. He was filled -with a deep despair and remorse and begged her forgiveness with tears -streaming from his eyes. - -It was the old, banal, and horrible struggle, in which the result is a -foregone conclusion, the struggle between the one who loves and the one -who is loved. - -Laura was merely irritated by Herman’s tears. Did she suspect that they -sprang from sources which in her had already dried up? Was that why her -tone was so hard and dry? When one cannot be Love one wishes to be Fate. -Oh! there was a secret luxury in standing there stiff and unyielding: - -“You have killed my love,” she said, “I want a divorce and I shall take -Georg. You have no right to refuse.” - -Herman staggered as if he had been struck in the face. The violence of -the blow prevented him from seeing how the whole thing had been -pre-arranged. - -He stood there gazing around him in front of an image of stone and -muttered alternate prayers and curses till at last he ran out of the -room, slamming the door behind him. - -But Herman could not get away from the fact that Laura had everything -beautifully arranged. She had public opinion on her side, she had -witnesses and letters. If he wanted to escape the horrible divorce -proceedings he must accept her conditions. So he had to take the -familiar journey to Copenhagen and give up little Georg, and mortgage -Ekbacken heavily in order to purchase a nice little annuity for his -wife. - -He stayed on in his lonely home with a bleeding hatred. Sometimes he did -not know whether it was hatred or love. But Laura made a triumphant -entry with baby and annuity into an elegant little flat in Karlavägen, -in the same house as Stellan had his little two-roomed bachelor flat. -She was determined to enter society in order to amuse herself and for -this purpose Stellan’s brother officers and his circle of fine friends -might be invaluable for a divorced young wife. - -The very evening that Laura moved in, she went down to see Stellan: - -“I did not stay at the old lake,” she said, “and the little idyl did not -materialise.” - -“No, no!” said Stellan. “Shall we play a game of écarté?” - -And they did. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XI - - +THE SPANISH SAINT+ - - -One fine day in September Stellan Selamb, lieutenant of the Göta Guards, -was out at field manœuvres at Lidingön with his platoon. They had -already during the cool and clear morning hours practised advancing in -open formation through the broken brushwood to the right of the main -road, when he gave over the command to the sergeant and, consulting his -map, began to climb a steep hill path to make an attack on his own. -After some searching he found another new cross road which brought him -to a large, new and somewhat strange looking house, which lay alone in -the midst of the dense pine wood. - -Stellan did not associate with architects and did not usually pay much -attention to houses. But he was accustomed to safe old manor-houses -which seemed to have grown out of the ground where they were stood. This -house on the contrary looked as if it had fallen down from the sky with -its dazzling white walls broken up in a fantastic way and its bright -green roof! It was positively difficult to tell whether it was meant for -a temple, a sanatorium, a museum or perhaps even an ordinary house. -Anyhow Stellan hammered the antique knocker against a huge black church -door densely studded with coarse nails. - -A groom opened the door. - -“The master is in bed, but I am to announce visitors all the same.” - -He disappeared but returned at once with the message that if the -lieutenant would look at the pictures for a moment his master would -receive him. Stellan walked through several large rooms full of -pictures, like picture galleries. - -Some of them he knew from Percy’s old flat in town, but most of them had -probably been bought during his last long journey abroad. There was both -ancient and modern art, Spanish and Dutch masters and some of the most -modern impressionists, but he could discover no trace of Percy’s own -canvases. - -“Just like him,” Stellan thought, “they are of course relegated to some -old boxroom.” - -At last the door into the bedroom was opened. There lay “The China -Doll.” It was the same thin, refined face as before. And the same little -smile, amiable, gentle and slightly reserved. Only the blue of the eyes -was not as cool as before. - -“Good-morning, Percy, old man, I happened to have field exercises in the -neighbourhood and thought I would have a peep at your new Tusculum.” - -“O, I am so pleased when somebody is kind enough to look in.” - -Percy’s voice sounded strangely fragile. But Stellan did not notice it. -He was so accustomed to see Percy ill. Having looked closely at the -bedroom he suddenly burst out laughing. It was black and white with a -vaulted ceiling and heavy carved oak furniture. The chairs seemed -completely taken up with their own ornament and would no doubt have -looked upon the back of anyone sitting down on them as a desecration. -Percy’s bed resembled most nearly a catafalque and it was standing in an -alcove which looked like a chapel in the church of “The Third Kingdom.” - -“I say, this looks rather as if it was prepared for the eternal sleep,” -Stellan exclaimed. “For a marble statue.” - -Percy’s smile was a shade more wan. - -“Yes, perhaps you are right....” - -Stellan opened the door of a W. C. which the uninitiated would have -taken for some kind of confession box. He suddenly grew furious and felt -a desire to say something indecent; he wisely kept it back however. - -“Excuse me, Percy, old chap, but do you really feel at home here?” - -“No, I can’t say I do.” - -“Well, then, why the devil do you have it in this style, then?” - -Percy looked at the ceiling of the alcove which was painted all over -with pentagrams and spirals. - -“Well, my architect did it,” he muttered resignedly. “He wanted it like -this. And I dared not oppose him. It is so difficult when you are not -able to say that you cannot afford it. It brings so many -responsibilities. Do you know, Stellan, I don’t think it is possible -really to will something, really to be something for your own sake if -you have lots of money.” - -Stellan thought that if that was the difficulty he was ready to ease him -of his burden. - -“Poor Percy,” he laughed sarcastically. “The prisoner of wealth, for -life.” - -But then he remembered the refined little boy dressed in white behind -the gates at Stonehill. And it struck him that there might perhaps be a -bitter blighting truth in his exclamation. And that Percy perhaps was a -shade more serious this time than usual. Stellan drummed, a little -embarrassed, on the rough carved block of black oak that constituted the -foot of the bed. - -“I say, Percy, how are you really?” - -Percy smiled an apologetic smile: - -“Well, to be frank, I had a rather serious hæmorrhage of the lungs a -week and a half ago ... my chest has always been weak, you know.” - -For various reasons Stellan was horrified: - -“But your footman did not tell me so. I had not the slightest idea -that....” - -“Well, I don’t want to advertise my illness.” - -“What does the medicine man say?” - -“He shakes his head and says that I must lie quiet in bed for the -present, only lie quiet.... But dash it all, Stellan, don’t take it so -seriously. I myself am rather pleased. I have never been anything but a -dilettante. But this will perhaps be my opportunity. A real danger! An -honest compulsion! Sometimes I feel as if I would really be able to do -something after all. Oh, there is a curious excitement in the fever and -the imminence of death.” - -Stellan was just pondering how best in these circumstances he might -decorously prepare Percy for the comparative relief to be derived from -backing a bill for five thousand. Then a head with fair straggling hair -and broad good-natured features peeped in through the door and -disappeared again with a smile of apology at the sight of Stellan. It -was the nurse. There were red spots in Percy’s cheeks and his voice -sounded worried and nervous: - -“If you knew how I suffer from that woman,” he whispered. “She is not at -all unkind to me. On the contrary. But I can’t stand people with that -sort of stolid face. I shiver when she touches me.” - -“Why don’t you send her away?” - -“No, it is so difficult. I can’t bring myself to do it. Once she is here -she has certain claims on me.” - -Percy was silent for a moment, then he stretched out his hand -entreatingly: - -“Perhaps you could help me, Stellan? Hasn’t the Army some connection -with the Red Cross? Oh, if you could find me in some way a more bearable -face!” - -Stellan suddenly had an idea, a strange half-impossible idea which, -however, at bottom seemed to him to be curiously charged with infinite -possibilities. “Hedvig!” he thought. “Hedvig!” He had to make an effort -to recover his normal, smooth and kindly tone. - -“I could speak to my sister Hedvig,” he said. “She is a nurse. But I -tell you beforehand that she has a sombre and strange temper. But her -face is really something for an artist to look upon.” - -Percy became quite excited and was filled with touching gratitude: - -“A face, a temperament, a human being! Oh, how grateful I should be to -you!” - -“Good, I’ll speak to her if she can get free. Anyhow this grinning -monster must be got rid of!” - -With this Stellan took a warm good-bye. But at the door he turned round -with his most charming and unconcerned expression. - -“By the way, Percy, I am going about with a damned little bill in my hip -pocket. You would not like by any chance to put your scrawl across it?” - -“With pleasure, old boy, with pleasure.” - -Stellan stepped whistling out of Hill’s villa and, in excellent temper, -resumed his command over his dusty and perspiring platoon. - -The same evening Stellan went to see Laura. He had got into the habit of -running up to her to talk things over before he settled anything -important. - -Laura was dressing to go to the theatre. He helped her to fasten her -frock behind. - -“Percy has had a hæmorrhage of the lungs and is dissatisfied with his -nurse. I offered to get Hedvig for him. What do you think about it?” - -“Poor Percy!” - -“But how shall I persuade Hedvig?” - -“You must talk about sacrifice, and give her an opportunity to look -long-suffering.” - -Stellan rang up the Red Cross at once. There he was given another -telephone number and rang again. A weak tremulous voice replied: - -“Sister Hedvig? Yes, I’ll tell her.” - -Hedvig came to the telephone. Stellan presented his case. He made Percy -as ill as possible and begged her to sacrifice herself for their old -friend. Hedvig’s distant voice assumed a peculiarly hard resigned note. - -“I don’t think I can.” - -“But why?” - -“Well, at least not at once.” - -“Why?” - -She lowered her voice: - -“No, it won’t be ... all over here for another few days....” - -“All over!” Then a human being lay dying at the other end of the wire! -Stellan felt a cold shiver. He looked at Laura, who sat there in low-cut -evening frock polishing her nails. He looked around him in the -coquettish little room. All over in a few days. All over! How curiously -Hedvig had said that. It was as if she had wanted to force the thought -of death on him like a tablespoonful of medicine. - -“Well, ... I may tell poor Percy that you will come when you ... you are -free?” - -“Yes, I suppose I must give up my idea of resting a little.” - -Then she rang off. - -Stellan hung up the receiver. - -“Yes, she will go to Percy as soon as her present patient has had time -to die. And it is Hedvig who is leading such a life! Really I can’t -understand it....” - -Laura pursed up her lips whilst she pulled on her glove. She looked -unusually free from any sentimentality at that moment. - -“Hedvig is frightened,” she said. - -Stellan felt nervous. - -“Frightened? Damned funny way of being frightened. What do you really -mean?” - -Laura’s answer came short, sharp and pleased. One could see how she had -worried about this matter and at last found a satisfactory explanation: - -“Who is it that runs about in the cemeteries at midnight?” she said. -“Precisely those who are afraid of ghosts. Others have no business -there.” - -And then Mrs. Laura went to the theatre. - -It was a fact that for a year and a half past Hedvig had been a trained -Red Cross nurse and that she was already one of those who was sent to -the more difficult cases and that she herself desired it so. - -To her fellow nurses she was an enigma. They felt at once that she was -not one of those simple good women whose hearts call them to serve, care -for, and struggle against suffering and death. As they knew that she had -gone straight from her sister’s wedding to the hospital the younger -nurses at once concluded that Hedvig’s secret was unrequited love, but -the older and more experienced nurses shook their heads. - -The doctors also discussed Sister Hedvig. Men will always discuss women -such as Sister Hedvig. After long discussions which were not free from -criticism, though they were supposed to be scientific, they too, turned -to love as explanation. And they of course protested against such -childish nonsense as women’s talk of an unhappy love. A young -psychiatrist had the word last. He said nothing cynical. He would -perhaps have done so ten years earlier. But now cynicism was no longer -the fashion—at least among the psychiatrists—that was left to the -surgeons and other humbler craftsmen. - -“Sister Hedvig,” the young doctor said, “is a very interesting case. As -a matter of fact she cannot look a healthy man full in the eyes. But all -the same she at once chose the male division in the hospital. She simply -had to go there, she was really incapable of doing her duty to the women -patients. What else is that but a case of timid, wounded, sickly -eroticism slinking away to sick people. She feels a secret relief in -seeing men suffer and die. She sacrifices them to Eros—probably by a -religious perversion of her feelings.” - -Thus spoke the young doctor and did not observe his own involuntary -confession of having looked very deep into Sister Hedvig’s eyes. - -Perhaps there was something in what he said after all. Though Laura had -probably said the truest word. The fundamental fact in Sister Hedvig’s -nature was still fear. And this fear had not, as in Peter’s case, spread -over the surface in the shape of pretended good nature and a magnificent -tissue of lies. No, in Hedvig it grew inwards in the dark. And this -growth she felt as an ever-present gnawing ache in her inmost being. In -the end this dark groping fear had become so much a part of her that -every glimpse of happiness, liberty, spaciousness only seemed to her a -mockery. But her suffering was terrible just because of its -indefiniteness, its formlessness and its teeming darkness. Under these -circumstances she must have felt every really definite cause for fear as -a sort of relief, a release. He who sees, need not brood. That was why -the sick bed and the death bed held such a strange attraction for her. -That was why her expression would sometimes reveal such curious relief -in the presence of the most awful struggles. That was why she closed the -eyes of the dead with such pale and still solemnity. She herself -interpreted it as the brief precious peace of heart before God after -service and sacrifice. During her training as a nurse Sister Hedvig had -turned more and more away from the world and relapsed into religious -gloom. She walked about like a living protest against every form of -levity and vanity. - -And now she stood on a cold and clear September day by Percy’s bed at -Hill Villa. - -Percy stared at her dark eyes and pale cheeks. It was really an unusual -pallor. One did not know whether she burned or froze. - -“And so you are Stellan’s sister,” he muttered. “We must have met, as -children at least, when I was still living at Stonehill. Strange that I -did not notice your looks, then.” - -“I have always kept apart,” she answered coldly. - -Percy smiled a little apologetic smile. - -“But now ... now Sister Hedvig comes here and wants to help me, poor -wretch....” - -“I will try to do my duty,” answered Sister Hedvig. - -Percy sank back with half-closed eyes on his pillow. It suddenly seemed -to him inconceivable that a woman with such a face should witness his -frailty, help him to change his shirt and reach him the basin. “I shall -have a high temperature this evening,” he thought. “But that doesn’t -matter. I shan’t be bored anyhow.” - -Hedvig left the sick room on some errand. When she came back Percy had -already managed to allot a place to the newcomer in his world. - -“Now I have got it,” he said contentedly. “Sister Hedvig is a Spanish -saint. Yes? I have seen Sister Hedvig hanging on a church wall in -Toledo.... Or perhaps it is something Byzantine,” he added thoughtfully. -“Yes, you would look well in a mosaic ... on a ground of gold ... or -perhaps a cold greenish blue....” - -Sister Hedvig received this speech, which was to her partly -incomprehensible, partly offensive, in silence. She had never before met -a dilettante patron of art of Percy’s type. She was highly distressed -and confused by the whole atmosphere of Hill’s villa. She walked with -lowered eyes and frightened steps through these rooms in which the walls -were covered with impudently brilliant coloured pictures. I won’t even -mention all the nudes that met her gaze everywhere without trace of -shame, in strange and challenging forms. To her the nude was now -exclusively associated with sickness and death. She could not and would -not think of it except under fever cooling bandages or under the -surgeon’s knife. And here it insolently glowed with health or made a -pretence of harmony and peace which could be nothing but a delusion and -abomination. It was incredible. But that was not all. Even from the -landscapes it seemed to her that there emanated something of sin and -danger. The mixture of French impressionism and national lyricism of -that time, which nowadays appears to us so harmless and innocent, still -seemed then alarmingly modern, and Hedvig also found in these pictures a -defiant worldliness quite different from that of the old brown-gravy -landscapes which hung on the walls at Selambshof. Art with its flavour -of sin and damnation pursued her even into the sickroom. Opposite the -bed there hung a picture of a handsome naked youth who smiled an -ecstatic smile though his breast was pierced with cruel arrows. - -“Isn’t he beautiful, Saint Sebastian?” said Percy proudly. “I discovered -him in Naples in an old Jew’s shop. The painter is unknown, but you can -see at once that he must have been a contemporary of Bernini. The -typical mixture of sensualism and ecstasy of the baroque style cannot be -mistaken. My Sebastian is a male cousin of Saint Teresa of the Santa -Maria della Vittoria in Rome. His breast is full of the arrows with -which the beautiful angel threatens her. One does not quite know if it -is the arrows of love or of martyrdom.” - -Sister Hedvig looked at the floor and shook her head: - -“I don’t understand anything of all this. And I don’t want to understand -it either. I am not here to look at pictures.” - -In this strange world she had come into, Percy Hill’s illness was -somehow the only thing she had to hold on to and she felt hurt that he -did not take it seriously enough. - -Percy looked quite frightened. - -“Dear, dear, surely I have not hurt you, Sister, in any way. I didn’t -mean to at all.” Then he added with a pale, little smile: “I must talk -about art, you see, otherwise my temperature will rise....” - -She did not give an answering smile. - -She continued all along to be stiff, silent and suspicious. In his -weakness and helplessness he suffered at first from this lack of -sympathy. If he had been an artist he would perhaps have felt a genuine -hatred for her. But he was only a dilettante and an amateur, so he not -only suffered it, but even began to be attracted by the gloomy and rigid -creature as he might have been by some old sombre family treasure which -had been hidden from the world in some dusty and sunless corner. Yes, -exactly like some gloomy treasure which dumbly reminds us of the dreams -and passions of a bygone age. And which is not for sale amongst the -rubbish of today. - -Thus far had Percy come after a week’s dilettante analysis of Hedvig’s -personality. By this time he had entirely ceased to speak about art. But -one evening when she stood by the window staring out on the hard and -wind-swept autumn sky the expression on her face suddenly brought an -idea into his head: - -“Sister Hedvig,” he exclaimed, “won’t you read to me a little out of the -Old Testament?” - -And he rang for a footman and sent him for a new illustrated edition de -luxe bible from the library. - -But Hedvig refused at first. She was afraid of the echo from the -luxurious rooms with their works of art just outside. She was afraid of -his vain and scoffing secret thoughts. But Percy was persistent. He told -her about his childhood when his mother would sometimes read aloud to -him out of the school bible in the evenings. It sounded almost as if in -his strange way he took the scriptures seriously. And at last to her own -surprise Hedvig gave in. His face lit up: - -“Take Deborah’s song,” he begged, as keen as any child to hear its -favourite story. - -And Hedvig read in a low voice of Deborah who led the chiefs of Israel, -whose soul went forth in strength. But there was something too mournful -and cold in her voice. Percy’s sensitive ear suspected old Kristin’s -influence, the deep-rooted fatalism of the people. He was however afraid -of hurting her and let her finish the chapter. - -“That is too hard and bright,” he muttered. “There is too much victory -for us two, Sister Hedvig. Take something more difficult and more -gloomy.” - -And Hedvig read on. She did not know why herself. Perhaps she had a -feeling in her inmost heart that he in some way seemed to understand -her. But this no longer alarmed her shyness. He was so weak and -helpless. He lay there in the shadow of death. He would never rise up -and boldly cast her secrets into her face. So she read on. She read of -how Jehu annihilated the whole house of Ahab and of how the dogs ate -Jezebel on the fields of Jezreel. And she read in the book of Job how -man, born of woman, lives a short time full of care, how his illness -rises up and bears witness against him and over his eyes rests the -shadow of death. To the grave he must say: “Thou art my father,” and to -the worms of putrefaction: “my mother, my sister.” And she read in -Isaiah about the earth which was consumed by the curse, how the sap of -the vine sorrowed and the vine languished. Plaintive cries are heard -over the wine and all joy is like a sun that has set—all joy of the -earth has disappeared. Dangers and pitfalls and snares lie in wait for -you, inhabitants of earth! Earth is utterly broken down, and shall reel -like a drunkard, it shall be clean dissolved. - -Percy lay quite silent and looked at Hedvig. He followed unconsciously -the movements of her lips. This is absolutely sincere, he thought. She -is a being from the past. She belongs to an age when fear formed a great -part of human life. It is strange to hear the Jewish cast of thought -from her lips, persistent as the groans of a sufferer, bitter as the -knowledge which is hammered into you by blow upon blow. Only the -pressure of the world and sad experience.... - -And he felt a great joy as if he had succeeded at last in finding a -really precious antique for his collection. - -It was getting dusk and Hedvig did not see the print any longer. She put -down the heavy book. She had a sudden feeling of relief as after -confession. Though faint and transient it was nevertheless something -unique in her life. - -But already the next morning Hedvig felt a dull anxiety at having given -herself up. And she was more curt and silent and reserved than usual. - -In November Percy grew somewhat worse. He was often troubled by coughs -and his temperature curve showed a tendency to rise. The doctor shook -his head when his patient spoke of going to Switzerland. - -“Not before the spring,” he said. “Now we must be good and keep quiet -and drink milk.” - -Percy did not like the doctor very much. He represented the prose side -of his illness. But Hedvig looked meaningly at her patient when the -doctor had gone. She looked at him as if he had been a child who had -wanted to run away from school but who had been brought to reason. She -had grown with his weakness. She nursed him diligently and carefully but -with an expression of solemn superiority. “There, you see,” she seemed -to say, “after all, your vanity won’t help you. Of what use now is your -art and your worldly pride?” - -Percy noticed it, but he did not grow angry. He was not of that kind. He -also derived a sort of pleasure from this new development. Hedvig no -longer seemed to him a dark and rare treasure that he had added to his -collections. And he loved to droop away in sight of that sombre and -stern virgin face. Even pain could give him a secret pleasure. - -“This is an auto-da-fé,” he muttered once in delirium. “I can see the -sparks in the pupils of Sister Hedvig’s eyes. They are roasting me with -slow fire because I have doubted the Virgin Mary’s immaculate -conception.” - -And then he smiled his mysterious, derisive, little smile, which was so -full of weakness and courage. But in the midst of the smile there came a -sudden fit of coughing accompanied by blood and froth between his pale -lips, blood on the lace of sheets and pillows. His wound had broken out -again. He had another attack of hæmorrhage of the lungs. - -Percy’s face grew still paler and thinner. It was as if he had shrunk -before the cold breath of Death’s wings. But he was never a coward in -his suffering. There was never a trace of panic. - -But his weakness was such that Sister Hedvig found no occasion for any -anxious, defensive suspicion. She was afraid of life, but he no longer -belonged to life, she thought. A dying man she dared to approach. -Confronted by death she dared to be woman. Yes, now the shy, severe -Sister Hedvig could be quite tender and open. Turning away a little, she -could softly stroke his hand as it lay there so white on the eiderdown. -Yes, sometimes she gave him little stealthy caresses that had no -tomorrow. It was her woman’s soul that lay half suffocated beneath her -fear, which now ventured to make little hesitating excursions in the -twilight of death. - -Thus had Sister Hedvig by the force of circumstances come quite near to -one who was the complete opposite to herself. We witness here the -strange meeting of two persons, one of whom is sterile from fear and the -other from lack of fear. Percy Hill’s life showed a strange blunting of -the faculty of fear. He had always lacked the spur to action and to life -that fear provides. Hence his dilettantism. He lived on his money -without knowing anything about the hard struggle which had brought it -together. He loved art without being capable of diving beneath the work -itself to the deep disquietude which had created it. He never went -beyond the enjoyment of it. His own creative work had only been a form -of enjoyment. That is why he had never created anything new. He knew it -himself, but he had not the strength to feel any real anguish over it, -that anguish which might perhaps in the end have opened the gates to the -mysterious creative world. - -But now in the face of death this deficiency seemed like a splendid -liberation. It is a fact that death does not come to us as a stranger. -It grows coarser or more delicate and refined according to our natures. -Percy’s death must of course be frail and subtle and with an element of -incurable dilettantism. - -“You must not think, Sister Hedvig,” he whispered with a little smile of -ineradicable irony vanquishing his weakness, “that this is anything very -extraordinary to me. There is really not very much that will be lost -with me. I have always stood rather well with death. I cannot remember -that I have ever fought against it even in the thoughts of my boyhood. -My mother was so unnaturally afraid for me that I, by mere reaction, -grew more and more indifferent. At first I hoped perhaps a little to get -something from my illness. I hoped that the fever and the fine -restlessness would yield me something. So much beauty has been born of -consumption. Perhaps I still hope. But not so feverishly that it -consumes me.” In vain Hedvig told herself that this was false blasphemy. -In vain she entrenched herself behind her religious feelings. She felt -that he did not lie. To her it seemed monstrous that a person could -speak so without lying. An exquisite coolness descended upon her soul. -Her own dark fear of life shrank in this unusual light. There were -moments of a glorious release of the usual tension within her. She felt -something almost resembling gratitude and tenderness. She need not hide -anything, nor pretend, nor creep away. All this had no tomorrow. He -could not betray her, nor trample upon her. He would soon die. - -Thus Hedvig went about prepared to close his eyes, to mourn for him and -keep him as a beautiful memory which nobody in the world would know of, -or could deprive her of. - -Already she was depositing him, the secret treasure of the poor, with -Death. - -But now the unexpected happened, Percy Hill did not die. On the contrary -he began to pick up a little in the spring. In the beginning it almost -looked as if he himself had been a little embarrassed and ashamed at -this turn of events. - -“I have never done what was expected of me,” he said. “I never finished -my pictures. And of course, I did not see this thing through either....” - -But there was all the same something new in his tone. These phrases no -longer rang true as formerly. - -You may have been nearly run over by a tram and it is only afterwards -when you are safe on the pavement that you begin to be frightened and -feel the threat of death within you. As his temperature fell there rose -a new restlessness in Percy Hill. He began anxiously to avoid talking of -death. It seemed as if he had been ashamed of his weakness. He did all -he could to appear as well as possible. It was only with difficulty that -he was kept in bed. He grew impatient at the constant relapses of the -early spring into cold and miserable weather. He insisted on going -somewhere where there was plenty of sunshine. He had suddenly been -seized by a violent zest for life. - -Yes, and now Percy Hill felt for the first time a certain fear of death. -A mysterious change had taken place in him. He had been inoculated with -some of Sister Hedvig’s poisons in the same way as she had been with -his. - -How did she behave for her part now when he slowly began to slip out of -the shadow of death under which they had come so near to each other? Did -she draw back into her shell? Did she become the closed garden or the -sealed spring once again? It might seem so. She had an expression which -seemed to command him to forget what had passed between them. That -furtive tenderness, whose shoots seemed only to thrive in darkness, -ceased. But the seal was all the same broken. Her reserve and shyness -could never be exactly the same again, they had no longer the true -depth. There rather arose moments of a certain banal and everyday -embarrassment between them. Percy clearly suffered in accepting her -assistance. He shaved himself every day and became particular about his -appearance. Certain situations galled him as being lowering to his -masculine pride. It seemed as if he had to overcome a certain reluctance -each time he had to call her “Sister Hedvig.” Without saying anything -Hedvig acquired the habit of knocking at his door before she entered the -room. She did this with a strange feeling half of bitterness and half of -satisfaction. Her suspiciousness found the change in Percy’s manners -wounding. But in her inmost heart she proudly understood what it really -meant. Officially she was as much a stranger in his world as ever -before. But it was a fact that she no longer walked through the picture -galleries with lowered eyes. Though she did not admit it to herself, -certain echoes of what he had said concerning pleasure and beauty being -something self-evident would crop up in her thoughts. After a youth -which had been haunted by the ghost of poverty, she sometimes felt a -shiver run through her in the presence of this magnificent house and of -all she had heard about his wealth. It was really something hitherto -hidden and downtrodden in her Selamb soul that very cautiously raised -its head. - -From this moment Sister Hedvig began to develop a certain coquetry. If -she read a silent question in Percy Hill’s eyes she purposely appeared -dull and impenetrable. Her instinct told her that a man like him was -attracted by the unknown, by what was unlike himself. Consequently she -carefully avoided betraying anything of the change that had taken place -in herself. She well remembered what he had said about the image of the -saint in Toledo and about the sparks from the stake in her eyes. So she -now appeared really pale and dark and Spanish. And with secret joy she -saw that the Spanish effect did its work. The cool and mocking light had -disappeared from Percy’s eyes. Instead there sometimes came a shy and -nervous look of supplication. He was clearly in love with her. - -Then Stellan called, just at the right moment. He came from what seemed -to have been a family council of the Selambs. Curiosity had been -stimulated enormously of late. Percy was so rich that you could not help -reflecting. Nothing was impossible. It might mean marriage, it might -mean a bequest in his will. One did not know if he was going to live or -die. Neither Peter nor Laura knew Percy Hill enough to call on him. -Hedvig herself was impossible to approach. Laura had tried over the -telephone but had, of course, got nothing out of her. - -Then at last Stellan came home from a command in Norrland and was sent -out to Hill’s villa at once to reconnoitre. - -It was a clear, warm, sunny day after a long spell of cruelly -disagreeable spring weather. Stellan had a strange gift of always -bringing fine weather. Percy was sitting up in an easy chair in front of -an open window facing south. Sister Hedvig had slipped away into the -darkest corner with some kind of Christian needlework. Such April -sunshine was still too much for her. Stellan had ridden out. He was -walking up and down the room lightly striking his riding boots with his -whip. At first he had been shocked for a moment by Percy’s wasted look, -but now he was already praising his rapid recovery. He always talked a -lot, Stellan. He had a peculiar tendency to dwell with a mixture of envy -and admiration on Percy’s precious art treasures, on his admirable -patronage of art and his subtle intelligence. He also returned several -times by sly, roundabout ways to the subject of wealth, and money. - -“Yes, because Percy is the sort of man who must be reminded that he can -get whatever he wants,” he said. “He will forget to keep alive if you -don’t remind him.” - -Stellan was insistent as if at one and the same time he had wished to -free Percy from his lack of self-confidence and rouse him from the -lassitude of his illness. Percy listened with his eyes half-closed. Of -course he did not take all this seriously. But in his present frame of -mind he enjoyed Stellan’s talk, all the same. It blended with the clear -strong sunshine and seemed to hold out something like a promise of life. - -Hedvig in her corner also listened to this glorification of Percy. She -suspected that Stellan was also addressing himself to her. When he -returned to the subject of money and to the wonderful opportunities of -becoming rich she looked down at her work and continued her sewing with -feverish haste. She detested him and yet she wanted to hear more. She -grew hot and cold by turns. To save her life she could not have looked -up. - -But Stellan walked up and down between the two and observed them with -cool and cheerful curiosity. He felt strangely elated. And then his -black horse neighed outside by the gate post, and a loud and festive -flourish of trumpets like a call to battle was sounded in the clear, -radiant spring air. Stellan took a hasty farewell. Hedvig accompanied -him to the front door. She was astonished at herself for doing so. But -there was a certain pleasure in walking through these magnificent rooms -by the side of Stellan with his jingling spurs. Out on the stairs she -looked into his eyes for a moment. There was a bitter and savage triumph -in her glance. Stellan pointed to his horse. - -“Winnings at cards,” he said. “I have christened him the ‘Ace of -Spades.’ Fine, isn’t he?” - -And then he jumped into the saddle and trotted away down the hill. - -Hedvig slowly returned to Percy, who was still sitting among his -cushions in the sunshine. - -Stellan’s visit had, as it were, aired out the place after the long -confined winter. Yes, they had lived as in a monastery cell. And now the -horseman on his black steed had come like a messenger from the great, -cold exciting world beyond. And there was relief in that. - -“As soon as I can I am going away,” said Percy, “first to Meran and then -to Mentone.” - -He looked at Sister Hedvig, who had resumed her sewing. She was sewing -very fast and did not answer. Percy spoke again with forced ease: - -“Are you coming with me, Sister Hedvig?” - -She shrugged her shoulders without looking up: - -“There are other sick people who need me....” - -“I mean will Sister ... will Hedvig come with me as my wife?” - -Hedvig shrank further into her corner. Her wretched fear once again took -possession of her and thrust her into the deepest shadows. - -“No, ... I can’t, ... I will never be anybody’s wife....” - -For a moment Percy looked at her with anxious amazement. He had lately -done his utmost to appear as well and as manly as possible, and then the -poor fellow all of a sudden completely changed his pose. - -“But I ... I am not a real man, Hedvig. Not now, at least. I am only a -convalescent. And I don’t know if I can live without your presence.” - -She was white and her hands trembled. - -“If we can go on living as we have done before, then....” - -“Yes, till I am well ... and you yourself want it otherwise....” - -His voice sounded both sad and happy. He beckoned Hedvig towards him: - -“O, we both need a lot of sunshine, you and I, Hedvig,” he muttered. - -And he took her hand in his uplifted hands with an expression of -reverence. It was as if he also wished to touch her beautiful oval face -with his fingers. Then he sank back against his cushions and breathed -heavily, oppressed by his emotions. Hedvig had to lead him back to bed. - -“Our Eros,” whispered Percy pointing at Saint Sebastian, “who smiles -though his breast is full of arrows.” - -Such was Hedvig Selamb’s engagement. She would have shrunk back -frightened from complete matrimony. She dared to go half way. It really -was a typical Selamb insurance against the risks both of loneliness and -poverty and the demands of life. But before the dawn of the next day she -had already convinced herself that she was making a great sacrifice. - -The banns had been read for the second time and Percy was expected on a -visit to Selambshof, in which he had not set his foot since he was a -child. Hedvig had gone there at the last moment. She could of course not -stay on alone in the house of her fiancé. - -The Selambs were sitting in front of a fire in the hall. The main -building had stood empty the whole of the winter, since Peter nowadays -lived in the bailiff’s wing. The hall was like a cave. The winter cold -still clung to the walls, though it was May. But that did not seem to -disturb the Selambs. They whispered in eager tones and were agreeably -excited as if by an interesting game of cards. Now and then they threw -pitying, envious, and secretly admiring side-glances at Hedvig, who was -standing by one of the windows. Hedvig was dressed in a plain black -frock. She was standing there alone, silent, cold, with a severe and -haughty expression on her face. She looked down the avenue by which -Percy would arrive. Yes, here her fiancé was about to drive up in a -great fine carriage, round the very same bend as did Brundin once upon a -time in his little green dog-cart. And during dinner she would sit -silent and erect by his side and scarcely taste her food. The silence -would spread around her so that not even Laura would dare to begin her -empty, worldly chatter. There would be a real contrast to all the shouts -and hurrahs of her own unfortunate wedding. And it would be the last -time Percy would appear at Selambshof. Yes, Hedvig had decided to have a -quiet wedding ceremony without her relations. That would be the most -dignified way. She had no further use for all these people out here. She -would go abroad and leave it all behind. - -Hedvig thought of all this as she stood at the window. The shadow of a -smile passed now and again over her severe red lips. Wonderfully sweet -contentment suffused her whole being. She trampled on her old fear, -loneliness, and humiliation, and felt as if she had truly her old fear -under her foot. But she could not trample it to death. One does not -trample a shadow to death. It can only be killed by light.... - -Then Percy Hill came driving up to the steps. He remained for a moment -sitting in the open carriage looking up at the high, gloomy walls of -Selambshof. It was impossible for him to escape a feeling of discomfort -in the presence of this sham feudal architecture, this suburban gothic -which did not even take itself seriously. “Well,” he thought, “we are -going away from all this.” - -He entered. He moved slowly and looked very pale and thin in his black -morning coat. Nobody could help seeing that he had been in the shadow of -death. For a moment he seemed to shrink from the wintry air inside. But -his glance brightened when he caught sight of Hedvig’s frock. He had -been afraid to see her without her nurse’s uniform. Her simple black -frock seemed to him an expression of tactfulness. He kissed Hedvig’s -hand and greeted Laura and Stellan. Then it was Peter’s turn. Percy had -had no communication with him for many years. Peter’s gross figure -startled him somewhat. He offered his transparent fingers with -half-closed eyes and withdrew them again quickly with a little -embarrassed smile. - -Nobody said much. Laura pulled her shawl more closely over her shoulders -and even Stellan seemed somewhat ill at ease. - -Then Hedvig led Percy with an absent-minded expression to the wedding -presents which were laid out on a table by the window. There were -crystal vases and bowls in the taste of the day—all eloquent of decent, -commonplace domestic life. Hedvig walked away. Percy looked at the -floor. - -“They are all overtaxing my nerves,” he thought. “Such meaningless -ugliness!” He had to make a real effort to realise that this was not a -deliberate mockery of their marriage, but merely a sacrifice to the -conventionalities. At last he began to thank everybody very eagerly and -politely to right and left on behalf of himself and Hedvig. - -It was Stellan who saved the situation. He took Percy’s arm. - -“Now I must show you round a little in this owls’ nest,” he said, in a -tone of command that had something engagingly impersonal in it. -“Selambshof was not conjured up in a day like your palace. It is as old -as sin, though it was unfortunately rebuilt and spoilt in the process -sometime in the ’fifties.” - -Percy stopped in the dining-room in front of old Enoch’s portrait. -Suddenly he looked quite relieved and was delighted: - -“This is very interesting!” he exclaimed. - -“Do you think so? It’s our grandfather. An old devil, between -ourselves.” - -Percy climbed up and examined the signature in the corner: - -“Just fancy, a Tervillius! But yet not quite like him. He never achieved -such rapid execution elsewhere. What swift, cruel characterisation! And -he is otherwise so extremely conscientious.” - -“Well, he is said to have had his reasons for not loving old Enoch. It -cannot have been very pleasant to owe him money.” - -“So it is the inspiration of hatred! Well, there are worse -inspirations.” - -“Our dear grandfather was apparently not at all displeased with the -caricature, though for certain reasons it cannot have been very -agreeable to him. I suppose you know that Tervillius committed suicide -... just a few days after he had finished out here?” - -“Oh, so this is his last work ... an anathema....” - -Hedvig had silently stolen up to them and stood there staring Old Hök in -the eyes whilst she listened greedily to each word that was uttered. -Percy pushed his arm smilingly under Hedvig’s and eagerly solicited the -condescension of his Spanish saint: - -“Fancy the last masterpiece of a distinguished artist! And quite unknown -to the critics. That is most remarkable.” - -Peter had also come up to the picture: “Is the old fellow really worth -something?” he wondered. - -“Thirty thousand, at least. It’s a pity it is a family portrait as one -does not dare to make an offer for it.” - -The eyes of the Selambs lit up. They evidently regarded their -grandfather with a new interest. - -“Thirty thousand for the curse,” mumbled Hedvig with a shrug of her -shoulders. - -“The old man gave five hundred,” said Peter. “I have seen an old -receipt. He was always a good business man.” - -“Aren’t you afraid to marry into old Enoch’s family?” cried Laura with a -voice that had suddenly become quite gay. “Just look how like him I am.” -And with comic eagerness she imitated his hard looks and pulled down the -corners of her mouth. - -But Percy looked searchingly round the circle of faces and his look -rested with an expression of admiration on Hedvig: - -“Isn’t the likeness all the same most striking in Hedvig?” he said -lightly. - -Not for a second did he shrink from the thought that she was of the same -blood as the old usurer against whom the soul of a hunted and despairing -artist had exploded its hatred before his eyes. - -He was a dilettante, Percy Hill. - -After the early dinner Percy had to return home at once. And Hedvig did -not want to stay with the others round the coffee table. - -“Now, I will leave you, so that you can discuss us more freely,” she -said. - -Hedvig was going up to her room. She had not gone many steps up the -creaking stairs before she heard the dammed-up floods of talk of her -sister and brothers released. Silently as a ghost she crept back to the -door and listened. First she heard Stellan’s voice: - -“The devil take me if I can understand Hedvig. I really did not think -her capable of this.” - -“Indeed,” interposed Laura, “it was exactly what I expected. She used to -sneak things when she was small.” - -Then it was Stellan again: - -“Poor Percy is a decent fellow anyhow. He only wants to get away as -quickly as possible in secret. I understand that they don’t want us to -be present at the wedding.” - -“Well,” said Laura, “we are sure to meet again soon—on another solemn -occasion.” - -Then one heard Peter bang his knees together. “Yes, yes, the money will -last longer than the husband. She will soon have pots of money.” - -Hedvig leaned against the doorpost with closed eyes. She felt cold and -stiff all over. Her disgust at the people in there who so impudently and -blindly defiled her sacrifice froze her blood. And all the same she -could not tear herself away from her listening post. And all the same -she devoured greedily every word of her sister and brothers. In her -innermost heart there was a wild frightened joy to hear how rich she was -going to be. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XII - - +PETER CASTS OUT MAJÄNGEN AND BRINGS HOME EKBACKEN+ - - -Peter the Boss had begun to frequent the observatory again. But it was -not in order to watch the workers at Selambshof as old Enoch had done. -No, the observatory was rather the scene of his economic dreams. With -the help of the old marine glass he now and then peeped into the future. -On the blackened billiard marker he had a few calculations, for the -airiness of which quickly wiped-off chalk was a better medium than paper -and ink. It was a sort of game. But behind the game lurked a serious -purpose. Peter the Boss longed more and more to rise above the humble -rank of an ordinary farm-bailiff. It is true that he had been called -“Director” ever since the estate had been transformed into a limited -company after the death of their father, but the change of the title did -not alter the facts. Peter was tired of his elementary tricks in buying -and selling and they had now become a matter of mechanical routine with -him. They were simply a means of obtaining the commission which his -sisters and brothers were too mean to pay him. Of course he did earn a -certain amount of money. Yes, the amount increased quite nicely, quite -nicely. But all the same he felt the restlessness of one who is -conscientiously capable of greater things. He had half-frightened, -dizzying visions of profits of millions. The future teemed with -possibilities which confused and distracted him during his day’s work. -He had to climb up to a high place in order to survey the situation. And -that place was the observatory. - -Peter used to begin his observations from the west window. At first he -pretended to be there for the sake of the fine view. He was coquetting, -as it were, with his shy hopes. Contemptuously his look passed over -treeless and insignificant Ryssvik. But further away he beheld Trefvinge -beyond the fine fishing water and densely wooded forests. Well grown and -no mortgages! Fancy what a lot of money could be got out of that estate. -Peter could not help making calculations. It was, of course, mere fancy, -idle fancies ... though perhaps Stellan might ... he had flirted rather -freely with Elvira Lähnfeldt at Laura’s wedding ... but probably it -meant nothing. - -With a little sigh Peter stepped to the south window. Here he at once -approached a little nearer to reality. Here lay Kolsnäs and it looked -quite different, with big bare patches in the forest, and bushes and -felled trees and melancholy seed-pines on the horizon. Yes, yes, cash -would be wanted there when the old lady died and Lieutenant Manne von -Strelert began to sow his wild oats. Lots of timber had been cut down -and the estate was mortgaged, but there was still lots more to take. -Manne was a deuced decent fellow, anyhow, and Peter would not have -minded making him a little loan now and then. He had a distinct -sensation of pressing a bundle of notes into the Lieutenant’s hand and -receiving a nice little I.O.U. in return, which would give him a hold -over a corner of Kolsnäs. - -Yes, those were his dreams. Unfortunately Peter had nothing to spare for -Kolsnäs now. Stellan immediately consumed the cash Peter could lay hands -on. He was awful, Stellan. Already more than half of his shares lay as -security in Peter’s drawer. - -At last Peter came to the east window. From here he had a fine view -nowadays since he had felled a couple of enormous aspens on the slope -behind the avenue. He did that because of Ekbacken. Now he could see -both the yard and the sawmill and a bit of the town behind. Peter could -not help interesting himself in Ekbacken. Herman had avoided him since -the divorce. It was not so easy either to enter into conversation with -old Lundbom now that his trusteeship had lapsed. So Peter had to be -content with what he could discover with the help of his glasses, though -that was quite a lot. He saw, for instance, that the proud yacht -building Herman had spoken of had completely ceased. There was never -more than one yacht and that was Herman’s own “Laura.” Well, the name -was of course painted out, which really was not to be wondered at. That -tall figure over there was Herman himself. He would stroll out onto the -pier and sit for hours with a glass and a bottle beside him on the green -seat. Sometimes he went out sailing for a couple of days and then the -boat would lie rubbing against the pier with sails up whilst half the -pier was littered with empty bottles handed up out of the boat. - -Peter shook his head in joyful concern: - -“Poor boy,” he muttered, “breakers after a storm. This will never end -well.” - -Neither did it. - -Peter soon saw that activity in the shipyard decreased. The repairing -slips began to be empty for long periods, the capstan struggled with its -long arms as if it were begging for help from all the four quarters of -the compass and the crane hung helpless over the water as if in -expectation of an inevitable fall. And the few workmen visible were -mostly loitering or sitting smoking on the sly between the weathering -stacks of boards round the sawmill. - -Peter was quite touched at this decay. He felt an agreeable compassion -for the excellent Herman. It was not his fault that all this misery -might turn out to his advantage and to that of Selambshof. For if the -resistance of Ekbacken was broken then Herman could no longer foolishly -oppose the advance of the town. And in that fact Peter secretly already -saw his great opportunity. - -Peter had felt a profound emotion when for the first time he fully -realised that the town over there was smoking and sweating in order to -increase the value of Selambshof. From that moment he began to think -that the smell from the glue works on the other side of the lake was -rather pleasant. The glue works was the first outpost of the town and -with one blow it had broken the spell of the silent little Mälare bay. -What would it not bring in its train? Damage to property, stolen boats, -poaching, brawls, servants in trouble. And worst of all the horrid -smell. A southerly wind was a real trial to Selambshof nowadays. Stellan -called it the sirocco. But Peter thought in his heart that the smell was -rather pleasant. It smelt of money, money. But as he walked and sniffed -it, he grew impatient with the sirocco all the same, but not in the same -way as ordinary people did. On the other shore, things moved along -deuced quickly he thought. But on this side Ekbacken can’t resist for -many years. And the town may expand in other directions. - -It was a close day in July. There had been a bad drought this summer and -the fields at Selambshof were half scorched, and promised a failure of -the crops. Between the drooping and dusty elms of the avenue there was a -smell of carrion and old cheese. The whole estate was enveloped in a -vapour of putrefaction. The glue works over on the other side of the -lake vibrated in the heat haze and seemed to dissolve in mere smells. - -Peter suffered from the economic sirocco worse than ever. He could not -even remain in the observatory, but had to go out for a walk in spite of -the heat. How were things going at Ekbacken? Eagerly but carefully he -spied round the corner, afraid of being seen, and cursing beneath his -breath the high wooden fence that Herman had built towards the road. -Then he moved on further in order to see how the town was behaving. -Well, at last the new quay was ready. But how was building progressing -on this side? Peter ferretted amongst the dumps of macadam and the blast -holes. He searched for newly staked-out building sites and for new -foundations. No, there was not enough progress to record. Why did they -not hurry on the work more? It irritated him to see the workmen lying -with their coats under their heads sleeping amongst the stones after -their lunch. - -Peter returned home by another way. He took a dull, ill-kept road, far -back from the lake, which led on past the old quarry between the bare -hills. Unsightly, ragged, untidy, the hill rose up, useless for all but -the crows. The black smoke from a goods train puffing up the incline on -the other side drifted slowly in between the dwarfed and miserable -pines. Peter stopped a moment in the damp cold that rose even in the hot -sun out of the fens of Träskängen. He struck his stick on the dried-up -lumps of clay on the road and stared in front of him. He had suddenly -got an idea. The railway! he thought. The railway! This corner is -furthest from town, but I have got the railway. I attack Ekbacken from -behind. I am finding gold on the rubbish heap! - -He staggered home as in a delirium. - -A few days later the shareholders of Selambshof were summoned to a -meeting. Peter told them in a few words that he had found a buyer for -the quarry and Träskängen. “That rubbish is not worth keeping and we -need money to cover the bad season,” he said. Nobody had any serious -objection and the sale was made. The buyer was Peter Selamb, through an -agent of the name of Thomson. Mr. Thomson got very favourable terms of -payment. Then there appeared an immense white board up in the Quarry -overlooking the railway and bearing the words: - - - “SOLBERGET and MAJÄNGEN - - Building Sites for Sale! - - Majängen Building Co., 3, Nygatan, Stockholm.” - - -Peter the Boss had thought it suitable to make this little change in the -old place-names. - -At the same time a magnificent system of wide intersecting streets was -marked out with neat white painted posts and iron stakes. - -Strange to say the sites found a ready sale, for it was during the -golden time of uncritical speculation in suburban land. And evidently -there were some poor overcrowded, shut up souls for whom even the Quarry -and Träskängen was a taste of liberty and of nature. - -The whole autumn, winter and spring, the money dribbled in regularly. -“Majängen” was a splendid coup. But Peter did not sit down on his gold -hoard and purr. On the contrary he grew more and more restless as his -banking account grew. He kept all his money in ready cash. With this ace -of trumps in his hands he watched eagerly for the best moment to play it -and gather in a fat trick. His glass almost burnt in his hand when he -directed it towards Ekbacken. During many soliloquies he roamed -restlessly about outside the cursed high wooden fence. Yes, yes, it -reeked of an exquisite decay from afar. But why did not that stupid -Herman come to Peter the Boss? If he had only known how willingly Peter -would have helped him! It was not right of him to forget an old friend. -Just fancy if Herman had been foolish enough to throw himself into the -arms of one of the banks in the town, which would just hold his head -above water for a time in order to let him sink afterwards and then -march off with everything! - -This thought worried Peter the Boss cruelly. One day when he had seen -Herman sail out with the usual case of bottles he went straight through -the high wooden gate and in to old Lundbom in the office. - -Lundbom sat there aged and grey-haired, with a worried expression. - -Peter stretched out a big and honest hand: - -“Tell me all,” he said. “You can rely upon an old country neighbour. I -am Herman’s friend, though he does not care about me. I want to help as -much as I can.” - -Lundbom had always had a sort of tender regard for Peter. He had taught -him to play “vira.” He had been his legal adviser. With a sort of -impartial pleasure he had seen his knowledge boldly applied by his -clever pupil. In his theoretical eagerness he had been rather proud, -though he was himself the soul of honour, of his being able to show -Peter certain loopholes and snags. Old Lundbom symbolised, as it were, -the fate of the law in this world: to be made use of by rogues. - -Peter stood there with outstretched hand, and Lundbom really could not -help seizing it, though Herman had forbidden all communication with -Selambshof. - -“What’s the position?” grunted Peter. “If I can do anything I must know -the position.” - -Lundbom shook the ledger: - -“There were losses last year already. This year will be still worse.” - -“The figures?” - -“Thirty thousand last year. At least fifty thousand this year, if things -go on like this. Now we are selling out our timber below cost. We are -hard up for ready money.” - -“Have you any specially difficult payment to make?” - -“Yes, on Saturday week, a bill for twenty thousand. Fancy, we who never -used to touch bills before.” - -“Who has got your bill?” - -Lundbom mentioned a small notorious usurious banker. Peter whistled. -That bank proved that Herman had not known how to look after his -business in town properly. He rose and pressed Lundbom’s hand: - -“Good-bye! Not a word to Herman about this. He must be managed -carefully, poor boy, Good-bye!” - -A week later Herman came back from his sailing trip. He was once more -sitting on the pier. The twilight was strangely yellow. In the south a -big grey-black cloud floated, so heavy and solid-looking that it seemed -a miracle that it did not fall. A warm but strong south-easterly wind -had sprung up after the day’s calm. The leafy mosses of the willows on -the shore turned in the wind and yellow crested waves beat with -foreboding insistence against the slimy green piles on their sloping -stone ballast. Then the foresail halyard of the cutter began to flap -persistently against the mast, a sound which in a badly chosen harbour -at night threatens to cast you adrift and to shift your anchor in the -dark. - -Herman was sitting with outstretched legs. His chin had sunk into the -sweater and he stared motionless out over the water. Over his whole -being there descended a chill shadow of loneliness which gave a touch of -melancholy and appeal even to his warm yachting shoes. - -He stretched out for his whiskey glass but checked his groping hand and -muttered something to himself about a renewal, a commission, and nine -per cent. He came no further. There he stopped. He refused, from a kind -of spite, to think any more than was necessary to keep things just -afloat for the moment. It was also from some foolish spite that he had -sought the assistance of an ill-famed bank. “That fits in with me best,” -he thought, “for everybody thinks I am an impossible person.” - -Ugh! business ... banks ... the whole town! - -He felt such a strong desire to take flight in his boat again that it -hurt him. Alone! out into the storm and darkness! - -At this moment a massive figure came walking out along the pier. There -was something disarming even in his way of dodging between the holes in -the rotten floor-boards of the pier. His little, round, wrinkled head -hung on one side between his enormous shoulders—as if it were drooping -from sheer compassion. He somehow looked like an enormous child. He -stopped and looked at Herman, with two small watery eyes that threatened -to overflow. - -Herman jumped up when he caught sight of the newcomer, he drew himself -to his full height, erect and rigid as a post: - -“What do you want here?” - -Peter stretched out his arms, which resembled thighs on which hands had -happened to grow. - -“Look here, old boy ... why should we go on like this, ... two old -friends like ourselves.... You know I couldn’t help things....” - -Herman suppressed his angry impulse and with a shrug of his shoulders -sank back on the seat, staring once again out over the water where an -old black-tarred fire-wood smack was just taking in her topsail and -slowly turning into the wind with dark sails booming. - -Peter seized the opportunity of sitting down on the seat without further -ceremony: - -“You mustn’t think I am on Laura’s side,” he assured Herman. “She is a -handful, she is, without a heart in her breast!” - -“I have never asked to hear your opinion about my divorced wife,” said -Herman in a voice that was meant to be frigid. - -But all the same there was a corner in his soul where Peter’s words did -good. He could not hide his wound. Peter noticed it at once. So much -sensitiveness he had left from the time of the Great Fear. Yes, yes, -that is the after-swell, he thought, and moved closer up to Herman, -ready to give him another dose. Then it suddenly started to rain. Big, -whipping drops. Herman rose silently, taking his glass and bottle with -him. Without looking at Peter he walked quickly up to the house. “I -don’t mind your being short with me if it soothes you,” thought Peter, -and followed him faithfully up the steps and into the smoking room. - -Herman put the bottle on the table, threw himself on the sofa and stared -at his toes. - -Peter took the matches and lit the lamp. Then he went into the kitchen -and returned with a couple of bottles of soda water and a clean glass. -After that he filled Herman’s glass and prepared one for himself. - -“Your health,” he said. - -Herman drank deeply without replying. Then followed a moment’s silence. -The rain drummed against the upper windows, and rushed down the -rainpipes. A cool damp penetrated into the close room. - -Peter took a cigar out of a box and lit it: - -“I’ll be damned if I don’t stay the night, old boy! It feels jolly to be -back at old Ekbacken again!” - -Herman was still mute and seemed absorbed in the opposite wall. But when -Peter drank he drank also. And that happened often. Peter thought the -whiskey tasted good. Yes it really was very jolly to be sitting here at -Ekbacken and see old father Hermansson’s treasures gleam behind the -glass of the cupboard in the corner. He was already drinking Herman’s -health, the delightful sensation of being host himself and of Herman -being less secure in the place than himself. Not that he was thinking of -business tonight. He could save that up for tomorrow. No, now he gave -himself up to his feelings and the whiskey. And it was no small amount -of feeling that he showed. - -In the intervals between draining their glasses, Peter suddenly began to -abuse Laura again. Was this mere calculation on his part? Did he sit -there in cold blood and sacrifice the sister for his own profit? Was he, -with his diabolical cunning, playing upon poor Herman’s love and hate? -No, Peter really began to realise Herman’s loneliness. Was he not -himself a poor bachelor too? He felt real pity for Herman. Why shouldn’t -he curse Laura if it did any good to this poor devil—and to himself, -also, by the way? He sat there working up his fury at the recollection -of his sister’s old sarcasms. Like a mad bull he tore fiercely and -passionately at the red tissue of lies, caprice, ingratitude, and cursed -coquetry called woman. Yes it was a relief to him to take his revenge on -the whole of the abominable sex that turned up its nose at Peter the -Boss, but ran after such scamps as Brundin. - -With a stiff expression of disapproval, Herman sat and listened to -Peter’s disclosures concerning Laura. But he listened all the same—he -couldn’t help it—till at last he banged his fist on the table so that -the glasses jumped: - -“Be quiet,” he shrieked, “she is the mother of my child!” - -Peter sat for a moment puzzled, he gasped and blinked his eyes. Laura -was evidently played out. He must change his front: - -“Herman, you are a gentleman,” he muttered at last, admiringly, “I’ll be -damned if you are not a gentleman.” - -What was Peter the Boss to do now with all the vague emotions that rose -in his massive body? Some use must be made of this beautiful -intoxication. Yes, move at once to the other extreme. He overflowed with -sympathy and brotherhood and memories from boyhood. “Do you remember -when it rained and we were playing in the loft at home?” “Do you -remember when we climbed into the rigging down in the shipyard?” “Yes, -that was in the good old days, old boy!” “We have had a damned fine time -together all the same!” - -Here Peter’s eyes filled with tears and he slapped the old fellow on the -back and swore that a helping hand from Peter the Boss would not be -lacking. Herman made no opposition. He suddenly looked terribly tired. -He had been so utterly, miserably lonely. Though he still felt -suspicious he had no longer strength to resist. Peter overpowered him by -his sheer weight. - -Peter forgot to remove his hand from Herman’s shoulder. He felt a great, -vague exaltation. At that moment he really loved his dear old Herman. He -felt an irresistible desire to do something for him. The observatory, -Majängen and his errand to Ekbacken: all were forgotten in this moment: - -“Look here, Herman,” he muttered in a thick voice, “I saw little Georg -the other day. In his fourth year. Sailor blouse and a whistle on a -white cord. Your image. Wouldn’t you like to have a look at him? Laura -is going away, so it is easy to arrange. He can stay for a few days with -the nurse at Selambshof. That’s not a bad idea, eh? Now do say yes!” - -Herman had not wanted to see his child. In his injured pride he had -refused for three years to allow himself that crumb of comfort. Yes, he -had almost imagined that he hated the baby. Now he sank down with his -hands in front of his face: - -“Tomorrow,” he muttered. “Tomorrow, before I change my mind.” - -“All right, tomorrow, old boy. With milk teeth and whistle and spade and -pail and all the rest of it. Come up to Selambshof and have an afternoon -whiskey and soda and then you’ll see him.” - -Peter rose. He stood there like a lump of dough, massive and swaying to -and fro, and would not let Herman’s hand go: - -“Tomorrow, old boy, tomorrow. Welcome!” - -Then Peter the Boss walked home to Selambshof. - -But Herman swept bottle and glass on to the floor and then sat -motionless as a statue and stared into the night and thought of his son. - - * * * * * - -There are men who are fat for slaughter and there are those who are -fattened by the slaughter of others. Peter the Boss certainly belonged -to the latter category. But heavy and sluggish blood may still leave you -a victim of softer feelings. And Peter had, as we have seen, his -weaknesses. But the strange thing is that somehow when it came to the -point they always served his purpose. He could yield to any excess of -feelings because the real Peter the Boss remained safely behind on -guard. Whilst others awoke with remorse and a splitting head, he -realised through the lifting mists that he was on the point of doing a -fine stroke of business. - -Big and good-tempered, he now stood in his soiled flannels and -wide-brimmed sombrero by the corner of his house and looked at the -touching group on the terrace. He was confoundedly fond both of the fair -little thing between the sand moulds and of that tall unhappy Herman who -had—God help him—dressed up in morning coat to meet his son. Perhaps it -was because they were both equally helpless. - -Herman sat there rigid and pale, torn by conflicting emotions. He did -not try to explain who he was. He did not even dare to take the boy on -his lap, he only looked silently at the vivacious open face and the -chubby little eager hands. A living memory of the past! There they had -mixed their blood, he and the woman from whom he would never escape as -long as he lived. - -There was a sighing of the wind in the old maple above the rusty -signalling guns. Here Laura had sat, and there up the avenue he had -come—always with that strange anxiety in his inmost heart, Herman leant -back on the bench. A feeling of resignation stole over him. Here at -Selambshof he had met his fate—and here he would still find it. Here -were beings against whom it was no use fighting. - -Peter coughed before he came up to them, a wonderful act of delicacy on -his part. - -Then the nurse came to put little Georg to bed. Herman started up as if -in alarm. He lifted the boy up in his arms as if to kiss him, but put -him down again and sank back on the seat beside Peter. - -“I hope you have not talked about me—you have not told the nurse who I -am,” he muttered. - -“Not a word,” Peter assured him. - -But Herman felt all the same a pang in his heart. “Then Laura won’t hear -of it,” he thought. “And she won’t be forced to give me a thought.” And -he hated himself because he could not help feeling a cold emptiness. In -one draught he emptied the glass before him. - -But Peter carefully slipped into business. He did not of course speak of -Herman’s bill that was due or of the affairs of Ekbacken at all. He only -said that he had met somebody who wanted to invest about fifty thousand -crowns on good security. And then he had thought of Herman at once. -Times were difficult and working capital always useful. - -Herman did not seem to hear at first. Then his face contracted at the -thought of this wretched business. And then he suddenly assumed the -cold, severe, businesslike tone which is so often found in very -impatient people: - -“Terms? Interest?” - -“Not bad—six per cent—” - -“If I am to consider the proposition I must have half tomorrow against -my promissory note until the bills of sale are redeemed.” - -“Aha!” thought Peter the Boss, “there you gave yourself away. I should -never have said that.” - -“Well,” he muttered, “you might get about twenty thousand at once.” - -Herman felt that this was easy. He glanced suspiciously at Peter: - -“Who is this benefactor? Does he prefer to remain unknown?” - -Peter smiled and looked transparently honest: - -“Not at all, he is O. W. Thomson, director of Majängen. I can vouch for -him. Decent fellow. I shall be pleased to arrange the business for you -out of gratitude for all you have done for us at Ekbacken.” - -Herman suspected that Thomson was Peter’s dummy. A few days ago when old -Lundbom, encouraged by a certain visit he had received, had hinted -vaguely at Peter, Herman had sworn that he would never have anything to -do with Selambshof. But before he walked home that evening he had all -the same arranged for a meeting. He was not strong enough to resist. - -The following day it appeared that O. W. Thomson had gone away. The -matter could not be arranged until two days later, that is to say, the -day before the due date of Herman’s bill. And then Thomson was in a bad -temper. He demanded eight per cent and only a month’s notice. It was -risky. Peter had done what he could but that confounded Thomson was -quite impossible. There was nothing left for Herman to do but sign and -rush off to the bank. - - * * * * * - -Peter continued these friendly potations with Herman. He enjoyed his -company very much, and showed a touching interest for his welfare, yes, -he really ministered to his weaknesses: - -“You have been living in hell, Herman,” he said. “It has got on your -nerves.” (Yes, Peter had actually found out that there were such things -as nerves.) “You must take care of yourself, sleep, amuse yourself, go -sailing. Lundbom looks after the business. He is a magician, old -Lundbom.” - -“As if it helped to sail,” muttered Herman, as gloomy as the Flying -Dutchman. - -But he did go sailing, anyhow, and Peter went too, and did not let go of -his dear Herman. And when now after long stormy cruises out to sea, they -had dropped their hook far out in a fine night harbour under some rugged -cliff and the waves roared on the pebbles on the shore and the crescent -moon shone over the sea, whilst the evening sky hung green and cold over -the long ragged forest edges in the west, then they both revelled in a -beautiful and romantic hatred of the town, its dirt and stuffiness and -humbug and misery. It was a most beautiful accord between shyness, -laziness and weakness on the one hand and instinctive, furtive, -self-interest on the other. To Herman the town meant rubbish, masons, -walls scrawled all over, insidious threats against the idyls of his -childhood. But it also meant his great smouldering trouble, neglected -duties and a bad conscience. For Peter on the other hand the town meant -ten thousand possibilities and the fine opportunities which Herman must -not suspect. He liked to finish off his exhortation with little edifying -stories, terrifying little accounts of the cursed banks. - -“Yes, beware of the banks, Herman,” he exclaimed. “Bills here and bills -there and not a moment’s peace. One fine day they get you into their -clutches and then you have to say good-bye to everything. But we will -defend ourselves, old boy. We know a few little tricks, we rustics too, -now don’t we? If you get into difficulties don’t make them offers. There -is nothing so dangerous as to make them offers. No, you come to Peter -the Boss and he will stand by you. Not an inch shall they have of -Ekbacken and Selambshof.” - -Herman sat there eating his tinned food, half touched, half suspicious. - -“Yes, but you have already sold some of it.” - -Peter smiled a superior smile: - -“Don’t you understand. I tricked them, tricked those town scoundrels -splendidly. Sold away the rubbish heap in order to sit more securely in -the Castle.” - -There Herman had got something to sleep on. And in fact he did sleep -better than usual. It was as if Peter had lifted the worries from off -his back and taken them on his own broad shoulders. - -Peter also snored soundly. He had not by any means done everything he -might have done to ensure and isolate his victim. Never! he who liked -Herman so much! No, he had only been jolly decent and said what he knew -Herman liked to hear. - -And when Peter afterwards came into town and told everybody he met that -that fellow at Ekbacken was far too fine for business, and that he had -such damned bad luck in all he did, it was not done at all in order to -destroy the last remnants of Herman’s credit and make him even more -impossible than before. He merely felt so frightfully sorry for Herman -that it was impossible for him to keep quiet about it. - -But the whole manœuvre was as a matter of fact quite unnecessary. When, -towards the autumn, cash again began to run short, Herman simply had not -the energy to go to anybody else but Peter. The mere thought of going to -cold strangers made him shiver. And Peter did not say “no.” He really -surpassed himself. Herman got all he wanted at once on the security of a -new mortgage on Ekbacken, though this time with lower interest and a -more reasonable notice of calling in. - -Herman was really moved when he went home. Fancy if it had been Laura -who had repented and forced Peter to this. Yes he really lived on this -fantastic dream through the whole of the autumn. Poor Herman, his pride -had been dealt a severe blow. - -But a great calm had descended on Peter after his former restlessness. -The sirocco no longer irritated him. He had only to wait for the -ripening of the fruit now. Soon he would be able to free Herman from all -his worries about Ekbacken, which only made him unhappy. - -Whilst waiting, Peter made little dreary excursions to his little gold -mine “Majängen” and “Solberget.” - -It was mostly poorer people who had ventured out to the new suburb. They -blasted, and dug, and sawed and hammered in nails. Quite a lot of queer -looking cottages had already been hammered together down in the marsh -and up in the quarry. And there were already geraniums in the windows -and children on the doorsteps. Peter shook his head, smiled and -pondered. “They build,” he thought. “That’s a mistake. They ought to buy -from those who overbuild themselves. But they are decent people all the -same, quite decent people.” He moved on carefully among the blocks of -stone and the clay holes in the staked-out streets. He stopped before an -arbour consisting of a few recently planted lilac bushes of the size of -broom, in front of a patch of golden nasturtiums in a cleft in the -granite filled with soil. - -Peter the Boss really felt quite touched. It is strange how poetic -poverty can be—in others. Fancy how simply one can live. Yes, they were -really quite comfortable here in Majängen and Solberget. Peter actually -began to feel a benefactor of all these people. “Goodness! I wonder if I -did not let those sites go too cheaply,” he thought. - -Meanwhile Ekbacken was ripening, as I have said before. - -One day towards winter Herman came up to Selambshof and wanted more -money. But the end had come, Peter had not a penny free. To crown it all -that fellow Thomson came to Ekbacken a few days later and called in his -fifty thousand. Herman ran over to Peter again. He had no hope. No, in -his heart he knew that Peter and Thomson were one and the same. But he -went all the same, he had nobody else to turn to after the way he had -managed his business in town. - -Peter grew furious with Thomson: - -“I shall go in to town and lay down the law to that scoundrel,” he said. - -As might have been expected, Thomson would not move. But Peter returned -with a new proposal: - -“I have managed to interest a few old boys in Ekbacken,” he said. “They -are prepared to take over the whole thing and there will still be a nice -little sum left over for you. You will escape all trouble and worry and -get a little pile of thousand-crown notes that you can do what you -deuced well like with!” - -Herman sat there pale and with trembling hands: - -“Yes, but the house ... the boat....” - -“Well ... the old boys want the lot, of course....” - -Herman started in alarm, like a child that has been left alone out in -the forest. His home...! His memories from childhood ... the memory of -Laura ... the boat ... his retreat, his consolation! - -“No, I will never agree to that! It is too damnable!” - -He rushed out of Selambshof. He roamed about the roads. It was a -snowless winter day, raw and windy, when everything wears a frozen, worn -face without the peace of age. He stopped and beat the dry thistles on -the roadside with his stick. “I have been a child,” he thought. “A weak, -obstinate, helpless wretch. But now I must become a man. Now I must go -into town and fight for Ekbacken, tooth and nail.” - -He hastened towards the town, walking and running, but as he approached -the toll bar, his steps became slower. The old hopelessness, laziness, -and cowardice crept over him again. “What’s the use?” he muttered. -“Everybody is expecting my ruin, the workmen, the foreman, Lundbom, -Peter ... everybody.... What’s the use?” - -Huddled up, shivering, crushed with shame, he slunk into Ekbacken by a -side path. He sank groaning into a settee and swallowed a glass of -undiluted whiskey. And out of the whiskey came a thought, the thought of -flight and failure, but also the thought of a thousand possibilities: - -“America!” - -Peter the Boss had been right in his calculation. Three days later the -business was settled and Herman received twenty thousand crowns. - -“You saved the slam anyhow, old boy,” said Peter, “You saved the slam -anyhow.” - -He was pleased with himself for having helped a friend in difficulties. -It hurt him that Herman went about looking drained dry. And then those -stupid America plans. Why the devil should Herman want to go away? With -whom was Peter now to drink his whiskey during the long winter evenings? -Who would be with him when he was out sailing in his new yacht? Herman, -who knew the boat so well. - -“It will be empty after you, Herman,” complained Peter, “damned empty.” - -But for once Herman stuck to his decision and so the moment of farewell -arrived. Peter was down at the station. Herman was already at the -carriage window, filled with an impotent bitterness both sharp and dull. -He had been a hopeless failure, fit to be plucked and cast aside. Laura -and Peter had taken everything away from him. And in spite of it all he -had not got the strength of mind to hate them. Yes, when he saw Peter’s -coarse face, swollen with emotion, he positively did not know what to -believe. “Perhaps he has really done what he could for me,” he thought. -“And it was rather decent of him to come down here so that I need not be -quite alone.” - -Then the engine took its first deep breath as if it were challenging the -distance it was about to cover. - -Peter wept. He could not let go Herman’s hand: - -“Good-bye, old boy! Take care of yourself now. Good-bye, Herman!” - -And then old Hermansson’s tall Herman was swept off the stage. - -But Peter the Boss drove slowly home in Brundin’s old dog-cart. He was -both sad and glad. When he had passed the toll bar he fell into a solemn -mood. The short cut across Ekbacken was open to him now. Somebody ran to -the gate to open it for him. He drove past the house on the lake side -and past the landing stage and the old office. Dusk began to fall and -Peter felt suddenly very sorry for himself. What had he not undertaken! -Fancy looking after all this. The road now ran along the lake. Peter -held the reins very loosely and by and by the horse stopped. It was -perfectly still and the lake was on the point of freezing over. A big, -cold, glowing cloud hung over Kolsnäs and was reflected in the glassy -surface of the water. The heavy clatter of a horse’s hoofs on the -floating bridge floated out into the quiet of the evening. Peter sighed -deeply. He envied Herman. Fancy travelling about with twenty thousand in -your pocket. He will see something of the world. But I, old peasant, -will never get abroad anywhere. I sit here in old Selambshof ... and old -Ekbacken.... - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XIII - - +TORD’S EXILE+ - - -Lately Selambshof had not been as quiet as usual. The scattered brothers -and sisters began once more to find the way back to the ancestral home. - -The fact of the matter was that the estate was growing more and more -valuable every day. The town had already begun—to Peter’s great joy—to -encroach upon a part of Ekbacken. Now it began to stretch its arms -around Selambshof. And like old King Midas it changed all it touched -into gold. - -Yes, it was extraordinarily pleasant to sit there and feel how you were -growing richer and richer every moment. And then they had to look after -their interests, keep an eye on each other, and especially on the -honourable director of Selambshof Limited. - -It was curious to watch the Selambs when they were together. They -quarrelled terribly, but stuck together all the same—just like the -Bonaparte family. None believed another. They laid mines and -countermines. They tricked one another until they got even, so that in -the end a sort of rough natural justice prevailed. Peter the Boss now -sat in the prisoner’s dock as a result of a too bare-faced falsification -of the accounts of Majängen and Solberget Ltd. Laura unhesitatingly -accused him, in the clearest and most spirited terms of being a false -old thief. Stellan’s sword play was more skilful and he got in a whole -series of neat little thrusts, each one of which would have been a -sufficient indictment in a prosecution for misrepresentation and -misappropriation. Peter smiled complacently at these accusations, which -he regarded as so many pleasant expressions of recognition of his merit. -He lied with a certain heavy grace to this assembly of expert -connoisseurs. Behind all his lies lay all the same the truth that he had -really done great things for Selambshof. And he realised that in their -inmost hearts his sisters and brothers knew they must look up to him, -Peter the Boss, as the eldest and the head of the family. And after all -the whole quarrel was sunk in the great and glorious consciousness of -the daily increasing value of Selambshof. - -But towards the spring these meetings were not quite as agreeable as -usual. That was the fault of Tord. Yes, the despised, neglected, almost -forgotten Tord down there in The Rookery began to cause the high family -council very serious anxiety. He had dismissed the bohemian painter who -had been a parasite on him for several years and instead he had returned -with a woman, a slovenly person who spoke a sort of Norwegian and who -was a very dubious person. Well, that might have passed if Tord had not -got the mad idea of marrying her. The Selambs had had a terrible shock -when they saw in the paper the reading of the banns. And now a fortnight -later they were sitting by a big wood fire in the icy hall of Selambshof -and knew no more than that Tord had driven to town with the woman that -morning. They might already be married by now, though the sisters and -brothers had been told nothing. Really it was extraordinary -behaviour.... - -Let us now see how Tord Selamb had come to do this most unexpected -thing: arranging for the banns to be read and going to church to be -married. - -The story really begins with the severing of Träskängen and the Quarry. -Peter had in some way tricked Tord into being absent at the meeting when -the sale was decided on. This put him into a fury which increased in -violence when Tord saw the secret retreat of his youth defiled by -boundary posts, trenches, blasting and disgusting hordes of insolent -intruders. His protracted fury finally resulted in some immoderate and -indignant articles in the yellow press. Tord was not, of course, -indignant that people should be tricked into living on a marsh and on a -refuse dump. No, he was furious because of this encroachment upon his -dominion of boxes of lizards and frogs. He tried to enlist science in -his cause by clamouring about some rare marsh flowers and an unique -diving bug. It was a vehement defence of the wilderness and an -infuriated battle cry against the town. And the whole concluded with -some mixed reflections of a hermit’s spleen, pseudo-science, artist’s -slang and bad nature-lyrics. - -The articles were of course anonymous. But Peter recognised the author -from certain attacks and exposures. He was not ungrateful for this -valuable free advertisement of Majängen and Solberget, which must now -appear to the uninitiated as a glorious paradise in the wilderness. But -for the sake of order he made certain representations to his youngest -brother, which resulted in a quarrel, during which Tord gave vent to his -excitement by letting off his gun, into the air it is true, but still a -gunshot. - -Filled with a new indignation, Tord continued his articles and painted -on the wall the devil of capitalistic greed despoiling nature, with -features which resembled those of Peter the Boss to a nicety. He began -to develop a taste for writing. He suddenly felt that he was meant to be -a writer, and was at once seized with a violent contempt for the art of -painting. It is true that all he wrote, except those violent articles of -propaganda, was cast into the editor’s waste paper basket, but that only -increased his irritation without in any way convincing him of his -incapacity. After a quarrel with his old painter-friend over the -relative values of the two arts he without further ado kicked out the -disgusting parasite who had tricked him into wasting the most beautiful -years of his youth with such rubbish as the crayon and the paint brush. - -The painter was gone. Libations with Peter were over. Tord was alone, -quite alone with his foxes and crows and mice in the gruesome Rookery. - -He got into the habit of making long excursions into the town—the -detestable town. Nothing like it had happened to him since he had -slipped out there as a boy in profound secrecy for some devilment. At -that time he had had a strange, secret partnership with some unknown -vagabond in whose company he had pilfered in the market place and cut -holes in sacks of flour down by Skeppsbron. He remembered the latter -especially because of the strange, soothing satisfaction it afforded him -to stand there in the twilight and feel the cool, velvety flour running -through his fingers into the mud. He had already begun to revel in -destruction, perhaps from a precocious, instinctive hatred of all the -culture on which society is based. - -Tord hated the town, but not in the same way as Herman, to whom it meant -lawsuits and a bad conscience. Tord did not suffer from his conscience. -No, he had an instinctive hatred of all the adaptability, refinement, -co-operation and methodical work for which it stood. He detested the -great complex machine in which men are only cogs. It was the complex -purposefulness and relative common sense of teeming civic life which -tormented him. - -But Stockholm was becoming a great city and as such it had another side. -It was a jungle, a wilderness of stone, the home of the thronging masses -and of cold emptiness by night. But the town began to exert a certain -fascination over Tord. He was going to be a writer, as we know, and -those who can do nothing else can always explore the special vices of -the imagination. He discovered that loneliness in a crowd has many joys -for a fastidious individualist. The masses are necessary, so that we may -look down on them. In the crush of humanity we dream so easily of the -lofty heights from which all below look like creeping things. It is -always so with the dreams of sterile genius. It would begin at the top, -forgetful of all that lies below. - -So much for Tord and the throng. But he did not hold out long. He soon -relapsed into restless despair. He was frightened by the very masses -over which he had just triumphed, and fled, full of loathing, home to -The Rookery. - -No, it was better in the emptiness and the cold stony landscape. To -stroll about in the deserted outskirts of the town in the uncertain -spring twilight when the masses of houses rise up like huge banks of -darkness in the waning light and the street lamps look like giant -submarine lilies which have collected all the cold phosphorescent light. -To drift about on still summer’s nights when the lamps are out and -everything sleeps at the bottom of a green sea, where the desires of our -dreams move silently like great fishes. The town in storm and darkness -when the lonely wanderer, stimulated by drink, imagines himself lord of -this brooding deserted world of stone! The town as landscape, as nature, -as the hunting ground of all the wild instincts. The narrow back street -defiles, the dark ambushes of the doorways, the snares of the public -house and the bordel. Hazard, adventure, vice, women! Yes, every evening -the town was a great wild jungle where the chase of women was permitted. -Tord pursued this chase with a restless and obstinate interest. He had -the lonely man’s long vision for a woman’s shadow. He could follow one -after the other for hours but without being able to approach one. He was -consumed by an envious hatred of the enterprise of others more bold. He -returned home dead tired, embittered and lonely, lonely.... - -Nevertheless it was in this hunting ground that Tord Selamb at last met -his fate. It was one dark, rainy, icy cold evening in March. Hot and -cold, heedless and obstinate he followed a woman. But it did not end as -usual. The dark shadow would not allow itself to be caught; it did not -suddenly vanish in a doorway. The figure in front of him only walked on -and on, against the wind, restlessly, without goal or purpose, it -seemed, but sharply dismissing all who accosted it. Now and then it -dived into a dark back street or crept into a gateway, but more from -caprice than to escape its pursuers. The purposelessness of its roving -movements fascinated Tord in quite a peculiar way. It was like a beast -of the forest, he thought. He had not yet seen its face but its step was -young and springy. This was really no idle loitering. It walked with the -conscious energy of one who is angry and mumbles disjointed phrases to -himself. Then it walked towards the southern heights of the town. Then -steps and a square with melancholy sighing trees, and then a cobbled -back street with a few yellow flickering lamps on posts at the corners -of the ramshackle old houses. It was a cul-de-sac, terminating in a big -wooden barrier. Below glimmered the rough wet sides of the hill, lit up -by the lights along a flight of steps on the other side of a deep, dark, -shaft-like yard. The woman did not appear to notice Tord. She took -something out of her pocket and hurled it down into the depths. It -struck the stone with a faint metallic sound. Tord was now standing -beside her. What had she thrown down? The question burnt his lips but he -remained mute in spite of himself. She turned round and was about to -resume her progress, when a sound was heard from the black bag she -carried in her hand. She suddenly pulled out a little grey kitten and -kissed it: - -“Kirre,” she mumbled, “darling little Kirre....” - -The kitten was Tord’s fate, it broke for a moment the spell of his -dumbness: - -“What did you throw down?” he asked suddenly. - -She carefully put the kitten back again and answered without looking at -him, straight into the chilly darkness, but in a tone of triumph and -determination: - -“It was the key.” - -“What key?” - -“To the studio, of course. Beastly, disgusting creature! Now that’s done -with at last!” - -And then came her story, disingenuous, straightforward, unblushing, and -with a strong appeal. She had been living with a sculptor who had -recently returned from Paris. She had been with him the whole winter. -Oh, how she had spoilt the beast! Cooked his food and been his model all -the day. She was posing as the young witch. “And everybody said I was a -splendid witch,” she exclaimed, whilst an angry little smile flashed -beneath the dripping brim of her hat. But what had this beast of a -sculptor done when his lump of clay was ready? He had gone to an uncle -in Kalmar to get some money. He would be back in a few days, he said. -But no, not a sign of life for a fortnight. She had been sitting there -cold and starving in company with the witch under her damp cover. But -now that was over. Now she had stuck a knife and fork into the witch’s -hands and an empty breadbasket on her head and the sculptor’s old pipe -in her mouth. And now she had left and only taken Kirre with her. And -down there lay the key and it was impossible to find it again. - -“So now you will have to get food for me and the cat and a roof over our -heads,” she said quickly to Tord. - -Tord asked for nothing better. For once he did not feel anxious or -suspicious. She seemed to him like a hunted animal. She was like the fox -he had freed from the trap and taken home. - -He took her home to The Rookery. Not until the following morning did he -think of asking her name. She was called Dagmar Bru and was the daughter -of a Norwegian musician in Copenhagen, she said. Probably some dissolute -fiddler who scraped in some low-class restaurant. Her mother she could -not remember. She had worked at a lace curtain factory before she came -to the sculptor. Tord could get no more out of her and he did not press -her. He loved hearing how she had hated the mill. There was style about -her. Something wild and free. A beautiful witch! She had fair hair, -plentiful, luxuriant, rough hair. A real mane. It was rather uneven, for -she had simply cut it off where it was entangled. Any jewellery she -could find she put on just like a savage. - -Dagmar stayed at The Rookery. Tord would not let her go. He loved her -with a love that consisted largely of scolding and sulking, and which -was therefore sincere. He needed her. At whom otherwise could he hurl -his bitter reflections on Woman. Once when he had been worse than usual -she threatened to go back to her father, the musician. Then he felt how -terribly empty it would be not to have her as a butt for his reproaches. -He became frightened, frightened to the bottom of his heart lest she -should throw away the key of The Rookery as she had done that of the -studio. And then he suddenly did something that he had never dreamed of -before. He asked her to become his wife. - -Dagmar said that marriage would be something quite new—one might always -try it. - -So they had the banns read and drove to church on the same day as the -great family council met at Selambshof. - - * * * * * - -Laura was warming her toes on the fender and quickly swallowed a third -cup of coffee: - -“Tord is an egoist,” she exclaimed in a tone of moral indignation. “He -is an awful egoist. He has no regard for others.” - -All agreed. Stellan’s ever watchful irony seemed to have vanished. He -found nothing ridiculous in such words on Laura’s lips. He felt with a -queer sort of bitterness that in Tord the Selamb egoism had declined -from the high plane on which it was assured of success in the world. He -was dangerous, Tord, he did not hide what ought to be hidden, he -unmasked them all; he was a caricature of them. - -Peter stood watching in the window. He made a sign. A cab came driving -up the avenue. It was Tord and that woman. No doubt about it. Tord wore -a white tie. It was the first time they had ever seen him in a white -tie. And the woman had a bouquet of flowers in her hand. They had come -from church.... - -Stellan stamped on the floor: - -“Damn him! He must get out of this. I can’t have him within five miles’ -distance of my mess and my club!” - -“We ought to have let the police take that woman,” fumed Laura. “And -Tord ought to be in some kind of home. Hasn’t he even tried to shoot -Peter?” - -Peter had kept silent the whole time and looked very mysterious. Now he -thought the right moment had arrived: - -“I was out duck shooting a week or two ago,” he grunted. “It was at a -place called Järnö which lies far out at sea. A fine island. And it is -for sale. Fancy if we put Tord in a boat and took him out there....” - -At that moment somebody stepped into the hall. It was Mrs. Dagmar Selamb -in an open fur coat, white silk frock and somewhat down-at-heel shoes. -She did not look at all nervous or anxious. There was something -light-hearted, something irrepressibly carefree about her: - -“How do you do,” she said. “I thought I would call whilst I still had -some decent clothes!” - -She was greeted by amazed, icy silence. - -Dagmar shook her fair mane with a little flash of impatience: - -“Perhaps it seems strange that I haven’t brought him with me. He is -playing with his Japanese mice, poor fellow, and in his new black -evening dress, too! We must excuse him. ‘I won’t go up to those -bourgeois!’ he screamed. ‘But I am going,’ I said. ‘They have done -nothing to me,’ I said. Well, and here I am. The whole family is -assembled, I see....” - -Again a few moments of the same silence. Dagmar’s features were at last -overshadowed by a certain doubt as to whether she was welcome. - -Then Peter suddenly stepped up to her and took her hand: - -“Congratulations,” he said, “congratulations.” - -And suddenly all of them smiled, struck by the same thought as Peter. -They were splendid, those Selambs. They realised at once that it was -important to gain an ally. - -“You can’t be very comfortable down in The Rookery,” said Laura. - -Dagmar threw her coat on a chair and sat down by the fire: - -“Oh, it’s good enough for us.” - -Peter followed Laura: - -“But how would it be to have your own place?” - -Dagmar laughed: - -“I see, you want to get rid of us!” - -“It is for Tord’s sake,” continued Stellan. “We had thought it would be -a little surprise. He is such a lover of nature....” - -“I suppose it is somewhere at the end of the world,” asked Dagmar. - -“Not at all,” Peter cut in. “It is out in the skerries by the sea. You -couldn’t have a finer view. And such lots of game, sea birds and -capercailzie and hares and foxes. That would be something for Tord. -Fancy to be one’s own master and live exactly as one likes....” - -Dagmar’s eyes suddenly lit up: - -“The sea, you say. And do you think I could go out every morning and lie -down quite naked in the sunshine?” - -“Of course, that’s just what I mean.” - -Dagmar was too absorbed in her thoughts to hear Laura snigger. - -“I am perfectly mad on lying naked in the sunshine,” she said, in a -serious tone. - -“Good, then we agree.” - -“Yes, I like your proposal very much. But how shall we manage to get -Selamb to agree? He is so crazy sometimes, poor fellow. You simply can’t -imagine.” - -“Oh! be careful in the beginning” said Peter. “Flatter him a bit. Tell -him that he has money enough to buy his own estate. That he ought to -free himself from that cursed fellow, Peter the Boss. But our little -sister-in-law will know better than I what to say.” - -Dagmar rose smiling, pleased with the cunning which she would display. - -“Good, there’s my hand. I shall be like a snake. Good-bye, all of you. -He must have something to eat. I think you are jolly nice, all of you!” - -With that Mrs. Dagmar Selamb went out in her shabby shoes—not without a -certain savage grace. - -And so they bribed Tord’s wife on her wedding day. - -The solemn family council laughed and laughed. Laura writhed:—“Lying -quite naked in the sun,” she screamed. “I am mad on lying absolutely -naked in the sun.” - -The laughter was soon followed by a quarrel, one of the sharpest in the -history of the family council. And of course it was on a question of -money. Tord had nothing but his shares in Selambshof, no ready money. -There was first a keen debate as to who ought to collect the purchase -money. Peter sat silent and let the others talk. Yes, Peter the Boss had -suddenly become strangely indifferent. His cigar seemed to absorb him -completely. This was a mock battle that he did not mind them fighting. -He knew very well that he was the only one who had ready money. At last -he said quietly that perhaps he could manage to scrape together a -little. - -The others suddenly grew suspicious of Peter’s indifference. - -“You have been arranging the whole thing beforehand. You think you are -going to earn money by this. You are going to cheat Tord,” they cried. - -Peter defended himself like a bear amongst a swarm of bees, half -conscious of his guilt and half pleased, but without feeling their -stings very much. He blinked his eyes, grunted and beat them off with -both his hands. - -“Good, don’t let us talk any more about it. I am not a member of any -smart clubs. I don’t entertain. I like my whiskey and soda with Tord -even though he does shoot at me occasionally.” - -“Don’t talk nonsense,” Stellan cut in. “What conditions have you thought -of?” - -“A moment ago I was really prepared to buy some of Tord’s shares,” Peter -said reproachfully. - -“At what price?” asked Laura with a sneer. - -“At par,” grunted Peter. And it was as if he had torn this offer out of -his bleeding heart. - -His sister and brother laughed ironically, pitilessly. It would be very -nice indeed to be able to buy the shares at that price. No, at least -double. They were consumed by a noble indignation. They were full of -fight in the cause of poor Tord. Peter was laid on the rack and was -mercilessly compelled to offer more and more. He pulled faces, puffed, -swore, writhed, but it was all of no use. Selamb against Selamb, diamond -cut diamond. Finally they set to work coolly and keenly without the aid -of lies. Things went so far that there were threats of dismissing the -manager from his post. They all thought they had been cheated by Peter. -Now was the opportunity for revenge. He was forced to give a binding -guarantee of one hundred thousand crowns for half of Tord’s shares and -not to take any commission on the purchase of Järnö. - -Thus unconsciously Tord did a good stroke of business whilst he sat -there feeding his Japanese mice—thanks to the envy of his brothers and -sisters. - -As things turned out there was no need to handle Tord delicately. He -agreed at once when he heard of an island full of living creatures. And -the sea! That would be something for his poetic bent. And when Peter, -who had done all he possibly could in the matter, came and put the sixty -thousand crowns that were left after the purchase of Järnö into his -hands, he was so astounded that he forgot his suspicions for a whole -week. Then for the first time he began to tell Dagmar that that cursed -Peter had of course cheated him, though he could not say exactly how. - -He was, as a matter of fact, right. Peter had at the last moment got -Järnö five thousand crowns cheaper than his sisters and brothers were -told. So he earned a little on the business all the same. - -Thus Tord moved out to Järnö with a lot of cages. He had a whole -menagerie. And Dagmar looked rather like a tamer of wild animals. - -The old dilapidated dwelling house lay in a little garden among the -small patches of cultivated ground below the rocks in the southern part -of the island. Tord could not live there. It was too tame—too close to -his tenant’s little red cottage. No, they must build a log hut of coarse -timber on the highest cliff, a real eagle’s eyrie with a view over his -estate of stones and water! - -Here we shall find him later on, just as before in the old Rookery by -the muddy bay of Lake Mälare—but all the same as if grown greater by the -sea and the winter loneliness. - - - END OF PART ONE - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - PART TWO - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - I - - +LAURA ENTERTAINS+ - - -Laura cast a glance down the esplanade before she pulled the blind. She -had moved to Narvavägen now. It was the most fashionable quarter. - -The September evening was clear and cool. The prosperous-looking windows -in the house opposite threw back discreet golden reflections. The little -church at the corner looked like a luxurious bigoted needlework box. The -recently planted trees of the esplanade were as like each other as -soldiers in a row marching in column order out towards the fields. - -Laura sighed faintly and contentedly. Everybody was back in town. The -season was beginning. - -She switched on the light. The cream coloured blind completed the circle -of coquettish intimacy. She sat down at her dressing table. In the -mirror she saw a face which still retained the seaside sunburn. It -suited her well, made her hair still fairer and her teeth whiter. Laura -was now a woman of thirty. There was something of the fair renaissance -type in her plumpness, something at one and the same time crude and -refined. Her quick smile was full of health and light impudence. - -But just now Laura was not smiling. On the whole women are never so -serious as when they are occupied with their personal appearance. During -the siege of the Legations during the Boxers’ rising in China it is told -that a lady stole yolks of eggs, whilst people died of starvation all -round her, in order to preserve the colour of her hair. That is -serious.... - -Laura always had a long tête-à-tête with her face before she paraded it -in public. - -She became very impatient as somebody hesitatingly fingered the door -handle and little Georg at last stepped in. - -Georg was very like his father. He had his long face and fair eyes. In -this case the weaker had been the stronger. It looked like nature’s -revenge. She had always the image of the wronged father before her. - -Georg smiled the hesitating smile of the neglected child. There was a -certain shyness about him as he crept up to the mother. - -Laura’s face hardened as she turned from the mirror: - -“Don’t touch me! You soil my clothes.” - -Georg humbly drew back: - -“Mummie darling, may I stay up a little longer?” - -“No, you must obey Sofi!” - -“But mummie, why must I always go to bed when people come?” - -“That’s enough. Run away now. I’m in a hurry!” - -He went slowly, looking troubled, but he stopped at the door: - -“May I sit and play in bed a little at least?” - -“All right, but run away now!” - -Then Georg went to bed. And in bed he sat and drew a picture of his -mummie as a hobgoblin. But then he grew frightened of what he had done -and drew her as a princess. And when Sofi came to pull down the blind he -lay awake in the twilight and listened to the guests. He was accustomed -to lie in the darkness and enjoy Laura’s parties through closed doors. - -Georg had not always been so lonely. - -Just after the divorce, whilst Laura still felt her position to be -delicate, she had cultivated the ladies, well knowing that it is they -who make one’s position. Then she availed herself of every opportunity -to pose as a deserted mother with her little baby. But her baby grew up -and the ladies bored Laura. Nor did they feel very much drawn to Laura. -It was not that she made any mistakes. On the contrary, at first she was -very careful about her reputation. But she made her friends restless in -some way. They did not like to see her entertain their husbands. They -gradually held aloof. Only the eccentrics and the bohemians among them -remained faithful to her, including a fashionable woman sculptor and a -middle-aged baroness who wrote causeries on the fashions. - -Thus there were mostly men at Laura’s little parties. She realized this -with a shrug of her shoulders, a contented shrug. As a matter of fact -she always felt at home with men. But little Georg was not an additional -attraction for them. He was still exhibited now and then as an almost -newborn babe. But in the end the sweet little baby grew too long in -legs. And then Laura began to keep him out of sight. She came to think -of him more and more as a tiresome encumbrance. She even grew ashamed of -this reminder of her age and of her past. Georg was under the care of -untidy, uncontrolled and incessantly changing nurses. When Laura was -travelling she boarded him out with strangers wherever she might happen -to be. And when she entertained he was put to bed to be out of the way. - -Laura had resumed her work in front of the mirror. As the delicate task -advanced towards the finishing touch with the powder puff and the choice -of perfumes and jewels, her serious expression grew in solemnity. - -Her movements became more deliberate like those of an officiating -priest. All these pastes, creams, essences and perfumes were sacrifices -and incense in a secret cult. The dressing table was the altar and the -image in the mirror was the god. And just as a worshipper at the altar -ponders over the past and questions the future, so it was at her -dressing table that Laura became absorbed in recollections and sought -inspiration for her future plans. Her face thus participated very -intimately in all she did. When she thought of herself it was quite -naturally of her hair, her mouth, her eyes, that she thought. Her egoism -flourished under the spell of the mirrored image. The shadow and the -reality merged imperceptibly together. She was sitting at the high altar -of feminine selfishness. - -Then Stellan arrived, dressed in a dinner jacket. He stepped without -ceremony into the holiest of holies, patted Laura approvingly on the -neck, and threw himself down in an empty chair beside the dressing -table. You could scarcely have seen that he was over thirty and that his -life during the last years had been rather stormy. His face still bore -an expression of self-satisfied, smiling irony. Only the corners of his -mouth had set, not into earnestness, but into hardness. - -Sister and brother had not met during the whole summer. Laura tore -herself away from the mirror with an effort. She looked at her brother -searchingly. It was as if she looked in vain for something in his face: - -“And now you have become a balloon pilot, too,” she said, with a shrug -of her shoulders. “How did you get that idea into your head?” - -Stellan played with a small lady’s watch of about the size of a -sixpence. - -“Well, I did it in anger. I had to sell the Ace of Spades, and it got -into the papers. So then I found a way of cutting out the cavalry. They -look simply ludicrous down below on their horses.” - -Laura did not answer Stellan’s smile: - -“Do you know what I thought when I read about your folly?” she said. -“Oh, are his affairs in such a rotten state?” I thought. - -Stellan frowned: - -“No, dash it all, don’t think it is a subtle form of suicide. Rather -then as a new phase of my notorious passion for gambling. I must have -excitement. It is a game with a rather higher stake than usual, that’s -all....” - -“Well, but how are your affairs?” - -“My affairs,” said Stellan with a shrug of his shoulders. “I have no -affairs, only debts. But they are of no importance anyhow. Just -sufficient to keep me from getting fat. They keep one up to the mark.” - -Stellan’s financial position was bad. And still his superior airs were -not all pose. He did not worry over his position. If he had done that he -would have been lost. It never occurred to him to refuse himself -anything; on the contrary. He, Stellan Selamb, must of course live up to -his position. The best was, of course, always for him and his like. It -is an enormous source of strength to have such an inborn conviction. -Because you usually get what you consider should as a matter of course -be yours. - -It was this elegant microcosm of upper class prejudices that kept -Stellan afloat. - -Laura looked at her brother with something almost resembling admiration. -His assurance, his elegant bearing, his haughty smile, impressed her: - -“There is an easy solution,” she said in a significant tone. - -Stellan suddenly looked bored. He understood only too well what Laura -meant. The great day of settlement was approaching when he would have to -produce the heiress in anticipation of whom he had drawn so many bills. - -“Damn it,” he muttered, “you too! My colonel attacked me the other day -and asked if I did not mean to get married. He must have heard something -alarming. And do you know what that idiot Ohrnfeldt said the other day -when I got him to indorse a note for me? ‘It is your duty as an honest -man to marry a rich girl,’ he said. Not bad, what? I am a positive -enigma to those honest souls. They think I have let several fine chances -slip through my fingers.” - -“Well, but why do you neglect those ... chances?” - -“Ugh, it goes against the grain to do what everybody expects me to do. I -think it is ridiculous.” - -Laura did not answer. She resumed her task at the mirror. There is all -the same something artificial in Stellan’s recklessness tonight, she -thought, not without anxiety. Because she also had lent him money. Not -much, certainly, but more than she would like to lose. - -Stellan sat silent a moment staring at the absurdly small lady’s watch, -which seemed to have absolutely nothing to do with anything so serious -as time. Then he rose as if he had suddenly noticed what time it was: - -“I suppose Manne is coming tonight?” he said. - -“Of course.” - -“Good ... Laura, you must see that one of your financial friends backs -his new bills. Manne must have money.” - -“Yes, because if he has any money, you will get some too. Isn’t that -so?” - -“Well, Manne still has delightfully bad luck at cards.” - -The guests began to arrive. - -Laura’s home was a meeting place for some younger financiers and a -certain set of officers introduced by Stellan. Great interest was shown -at Laura’s in aristocrats in financial difficulty. And sometimes the -play was high. - -Laura was a charming hostess at these highly original men’s parties. She -enjoyed queening it over these men with a future or a past. She flirted -gaily and without sentimentality with both Mars and Mercury, with a -secret leaning towards Mercury. Yes, in the company of these moneyed men -Laura was perfectly at home. She enjoyed the cool rapid talk of -investments and bargains in shares. Their lightning estimates and -calculations gently stimulated her. She was buoyed up and sustained by -these speculative chances. She constantly swayed between pleasant -irresponsibility and instructive calculations. Her cool and sparkling -head exercised, in the last resort, a natural and easy domination over -her senses. She played with bold assurance, with her womanliness as the -stake. - -Yes, Laura liked gambling, but she liked winners still better, winners -who understood how delicately to share their gains. Since she had -observed that her fair type made a special impression on Jews she had -deliberately begun to cultivate “the little black boys” as she called -them. This was the period of the first national industrial boom and “the -little black boys” were making larger fortunes than ever. Because -whatever happens in the world it is sure to make the Jews wealthier. And -Laura kept to the fore and was given many a helping hand and many a hint -which she did not neglect to use to her advantage. People thought that -she liked to risk small sums for the fun of the thing, but secretly she -carried an a systematic and extensive business by which she had -collected a not insignificant fortune. - -The last comer in Laura’s circle was Jacob Levy, the lawyer. - -Levy was a business lawyer, still quite young, but obviously a man with -a future. He had a large, but finely chiselled nose, dark brown eyes and -thin, ironically curled lips. His was an international face, a face -which seemed as if for generations it had stared itself tired in all the -markets of the world. Though born in Sweden, Levy spoke with a certain -accent. His father was a Danish Jew and his mother came from Poland. The -ancient Swedish title of his professional rank seemed incongruous in -him. He was a cosmopolitan, and money and the hazards of money were his -real home and country. Behind his mask of pale indifference lay a -passionate will and a cool, sharp observation which sometimes got the -better of him. In the most impersonal tones he would utter -extraordinarily insolent truths, which sometimes cut straight across his -own interests. - -Laura liked those truths, which had not yet however, been directed -against herself. - -Stellan did not share his sister’s taste. He detested Levy and treated -him with an icy cold rudeness, which only seemed to amuse him. They -emphasized their respective vocations as officer and lawyer and -indulged, of course in most general terms, in exquisite sarcasms at each -other’s expense. To keep to the general is often the best way to offer -personal insults. In the beginning the atmosphere was a little chilly -and depressed at Laura’s first dinner of the season. Financiers sat -stiff in a corner and looked as if the State Bank had raised its rate, -and the military kept to themselves and discussed promotions and the -damned journalistic moles. The hostess herself hovered about with a -little frown on her brow. Perhaps it was Stellan’s irritation that -infected the others. He was not the only one waiting for Manne von -Strelert, everybody was saying, - -“Wasn’t Captain von Strelert coming tonight...? I hope Manne won’t fail -us tonight...!” - -Good old Manne seemed to be a special attraction! At last the cavalry -arrived in all its glory. The talk at once became livelier and gayer. -Everybody chatted and laughed round the tall young officer with the -careless and mischievous eyes. Though not a wit there was nevertheless a -certain distinction in all that Manne said. He was especially -characterized by a kind of good-tempered acquiescence in his Fate. He -was capable of anything impossible and was always game. He realized that -somewhere within him there were numerous possibilities but it never -occurred to him to try to develop them. In his aristocratic helplessness -he had a certain likeness to those race horses which are so tall that -they can never feed themselves. They simply cannot reach down to their -fodder. - -Manne von Strelert’s character was summed up in two prominent and widely -appreciated fundamental qualities: he could not say “no” and he had a -wonderful, glorious, never-failing bad luck in gambling. To this it -should be added that for some time past the owner of Kolsnäs found -himself in an embarrassing financial position. Is it then strange that -all eyes lit up around him and that tonight he was the greatest -attraction at Laura’s dinner? - -Stellan occasionally reproached Manne in gentle and almost flattering -tones for his extravagance. He had during the course of years won -somewhat large sums of money from his old messmate and childhood friend. -And tonight he simply could not help winning more. - -They had dined early so as not to be disturbed in their play. Manne took -the hostess in. That evening she courted the army. - -Laura’s manner varied entirely according to the category of guests in -which she happened to be moving. She preferred to take her financiers -one by one, and whatever was said openly had often a hard metallic ring -about it. But with her officer friends she displayed a special abandon. -With them she was the personification of reckless gaiety. Her playful -coquetry, and her light-hearted, infectious laughter at once threw open -the gates to a paradise of irresponsibility and golden unconcern. Yes, -she could be quite delightfully gay, Laura, a veritable _saute marquis_ -and _vogue la galère_. - -Finance did not mind this apparent neglect and watched for an -opportunity to grind its own little axe. - -Manne von Strelert was not the man to resist any kind of seduction, -least of all Laura’s. He soon began to drink her health, in all sorts of -drinks, and to make a series of perfectly absurd little speeches in her -honour. - -Laura frankly enjoyed the admiration, both coarse and refined, of her -hair and shoulders, of these connoisseurs of horses and women. But in -the midst of the laughter and toasts her eyes now and then searched Levy -and Stellan. Nothing had been arranged beforehand. But it so happened -that they had every reason to be pleased with her. There was surely—hang -it all—no harm in her enjoying herself to the full with dear old Manne, -who at this moment seized an opportunity of pressing her hand under the -table. - -Dinner was over and the party was just rising from the table when Manne -noticed some little pink shells that had been brought in as ashtrays. He -filled one with the last drops of his champagne: - -“One more toast,” he exclaimed! “A toast for the little pink shell and -the eternal line of curve.” - -And with his hand Manne indicated round his lady a very significant wave -line. - -Laura pushed back her chair and stood there with her bare white -shoulders and a seductive smile. She lifted her soft arms as if -waltzing. - -“Yes, I appeal to you, gentlemen, am I not round?” - -“Indeed, indeed,” sighed Manne and kissed her shoulders. - -“Then you must see how one of our youngest Parisian painters has -imagined me,” she laughed. “I made a little trip there a few weeks -ago....” - -All eyes turned upon Levy for a second. They knew that he also had been -to Paris a few weeks ago. He looked quite unconcerned. - -“The most modern art is like an unshelled chestnut,” he said. “Green and -full of prickles.” - -“I look like a starved green skeleton with mauve-coloured frost bites,” -Laura interposed, eagerly, with her cheeks a little flushed. - -“I told the great master that it was not kind of him to make me so -angular. Then he bowed and said: ‘Art is free, Madame, and on this -occasion it has not been able to take any notice of your roundness.’ -Yes, that’s what he said. But come with me and look at the masterpiece -for yourselves.” - -With the whole troop of laughing men after her Laura ran through the -yellow drawing room into her little reading and writing room where she -had hung the curiosity. She opened the door quickly and almost stumbled -over something that lay across the threshold. - -It was Georg. He had crept out of bed to peep at the party through the -keyhole and had fallen asleep at his post. He lay there dressed only in -his outgrown nightshirt and with black streaks across his knees from his -stockings. There was an air of sad neglect and helplessness over the -whole emaciated little figure. - -“Who the deuce is that kid?” laughed one of the men, who did not know -that Laura had a child. - -Laura grew rigid for a moment, but quickly recovered herself and assumed -as well as she could the pose of the tender-hearted mother. She lifted -up the boy, wrapped him up as decoratively as possible in her shawl, and -kissed his cheek. And at this kiss from his mother Georg awoke in the -midst of the glorious party. Still half asleep, he threw his arms round -her neck and whispered something out of his dreams: “Mummie ... princess -all the same.” - -Everybody politely applauded the group. Only Levy was silent. He stood -alone and stared obstinately at the famous picture, which nevertheless -was tame compared with the geometrical excesses of some later schools. - -“Hm ... frost bites,” he mumbled in a low voice. “Perhaps there is -something in the frost bites all the same....” - -His voice sounded quite impersonal, as if he had not known what he was -saying. - -Laura carried off the boy quickly. She did not stop in the nursery. From -there they might hear. No, she went all the way to her own bedroom. -There she let loose her anger. There she suddenly began to pinch and -beat the disobedient child who had torn away the veil, betrayed, and -exposed her. It was as if she had wished to take her revenge for all the -annoyance, and all the worries he had caused her from the moment that -she was first conscious of his presence in her womb. It was as if she -wished to take her revenge for all the memories from Ekbacken, which -seemed to her unspeakably oppressive and outworn. - -“You were told to stay in bed!” she panted. “Why don’t you obey? I shall -smack you if you don’t obey!” - -Georg did not scream. He shrank under the blows and glanced horrified at -his mother. He did not understand. Oh, how the pretty rings hurt when -she beat him. And just now she had smiled and kissed him. He did not -understand. His little soul was full to the brim with strange and -ghastly questions.... - -The memory of this terrible contrast was to remain with him all his -life. - -Laura suddenly felt ashamed and stopped beating him. She felt a sort of -gratitude that he did not scream, and she led him back to his bed as if -nothing had happened. - -“There, go to sleep now,” she said in a tone of indifference. - -And then she went back with her most charming smile to her guests. - -Play started. They did not start playing cards at once. First of all -they gaily laid their stakes at roulette. Laura was banker and imitated -the professional croupiers’ cry: “_Faites vos jeux! Rien ne va plus!_” - -Laura always had phenomenally good luck, and all laid their stakes as if -it were a tribute due to the hostess. Then they began to play whist or -bridge, which had just become fashionable, in order to pass on to écarté -or vingt-et-un later on. - -Stellan from the very beginning appropriated the well-primed Manne. It -was interesting to see the two friends together at the card table. Manne -was no gambler. He threw down his stakes with reckless optimism and with -a boyish challenge to Fate. And he swore a little in evident surprise -each time he did not win. Stellan on the contrary was a born gambler, at -once cold and passionate. Nobody who saw him at cards could fail to see -that this was his great vice. His excitement showed itself in a slight -pallor in his smooth, distinguished features, from which everything else -seemed to slip away as from a polished metal. A blue vein pulsed in his -hard clear forehead. He spoke shortly and sharply, and unconsciously -raised his voice as if he had been surrounded by deaf people. -Forgetfulness, slowness, or bad play drew forth his biting irony. He -himself had an astounding memory for cards and a keen sense of -observation. He took the game as seriously as if it were a science, and -he jealously guarded it as a precious joy which a gentleman should know -how to invest with a certain cult. He impressed you at one and the same -time as an expert and custodian of chance. Thus he developed in his -friends a real devotion to play which concealed from weaker heads among -them its dangerously exciting and undermining viciousness. - -During the course of years the stakes had grown bigger and bigger. They -started now where formerly they had ended. Stellan won, but never -enough. So it was today again. It was usually not difficult to pluck -poor Manne. But just now he had had a little spell of absurd good luck, -which had decreased Stellan’s winnings. And Stellan had to have cash. He -then made a plunge, drove up the stakes, doubled five times!—ten times!! -One after another the bids fell. Before Manne could turn around Stellan -held in his hand three thousand-crown notes and a cheque for five -thousand. - -Levy had already finished playing bridge. He never played anything else. -Now he was standing by their table looking on at the final spasms. - -“What’s this, Kolsnäs is not entailed?” he suddenly asked in an -indifferent tone. It seemed as if he had not understood himself the -impertinence of the question. - -Stellan expected a scene, but Manne was not his usual self tonight. - -“Oh no,” he muttered, “it is waiting for God’s chosen people.” - -“Why not just as well only for propertied people,” Stellan cut in. - -Manne rose. He suddenly looked sober and slapped Stellan on the back. - -“You are difficult tonight,” he said. “Now I must have a whiskey and -soda.” - -The art of losing gracefully never forsook him. - -Stellan leant back in his chair and puffed hard at his torn cigarette. -He felt his winnings like a cool shiver in his limbs. - -Levy was still standing beside him with a pale smile: - -“Shall we two play a little?” - -“I am rather tired.” - -Levy raised his voice so that he should be heard all over the room: - -“Are you so anxious to keep your winnings?” - -Stellan grew pale with anger and had a sharp answer ready, but then it -struck him that he might just as well be engaged when Manne came back -for his revenge. He forced himself to a polite gesture towards the empty -chair and Levy sat down. - -They continued with écarté and, against Stellan’s wish, the stakes were -high. This was something so unusual for Levy that everybody gathered -around them. - -Now Stellan had no longer a sunburnt, cursing country youth opposite -him. Over his cards he saw a pale immobile mask. It was the pallor of a -race fifty generations removed from forest and field but for whom -calculation is second nature. Yes, it seemed as if he had the very soul -of money pitted against him. He felt all the time that his winnings were -insecure and that he would inevitably lose. - -Levy sat there with half-closed eyes as if half asleep, and in the end -won from Stellan all that he had won and more into the bargain. He had -seen that his opponent was not at ease, and that he had had to win that -evening. And that is exactly the time when one is most likely to lose. -Levy had only to wait till he had won enough in the ups and downs of the -game. Then he proposed higher stakes than Stellan could afford. Then it -was Stellan’s turn to rise from the table and take a whiskey and soda. - -“How can you find anything in this miserable gambling?” Levy scornfully -flung after him. - -Then he kissed Laura’s hand and drove home with the thousand-crown notes -and Manne’s I.O.U. in his pocketbook.... - -It was late. All the guests except Stellan and Manne had already said -good-bye. Laura yawned openly. But Manne insisted on staying and would -not go. - -“Laura dear, do let me stay till six. Only till six when my horse is -groomed. I must mount him a moment before ... before ... oh, good -God....” - -Laura knew what was coming. Manne was going to be sentimental. The -situation no longer had any novelty. She had an irresistible longing to -go to bed and with a mocking curtsey entrusted Manne to the care of -Stellan, who never slept after a night’s gambling. Then she withdrew. - -And as Laura sat in her lace nightdress and pink silk boudoir cap and -counted out her neat little winnings on the eiderdown, Stellan and Manne -lounged in their easy chairs in front of the fireplace. The fire had -gone out long ago. - -The dawn was raw and dismal. Half-emptied glasses with lip marks and -thumb marks, cigar ash and stinking, saliva-soaked cigar ends were -everywhere. And then the pitiless sharp grey light peeping in through -the blinds and the cold anguish of the dry air itself in a room where -people have worn out their nerves with barren excitement. - -On the carpet lay a torn knave of spades grinning at them. - -Manne began to talk about “the Glove.” He always did at this time of -night. - -“The Glove” was Manne’s pet name for a plump little lady who had a glove -shop in Regeringsgatan. For a long time she had kept Manne at a distance -and he had been forced to purchase and make presents of an incredible -number of pairs of gloves in order to win her favour. And now marriage -with her was not the most impossible of dear old Manne’s eccentricities. -He was unfaithful to “the Glove” now and then with ladies of his own -class, but he always returned to her, disappointed and full of remorse. -Her diligence, thrift, wordly wisdom and other bourgeois qualities had -for him an exotic attraction, the whole charm of the incomprehensible. - -Manne tried to kick away the knave of spades and looked appealingly at -Stellan with his boyish, humid eyes. - -“If you only knew what a woman she is! Damn me if the tears do not come -into my eyes when she sews on my buttons. And I had promised her not to -gamble again! What will she say when I tell her this?” - -Stellan sat there shivering and sleepless, with the worries of tomorrow -like poison in his veins and nerves. He was sick of Manne’s -sentimentality. It was as if a night frost had fallen on their -friendship: - -“Why the devil do you tell her?” - -Manne smiled a pathetic smile: - -“You don’t understand, Stellan. I can hide nothing from her. I can’t. I -should go mad at once if I did. She is my reason and conscience, you -know. We won’t go just yet, Stellan. It isn’t six yet. And I must ride a -little before I talk to her....” - -Manne poured out a glass of soda water and swallowed it in one draught: - -“Ugh!” he said, “how awful it all was!” And then he suddenly began to -talk about old Kolsnäs, about his father, the late chamberlain, who had -taken part in the battle of Dybböl, and about his poor little shivering -mother with her sewing basket and screen and fires well into June. And -he talked about their long battle on the lake outside Stonehill and -about their riding trips in the Backa forest. - -“Do you remember it all, Stellan? Those were fine times, weren’t they, -Stellan? My old home. It is a damned shame. What have I done with it all -now? I am a traitor. Yes, a traitor. Curse it!” - -Stellan, cold and numb, felt a shock pass through him. Was this how -matters stood? Was it as bad as that with Kolsnäs? - -“What nonsense are you talking?” he muttered. - -Manne stared anxiously at him: - -“Stellan, old man, it ... you had better not go to the bank with my -cheque ... not tomorrow, anyway....” - -“Why not?” - -“Because there is nothing there, not a farthing.” - -“You ought to have told Levy that. He won it from me.” - -For the second time a shock passed through Stellan, as he pronounced -Levy’s name. But Manne sank back in the chair staring straight out in -front of him: - -“I shall have to clear out,” he muttered, half crying. “Tomorrow I shall -have to get away. What will ‘the Glove’ say?” - -Stellan was again cool, tense, fully awake. He was one of those people -who do not know the meaning of melancholy or remorse. Their egotism is -so rounded and complete that such things do not touch them. Neither can -they admit defeat. That would be the end of their world. Adversity to -them only points forward to new opportunities to be seized. - -Levy wants Kolsnäs, thought Stellan. Once again he sat there, tense, -cool and collected with the blue vein throbbing in his forehead just as -if the table and the cards were again before him. Levy wants Kolsnäs, -that’s as clear as daylight. - -Each time he thought of Levy he felt as if he had been pricked by a -spur. He hated Levy, and during these moments he was learning a great -deal from him. What was it Levy had said? “How can you find anything in -this miserable gambling?” Yes, that’s what he said. Things which had -seemed impossible before seemed all at once self-evident, final. Yes, of -course, that’s it, he thought. I’ll trick Levy and save myself. - -He suddenly looked Manne steadily in the eyes: - -“Do you know what it means to write cheques like that?” he asked. His -tone was so sharp that poor Manne was startled. - -“No...!” - -Stellan blurted out the worst: - -“Prison, old man, if you don’t find the five thousand by the time the -banks open. Can you do it?” - -“No, it is impossible.” - -“I’ll try to get you the money, but on one condition—that you won’t let -Levy have Kolsnäs.” - -That was a condition that the astounded Manne agreed to with all his -heart. - -“No, because I think I know of a better buyer, if you really can’t keep -the estate. That’s agreed then. You take your ride and confess to ‘the -Glove’ and I will go and hunt for the money. We meet outside the bank at -half past nine. Good-bye!” - -Stellan called a cab and drove straight to Selambshof. - -Peter the Boss was of course impossible at Laura’s parties. But there -was all the same a secret channel of communication between her drawing -room and Selambshof. Peter, too, had his interests in society. - -Stellan opened a window, climbed in and sat down on the edge of his -brother’s bed. He looked like a fat hog when he was asleep. On the night -table lay an old silver watch, a cash book and a half-finished cigar. -Peter jumped up and rubbed his eyes: - -“What the devil is the matter?” - -“Business. Kolsnäs is ripe. What will you give me if I get it for you -for five hundred thousand?” - -Peter was not quite awake yet, but he could always manage to appear -indifferent at first. - -“Damn Kolsnäs,” he rattled, lighting the half-smoked cigar. - -Stellan opened both windows. He also looked supercilious and -indifferent. From his manner you would have thought he was the master, -rolling in money, and Peter the servant. - -“Don’t talk nonsense,” he cut in. “You know you want Kolsnäs like dear -life.” - -Peter felt a mixture of fear and secret admiration for his brother’s -brilliancy and his careless way of handling money. Stellan was, as a -matter of fact, much more difficult to trick than he had believed. Peter -held nearly all Stellan’s shares in Selambshof as security, but he -didn’t own them and there was a damned big difference between the two -things. But now this fine gentleman must surely be in a difficult -dilemma as he came so early in the morning. - -“You seem to imagine that I lie dreaming about Kolsnäs since you come -whilst I am still in bed,” ventured Peter cunningly. - -“I come from one of Laura’s shows. It was there I saw this opportunity. -The matter is urgent. Levy is after the estate. What do you offer?” - -“Well, five thousand!” - -Stellan laughed aloud: - -“Ridiculous! I want fifty thousand.” - -Now it was Peter’s turn to laugh. - -“You are mad. You have no idea what a big sum fifty thousand is.” - -“Fifty thousand. Not a farthing less.” - -Peter began to dress. He tried to do so slowly. - -“I’ll send Thomson to Manne.” - -“Good! Thomson will be kicked out.” - -“I’ll go myself.” - -“You’ll only see me. Manne will settle nothing without me. He has a -horror of business.” - -“Well, I’ll give twenty thousand.” - -“Good. Levy will get the estate.” - -“Thirty thousand.” - -“Fifty, not a farthing less.” - -Peter whined, reproached Stellan for his extravagance, dwelt upon the -fabulousness of the sum and his own miserable means. Meanwhile he -calculated quickly and surely and arrived at the result that anyhow it -would be a good stroke of business. - -“Well, I suppose I shall have to present you with fifty thousand to -spend on champagne and gambling.” - -Peter sounded quite broken-hearted. But Stellan was not at all touched. -He even demanded five thousand in cash. And as soon as Peter had -produced the notes he made off as quickly as he had come so that Peter -sat there and did not know what had really happened, and believed it was -some fine new way of robbing him of some cash. But Stellan returned and -in three days the whole business was settled. - -Manne had, on Stellan’s advice, turned to the estate agent, O. W. -Thomson. - -“Thomson has good connections with my brother, who might reflect on -Kolsnäs,” he said. “But it is better to choose an indirect way, because -you must not appear too keen.” - -At Manne’s request Stellan was present at these transactions. That is to -say, at all except the last and decisive meeting. For by then he had -already got his fifty thousand. And he thought that Manne might as well -bear the responsibility himself if there should be any trouble. The -result was that Peter seized Kolsnäs for four hundred and fifty thousand -only by threatening to withdraw at the last moment—offensively simple. - -Poor Manne was both sad and happy when it was all over. He was ashamed -to mention the fifty thousand to Stellan and thanked him warmly for his -help. - -When drawing up the contract he had, by criminal negligence and -ignorance, completely forgotten to safeguard the interests of the people -on the estate. And this was very hard on a number of old tenants and -dependants who had now no refuge but the workhouse. - -He had spoken a true word of himself that night: - -“Traitor, traitor to his home and to the soil that had nourished him.” - -And so it happened when Kolsnäs was thrown into the market in Laura’s -drawing room. It was not the first estate that had suffered such a fate, -nor would it be the last. - -This affair had scarcely become known before Laura came rushing into -Stellan’s room. She was furiously angry. - -“You have behaved abominably” she cried. “You have acted behind my back. -Why was I not told anything? I had almost promised Levy that he should -be allowed to do Manne that little service.” - -Stellan made no effort to defend himself. He atoned for his crime by -giving his sister a beautiful bracelet of brilliants. There were several -of Laura’s jewels that had their little history. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - II - - +PETER THE BOSS IN LOVE+ - - -One warm and calm Saturday evening in July Peter sat alone in his office -and examined his books. Round about him Selambshof seemed deserted. Not -a single soul had been visible the whole afternoon. But far away from -Kolsnäs on the other side of the lake an accordion was heard. They were -dancing in a barn and everybody was there. - -Peter puffed aloud. He cursed the low, mellow, rich sunshine and the -still air in which so many small winged creatures were hovering about! -With his massive body he felt alone and helpless. He had often felt so -of late. And then there was practically nothing else but the books, the -soiled, faded Selambshof books up on the shelf by the fireplace, to busy -himself with. But Peter did not look only at the books of the current -year, he went back several years. Their soiled columns constituted his -excursions into the past, his diaries and memoirs. Here there were -entries and totals at which he had always smiled contentedly. In his -memory they were associated with all those who had let themselves be -cheated by him in one way or another and sometimes he had the feeling of -being amongst good and faithful friends. Yes, there are many ways of -fighting loneliness in this world. - -Today Peter was more than unusually obstinate with his books. He had -already penetrated so far back in the books that the handwriting was not -his own scrawl nor that of Inglund’s but a soft elegant handwriting with -almost sensuous curls and flourishes. It was Brundin’s beautiful -handwriting, which still made Peter feel sick. He tried for the -hundredth time to enjoy the stale sweetness of victory. But it did not -bring him joy. He still had a queer feeling that Brundin had cheated him -of something ... something that Peter the Boss would never enjoy. - -Then a woman dressed in white came tripping gaily across the lawn, a -plump little lady dressed in white with a big white bundle under her -arm. She disappeared round the corner of the kitchen. Peter put out his -head through the window and called out: - -“Hallo! There’s nobody at home there! Come in here instead!” - -Peter looked very surprised when the woman with the bundle came to the -door of the office: - -“Upon my word, it’s ... isn’t it Frida?” - -She answered with fluent tongue: - -“Yes sir, it’s Frida right enough. I have the new laundry at Majängen -now—Frida Öberg, Laundress—No. 5, Solbacken. Here is the bill. Excuse my -bringing the laundry at this hour, but I had promised it on Saturday. -There is no change here at Selambshof, I see.” - -Peter stood with the bill in his hand, staring at the laundress, who had -begun to pick collars, cuffs and starched shirts out of her bundle. How -strange that it was Frida he was staring at, Frida of Brundin’s bedroom. -That white and soft creature he had one night caught a glimpse of from -behind the blind in the bailiff’s wing. This then was the Frida of his -timid, oppressive, light-shy boyish dreams. There she stood, well -preserved, smiling, insinuatingly plump, equipped with such charms that -not even the simplest country yokel could help noticing them. Suddenly -she was enveloped by a warmth as from hot irons, thought Peter. And far -away at Kolsnäs they heard the accordion again tuning up a dance. Then -he felt a sudden furious desire for movement, to make a noise and jump -about with somebody in his arms. And he seized one of the shirts and -waved it about: - -“I hope you have washed the wedding shirt well?” he cried out almost -menacingly. - -“Why, are you going to get married, too?” - -“Yes, this very moment, if necessary. Don’t you hear the wedding music? -Shan’t we take a turn, we two?” - -With the shirt spread out before him he jumped about in a sort of -grotesque dance, threw his great arms round Frida and began to jump -about whilst the wedding shirt still flapped about them. The worn -floor-boards groaned under Peter’s weight, the dust rose high and the -flies buzzed away frightened from the paper ball below the lamp in the -ceiling. - -Frida defended herself laughingly when Peter wanted to kiss her: - -“No, I must go now, sir.” - -Peter stood perspiring and nervous and withheld the money for the bill: - -“Won’t you have a look round old Selambshof for a moment? There isn’t a -soul at home. I reign alone here now. Come along.” - -He pulled her with him up to the main building and, eager and flushed, -piloted her through the dusty closed rooms where the old gloomy and -worn-out furniture slept and dreamed evil dreams in the heat and -twilight. - -“It is so cursedly quiet here tonight,” exclaimed Peter. “Can’t you -laugh a little again so that I may hear what it sounds like?” - -Frida laughed, but the echo came back hollow and scoffing from the -depths of the corridors. Then they entered the green smoking room off -the hall, which resembled a thousand other smoking rooms in so far as it -contained an equipment of guns, deers’ horns, elks’ heads and stuffed -birds. Peter seized the opportunity to impress upon her what a wonderful -Nimrod he was and what an expert on the secrets of animal life, -especially of animal sex attraction. He imitated the call of the -capercailzie, he described the feathers of the mating ruff and its -collar of feathers and finally he imitated the night call of the ruttish -elk and its stamping so that it echoed through the whole of the empty -house. Meanwhile he drew nearer and nearer to the door of the next room -where he slept in the summer because it was so much cooler there than in -his own wing. But when Frida saw that they were approaching the bedroom -she wisely stopped on the threshold and not even the wildest and most -seductive bird-calls could make her penetrate further. No, now she -suddenly remembered that she ought to have met a friend long ago. She -thanked him for all the kindness he had shown her and insisted on going. -Then Peter became furious and reproached her coarsely for her behaviour -with the bailiff: - -“If that blackguard was good enough, I ought to be too—don’t you think -so?” - -A hard look came into Frida’s eyes and she hissed out as if testing a -hot iron with her wet finger: - -“I should like to tell you, sir, that I am on my own now and don’t need -to listen to anybody.” - -“Don’t be so high and mighty. It was I who managed things so that you -escaped examination when Brundin was caught, because I was sorry for -you.” - -Peter had no proofs at all that she too was involved in Brundin’s -frauds, but he always seized an opportunity of boasting of his kindness -and of threatening a little. Frida was not at all frightened. No, but -she was too worldly-wise to issue a challenge to money and power. - -She therefore contented herself with lying in a humble tone about the -whole affair: - -“No, I had nothing to do with that scoundrel, sir. And besides a poor -girl can’t understand all that men do....” - -By now Frida had already backed out on to the stairs and as soon as she -felt safe she at once adopted her most seductive manner again: - -“I hope I may iron many wedding shirts for you, sir,” she said, and -curtsied and smiled and tripped gaily away, white, plump and -coquettishly swaying whatever was capable of being swayed. - -Peter stood on the stairs mumbling curses after her. Then he climbed -breathlessly up into the observatory and watched with his glass to his -eyes where she would emerge from the avenue into the road. He followed -the white little figure in the twilight till it disappeared in a strange -black house up on the ridge of the hill over Majängen. - -A woman had entered the life of Peter the Boss. He was in love, -positively in love with Frida Öberg, owner of the Majängen Laundry, No. -5, Solbacken. - -Peter had never been able to associate with decent women. He was -frightened of the “guinea hens,” as he called them. He grew nervous and -hot from the unaccustomed effort of not saying anything coarse or -mingling curses with his speech. He even felt a sort of fear of his -sister Laura. Once many years ago she had dragged him into a set of -Lancers and that was one of his most awful memories. Even today he felt -a shiver down his back whenever he saw a dress suit. Thus it is clear -that Peter’s erotic experiences were of the simplest. They were all lost -in the fog that lies between the revels of the evening and the sore head -and sordid regrets of the morning. - -But now he was in love, but it was a delight mingled with not a little -worry and anxiety. From the very start he felt love as a threat to his -purse. He had anxious little suspicions that he was now more susceptible -to cheating than before. For the first time he had to be on his guard -not only against others but also against himself. “Ugh, this will be an -expensive business,” he thought, when the longing to see Frida again -came on him. She is no fool, that little witch! She won’t do anything -for nothing. He positively endowed her with a calculating cunning and a -mysterious seductive self-interest. But the more difficult and dangerous -he made her, the more he must love her. Peter the Boss suspected a soul -akin to his own. - -He made up his mind not to appear too eager. No, I’ll wait till she -brings the laundry again, he thought. But time passed, until he could -not wait and began to hover about Majängen. - -It was not exactly a pleasure to walk about there. There were no decent -roads, but only heaps of stones and clay holes, for the company had long -ago sold all the sites and had thus no interest in fulfilling its vague -promise as to the construction of roads. Besides, the inhabitants of -Majängen were unpleasant people. All the earliest purchasers, honest -workingmen and small tradespeople, who had bought the ground and built -upon it at too high a price, had been forced to leave their -marsh-dwellings. In their place a floating population had found its way -out to Majängen. The worst scum of the town population was to be found -there. And Selambshof and Peter the Boss were not exactly loved by them. -They rightly considered that it was his filth they had to wade in up to -their knees and that it was on his heaps of stones they almost broke -their legs. - -So that when in his rosiest and most gentle dreams Peter wandered about -there, he was perturbed by expressive glances, tightly clenched fists in -trouser pockets and long, rude oaths at the house corners. And in the -windows there teemed pale and dirty children who took their fingers out -of their mouths in order to point at him as the bad man from Selambshof. - -All that would not have mattered so much if Peter could only have caught -a little glimpse of his beloved. But he never saw her outside in the -clay, no plump smiling face showed itself above the window curtains of -the laundry up in the “asphalt” house. Thus he had christened the big -two-storied ramshackle house half way up Solberget, because it was -covered with asphalted cardboard outside the boards, and none of the -successive owners had been able to afford to repair the outer boards, so -that it remained there as black and dismal as it had been three years -ago. And it was confoundedly difficult to get to it, for there were only -steep narrow wooden steps leading past the entrance and Peter could not -climb up and down them all day long in order to steal a glance through -the window panes. - -“Life is hard,” thought Peter, “you never meet those you want to meet.” - -In the end he went home and wrote a letter. There are many ways of -interpreting one’s feelings. Peter’s was not very personal because his -eloquence was based on a lover’s advertisement in a newspaper and of -course any mention of marriage was carefully avoided. And somehow the -handwriting was not quite his. And he did not sign it Peter Selamb, but -“Frida’s own Elk.” That is what he did. - -“Never put your name unnecessarily to any document...” - -The answer came by return post and was both pleasing and disquieting. -Frida wrote that she was doing well and did not need to bow down to -anybody, but that she might find use for a new Laundry stove of the -Orion make and a blue silk coat with white revers. And then she allowed -herself to hint at the possibility of further sympathy. - -Peter fully realized the risk of payment in advance, but he also -understood that without some magnanimity he would make no progress at -all. So with a swimming head he sent a round sum for the two objects -aforesaid. At the same time he wrote that he had found a little refuge -well protected from the eyes of the world where they might meet and -sympathize. The refuge was Stellan’s flat. Stellan had been ordered -North again, much to his annoyance, and Peter had charge of the keys. He -now hurried to the elegant little two-roomed flat in Karlavägen, removed -the name plate, aired the rooms, put away all Stellan’s belongings into -the wardrobes and sat down to wait. - -Frida arrived dressed in the new blue silk coat and with the whole -warmth of the new Laundry heater of “Orion” make around her. - -“I always keep my promises,” she whispered, “I’m made that way.... But -goodness me! how smart this is. Are you living here too, Sir?” - -“I have taken all this for your sake, Frida,” said Peter pressing her to -him. “It has cost me a good deal.” - -And then at last Peter got his reward.... - -He lived in supreme well-being in a world of peace. Late on Sunday -morning, long after Frida had stolen home, he lay quite still and -watched the sunlight creep across the beautiful Persian carpet. It was a -strange feeling of relief, it was as if it was only now that he had at -last given the _coup de grâce_ to the nightmare of his youth, the -stubborn Brundin. - - * * * * * - -If Peter imagined that Frida now belonged to him, without any further -expense, he was mistaken. A few more such moments and she considered -herself free again. And so she let him understand in a delicate way that -new favours had to be bought with new offerings. Peter suffered, but he -suffered more in his greed than in his affection. He was so accustomed -to think that everything depended on money that he could scarcely -imagine a man being loved for his own sake. He puffed and whined—but -paid. He did not even try to press down her demands by simulated -indifference. Such is love. - -So things went on for a few months. Then one fine day Peter received a -letter in which Frida herself proposed a meeting without mentioning any -fresh gifts. He was just about to welcome her, feeling heartily content, -when he was checked by an inward shock. He suddenly remembered some land -he had once bought when the seller in apparent absentmindedness had -registered the transfer in his own name instead of the purchaser’s. - -It was the only time he had ever been completely taken in. - -Peter read through Frida’s letter again. It was too eager. It was not -quite the same old Frida. He felt a slight presentiment of something -unpleasant. A voice whispered in his ear to be on his guard. He knew -what it all meant. He sat long and worried in front of the clean sheet -of note paper. In the end he wrote something about important business -which prevented him from meeting her just then. After this extraordinary -exercise of self-control Peter felt very sorry for himself, so much so -that the tears came into his eyes. He wandered about puffing and sighing -among the fields of Selambshof, a victim of desire, suspicion, hope and -fear. Into the bargain Stellan wired that he was coming home immediately -from the North, so that Peter was obliged with a bleeding heart to screw -the name-plate on to the door again and set out all the photographs of -horses and ladies. Thus the discreet little free retreat for his amours -disappeared from view. Then another letter from Frida arrived in which -she begged and prayed to be allowed to see her own Elk very soon. Peter -was really touched. It was sweet to hear her beg like this. All there -was of hunger and love in his great body stirred within him. But he felt -at the same time that the thing was growing more and more dangerous. “I -must be strong,” he thought, “very strong.” And he did not answer the -letter, not a line.... - -Peter was not left long in doubt. It was as he had suspected, Frida was -expecting a child. She absolutely must see him, she wrote. She was so -ill and so run down. If he did not arrange things for her at once she -would drown herself.... - -Peter sat long staring at the letter and it did not affect him in the -way he would have thought. Instead it rather comforted him in a strange -way. It cooled his desire to think of her growing more and more -unshapely and ugly every day. - -“Oh no,” he muttered, “you won’t drown yourself. I have paid for what I -have had. We are square. It is high time for me to return to my senses.” - -The long tug of war between his love and his purse had ended in a -victory for the purse. - -Peter burnt all Frida’s letters and did not answer a word. He had -decided to regard the affair with Frida as a dream. And he knew he could -do it. There was not a trace of proof. So wonderful was the instinctive -cunning of this man that he had not sent a single line signed with his -name, written in his own handwriting, or even posted at Selambshof. And -scarcely once had he been seen in Frida’s company. She on her side had -from the first had every reason to keep the matter secret, because a -liaison with the hated Peter the Boss would at once have driven away all -her customers in Majängen. - -But Peter was not to escape as unscathed as he had imagined. Frida was -not at all the sort of person to allow herself to be hanged in silence. -For a time she continued to bombard him with letters, full of entreaties -and reproaches. Then she began to hang around Selambshof, big, swollen, -with a sinister spotted face and awful to see. Peter kept a sharp -lookout and succeeded for a long time in avoiding her. But one winter -evening she suddenly confronted him in the avenue. Peter did not even -greet her, but walked on as if he had not noticed her. Then she seized -him by the sleeve and poured over him a wild flood of curses and -threats. There were no witnesses. Peter let the flood pass over him with -great calm—yes, positively with a kind of enjoyment. Only now when he -heard her voice and saw her body did he feel the child as something -real. And in his innermost heart he no longer doubted that it was his. -No, it was almost a pleasure to think how something of himself was -irresistibly developing within her. He enjoyed that sensation with the -last cruel glowing spark of his love. But his voice was low and ice-cold -when at last he answered her. And he spoke slowly as if he wanted to -impress something for all eternity upon her consciousness. - -“Not a farthing,” he said. “Take from what you and Brundin stole. From -us you have had enough.” - -With that he shook her off and went away. - - * * * * * - -Frida ceased to hover around Selambshof. She adopted new tactics. She -stayed at home in Majängen and talked. There was no longer any truce of -silence. To everybody who came she opened her heart concerning the -scoundrel at Selambshof, who would not do the proper thing. As the -unhappy victim of Peter Selamb she won much sympathy and many new -customers in Majängen. Her laundry was besieged by the women and became -a sort of focus for the hatred of Peter the Boss. The whole community -waited excitedly for the Spring Sessions. - -But a good deal was to happen before then, and Peter would have several -reasons for reflecting on Majängen this winter. - -There was the old business of the water supply. It had been decided -after several stormy meetings that water was to be laid on in the houses -at Majängen. It was necessary, because the wells were insufficient and -tainted. Part of the necessary money had already been collected and then -Peter’s permission to lay down the pipes was sought. It was considered -to be only a matter of form. The streets were of course his, but even if -he did not fulfil his promise of making roads it never occurred to -anybody that he would deny the people he had humbugged facilities for -the pipes. But that was exactly what Peter did. - -“The ground is mine, and if you want to put down pipes you will have to -pay for them,” he said. - -This answer was unworthy of Peter the Boss. It could be no pleasure to -have a hotbed of epidemics just outside your door. He acted in direct -opposition to his own interests. But it is a fact that one hardening of -the heart brings in its train others. He was furious with everything -that was brewing against him in that dark _charnel_ house. And he hated -to think of the coming Spring Sessions. And that is why he said “No,” an -obstinate, sullen, impossible “no,” which, as we have said, was quite -unworthy of the cleverness of Peter the Boss. - -This was too much. The newspapers then got hold of him. The reporters -were about to catch the mood of the winter twilight. They described the -horrors of the outskirts of the town, the struggle between town and -country, tearing each other to pieces in an indescribable chaos, the -bottomless roads, the ragged hillside, the torn pines, the maimed, -squinting, hunchbacked, cold-sweating, ramshackle houses. And in the -midst of it all came the Salvation Army to their red barn with “Blood -and Fire” over the cross on the door. “Starvation and Frost” were -everywhere and thus the symphony was complete. Here hope, misfortune, -idleness, thrift, crime and the new life thronged together. Here the -scum that the town had cast out huddled together with the indomitable -spirits that boldly sought a new life on new ground. And just now when -all the good influences were co-operating, after a pathetic struggle, in -an united effort to make something worthy of human beings out of their -grey stone hill everything was brought to nought by the mere word of -Peter Selamb. Who was this gentleman after all? Well, he was the manager -of Selambshof. He sat there in his sinister highwayman’s lair and took -toll from the citizens of the town and grabbed all the land that the -town required. We are suffocating, we want air, we want to get out! Very -well, please pay up. Everybody must pay toll to Peter Selamb of -Selambshof. - -People did not choose their words. The newspapers outdid each other in -indignation. They were of course right. But it is not always well to be -too much in the right—not even for a newspaper— - -The hammer blows rained down with a frequency sufficient to fell an ox. -But Peter merely blinked his eyes. He did not understand how anybody -could be afraid of the press. He had no real respect for any other kind -of letterpress than that which is to be found on bank-notes and in the -paragraphs of the penal code. - -“Do these damned journalists want to teach me how to build suburbs?” he -muttered with an almost compassionate shrug of the shoulders. And he did -not budge an inch on this matter: “The ground is mine. If they want to -put down pipes, they will have to pay.” - -After a few weeks the newspaper campaign against Peter the Boss -subsided. It had had no effect. - -As for Frida, things took their course. It is seldom that the birth of a -child has been awaited with such general interest. The women in Majängen -talked of nothing else when they met at the wells, laboriously to pump -up the grey and ill-flavoured clay water. Round this child the hopes of -the whole community for vengeance on Peter the Boss were centred. - -At the end of March, Frida Öberg gave birth to a son, who was named -Bernhard. - -And then Peter received a summons to appear before the Court and he -arrived in a grey suit in his dog-cart with old “Interest.” And when he -came he appeared neither haughty nor humbled. - -The Court lay by the high road some distance away from the suburb. But -all Majängen was of course there. The crowd stretched out as far as the -yard. Peter stepped forward with half-closed eyes and a good-tempered -grin on his face. Nobody could say he looked frightened. He slapped some -of the men on the back: - -“Make room, boys, nothing is going to happen without me, anyhow.” - -A Swedish crowd is harmless when it is sober. People stared and made -way. But a coarse voice was heard: - -“He ought to be hanged....” - -Peter had now reached the hall. On the other side of the long table with -the judge and the jurymen sat Frida. She had a bundle in her arms. She -stared Peter straight in the eyes and lifted up the child so that he -should really see it. Then a murmur passed through the hall and the -jurymen put their close-cropped heads together. Peter turned away his -eyes at once, shrugged his shoulders, and bowed to the judge as if to -say: “As between gentlemen, cut the whole thing short.” - -Through his friends he had conveyed to the judge the truth about Frida -Öberg: An easy-going wench, maid at Selambshof, an affair with the -fraudulent bailiff, dismissed with him, vengeance, blackmail, etc. - -The baby began to cry. Did Frida pinch it for effect or not? The judge, -who looked as if he were at a meeting of shareholders, glanced up from -his papers with a wry face: - -“Is it necessary to bring the child here?” - -Frida jumped up, grateful for this opportunity to make a demonstration. -“What am I to do when I am poor and alone, sir? I have nobody to look -after the poor boy.” - -The judge remarked in a dry voice that he had been informed she had a -laundry and that her sister was working with her. - -At last the summons was read and the judge began his questions. When -Frida once began to speak, she could not stop, but flung herself with -such a primitive force and such a naïve matter-of-factness into the -dismal love story that the judge at once thought it wise to order the -hall to be cleared. - -Peter grinned with malicious pleasure as the angrily muttering -inhabitants of Majängen shuffled out. - -When Frida had finished, Peter rose, looked at the wall, and stoutly -denied everything. - -Then a witness was called. Peter suddenly recognized with a certain -discomfort the porter at Stellan’s house. Well, it appeared that he had -never seen them together, but only believed he had noticed that they -both stayed on the second floor. Peter was calm again. He had won worse -cases. Then the judge showed him a love letter signed “Bull Elk,” on the -reverse side of which there appeared a part of the Selambshof receipt -stamp. Peter boldly denied everything except the stamp. But he began to -feel rather glum. - -The parties were dismissed during the deliberations of the Court. Frida -sat in the midst of a crowd of women and suckled the baby. But Peter -went out and patted old “Interest.” He stood there stroking and stroking -and found it difficult to look up. He felt hate all round him like -something prickly. He no longer felt safe. He would probably have to -resort to ... the last ... - -After a long delay all were admitted into the Court again. It was black -with people but absolutely silent. The oath was taken. - -All eyes were fastened on Peter the Boss. He seemed to shrink and grow -smaller as he stood there. Now he looked like an old bent and grey -peasant. Would he do what peasants had been accustomed to do so often -before in similar cases? - -Peter stepped slowly up to the table. He felt just as if he were walking -in a vacuum. He seemed to be paralysed in the arm when he wanted to -place his hand on the Bible, the greasy old court Bible, which had seen -so many things. He could not help glancing at Frida. She also had risen -and taken a step towards the table. She looked at him with an expression -in which hatred and anxiety mingled with a strange cold curiosity. The -child also stared at him with vacant black eyes. And a little hand moved -with awkward, blind jerks. Peter suddenly thought of a newborn, -trembling young fox which he had once pulled out of its lair and killed -with the butt end of his gun. He felt queer, sick. He was afraid ... -afraid.... For a moment he let his hand fall.... - -The judge fixed him with his eye: - -“Well, what’s the matter? Can’t you take the oath?” - -Peter started. He suddenly heard Stellan’s clear sneering voice: - -“Clodhopper! In love with an old servant girl, what? Ridiculous!” - -He placed his hand on the Bible again. The judge recited the oath with -the expression of one who had been offered at dinner hare that was too -high. Peter repeated it after him. He wanted to speak quickly, but he -could only get the words out slowly. His voice was thick and -indescribably humble and there was in him something of the fat rat and -the lascivious dog. - -Frida had been quiet, surprisingly quiet during all this. Then her voice -was suddenly heard. There was no cry, no sob, no longer any affectation: - -“He swore false all the same.” And it sounded like a weary statement of -fact. - -With that the case was finished and the defendant was acquitted of -responsibility for the child. The judge muttered something to the Clerk -of the Court and the jurymen next to him. Nobody in the hall moved. -Peter was the first to go out, straight past all the amazed, loathing -and disgusted faces that stared closely at him. He staggered out into -the cool, dazzling April sunshine. He stood there fumbling with the -reins and patting old “Interest’s” back and muttered inanely: - -“How have things been with you, old girl? How have things been with you? -They have been playing hell with your old master, really hell.” - -Peter got up in his dog-cart and drove with slack reins down towards the -point where the road to Selambshof turned off. Then he suddenly heard -behind him a prolonged shrill, strident whistling, a sound that seemed -to be pure venom. - -It was a greeting from Majängen. It was the signal of a long and bitter -guerilla war. - - * * * * * - -Peter had won his case—but he felt all the same confoundedly dismal. He -could eat nothing for dinner, though he took a couple of appetisers. And -things did not improve when Stellan rang up. Fancy he had heard of it -already. He was absolutely furious: - -“Scandalous,” he cried, “grotesque—that sort of thing should be settled -on the quiet. You are a damned clodhopper, you make us all impossible.” - -Peter put down the receiver, hurt, sad, almost ready to cry. “Abuse,” he -thought, “nothing but abuse. And all the same it was really for -Stellan’s sake that I ... swore....” - -With the coming of dark, Peter began to be frightened. He could not -forget all those eyes staring at him in the hall. And every one of them -knew that he had forsworn himself. Perjury! What did that matter now, -when nothing could be proved. He had put his hand on the book and -repeated what that damned judge—who as a matter of fact was a rake in -financial difficulties himself—had said. But he, Peter, had not asked to -lay his hand on the book. It was the Court that had forced him into -entirely unnecessary folly. Anyhow he had certainly won his case. Why -the devil then should he have to lay his hand on the book? The book, the -book ... Peter suddenly felt cold inside. The old terror of his -childhood rose out of the depths of the past and seized him. He had of -course never felt anything so noble as an honest doubt. He had never -felt any sort of contact with the powers for which the Bible stood. A -little piece of Kristin’s and Hedvig’s hard old God, the centre of -Selambshof’s gloomy crippled terror, still survived deep down in his -soul beneath the rich flora of lies and dishonesty. “So help me God in -body and soul,” yes, that was what he had sworn. Supposing God should -punish him now! Supposing he were to take away from him all that he -possessed! Supposing he had to sit naked, starved, and alone in the dark -forest just as he had dreamt as a child! - -Peter was afraid of the God in the book, afraid as a negro of his -fetish.... - -Oh, if only he had had Hedvig to talk to. She knew all about that sort -of thing. She was the medicine man who knew the appropriate spell...! - -The clock had already struck twelve when Peter set out to look for a -Bible in the great dark owl’s nest called Selambshof. From one room to -another he walked searching in every corner, but without finding what he -looked for. At last he crept stealthily into the housekeeper’s room like -a thief and stole her Bible from her night table. Then he sat down to -turn over the pages, greedily fastening on everything that spoke of -wrath and threats and punishment. With swimming head and smarting eyes -he made himself drunk with fear. At dawn he staggered trembling and -shivering into the office and took a thousand-crown note out of the -safe. And he spread it out so that he might really see how large it was. -Then he put it in the housekeeper’s Bible—at one of the worst -passages.... - -That was the way out of Peter the Boss. He tried to bribe God with a -thousand crowns. - -As soon as it was dark the following evening he stole towards Majängen -with the note in his pocket. It would have been simpler of course to -send the money by post. But that was not good enough. The post is such a -silent and mysterious institution. He was afraid that his sacrifice -would go unnoticed by the Lord. And if he could “bull” shares by his -self-abnegation that would be all to the good. So he would deliver the -money himself—though of course without witnesses. Otherwise it might be -dangerous. - -Peter crept forward in the rain with the brim of his hat turned down and -his collar turned up. It was really bold of him to go to Majängen now, -but he was not the first whom fear has made bold. He slipped, stumbled, -and stepped into holes in the darkness on the bottomless roads. Several -times he thought he heard steps and whispering voices behind him. But -these sounds were at once drowned in the soughing of the poor meagre -pine branches which were struggling against the storm somewhere up in -the darkness above his head. Now he would reach the asphalt house in a -moment. Black as misfortune it hung there over the damp edge of the -cliff. The laundry was closed, but there was a light in the window. -Peter was just going to sneak up the long wooden staircase to -reconnoitre when suddenly there came something whizzing through the -darkness. It was a rain of big stones. Peter drew back a step but was -hit by the next shower in the back just below the neck and also on the -head. He fell forward without a sound, and lay there in his own clay -like a sack of sand. - -These were the first shots in the war between Selambshof and Majängen. -Fatal hits. Peter was after all on the way to his woman and child. There -was perhaps after all just a chance of Peter turning human being.... But -then the stones intervened...! - -Peter was unconscious and half suffocated by the clay. The -thousand-crown note still lay in his pocket and it never reached its -destination. He woke up in his bed at Selambshof. And his first thought -in the midst of all his pains was: “That’s what you get for trying to do -good...!” - -Peter had to stop in bed quite a long time. He had injured his spine. He -got up again even more bent, more pale and more flabby in the face than -before. - -He was now a man without pity. If Peter the Boss had had before his -sentimental moments, they were now a thing of the past. And he had, as -it were, grown too coarse for all fear. And he procured for himself a -watch-dog—a great, shaggy, wolf-like monster—chiefly for the pleasure of -seeing people anxiously sneaking past Selambshof. And then the harsh -barking of the dog was a kind of company at nights. For Peter had begun -to find difficulty in sleeping. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - III - - +THE ANGEL OF DEATH+ - - -Hedvig’s and Percy’s marriage had for long been unconsummated. At first -in the Swiss mountain sanatorium Hedvig was not allowed to live in the -same house as her husband. Later on when he was better she still -remained his nurse. - -“Think of your fever,” she said, and withdrew gently from his delicate -approaches. “It is your duty to get well, Percy dear.” - -Percy was all too far away from the thousandfold stimulant of art from -which in his longing and his imagination he had otherwise derived -vitality. His natural submissiveness was still further fortified by the -strict discipline of the sanatorium. So he yielded and always acquiesced -in her cold sisterly behaviour to him. But only to approach her again at -the next opportunity with the same persistent, childlike, -half-embarrassed supplication for love. And if he had not done so Hedvig -would certainly have felt secretly hurt and worried. After having -wandered about the whole day in the pure cold air and in the light of -the white snow-capped peaks, among the brotherhood of suffering and -among the recaptured convalescents high up in the seclusion of the -alpine world it was pleasant in the evening to whisper a soft “no” to -the adoring husband. There was rehabilitation in it. It healed old -wounds. It was an innocent triumph. She lived through happy days. There -was nothing that tempted or scorched or tore at the heart. There was -just life enough for Hedvig Hill. - -“No, Percy dear. For your own sake. Your temperature would rise....” - -And she uttered her “no” in the same tone as others would whisper their -“yes.” “See how I sacrifice everything for you,” she seemed to say, “my -best years, my womanhood, my beauty, I sacrifice all for you, darling -Percy.” Even to herself she made a sacrifice of her half-heartedness and -her fear—though she probably suspected in her inmost heart this -unsatisfied longing of Percy’s was in the long run more dangerous to him -than ordinary life together as husband and wife. The truth was that -Hedvig Hill sipped at what she did not dare to drink at one draft. She -hugged to herself the glimpse of pain she saw in Percy’s glance after -her refusal. She cherished the mist of pulsing blood in his blue eyes, -so like those of a precocious boy. And she warmed her lonely bed with -it. - -Then one day came when Percy was—not cured, because a complete cure -seemed almost out of question—but anyhow, so much better that he could -think of moving about in the world once again. - -The doctors spoke of the south. - -Hedvig felt a nervous dread of all that was to come. It was as if they -were being turned out of a safe refuge, she thought. She would have -preferred to remain amongst the brotherhood of the doomed, bewitched by -the mountain spirits up there into a half-life in the big white -monastery. - -“But Percy, would it not be safer to spend one more winter in the -sanatorium?” she whispered. - -Percy shook his head and smiled. He had been very mysterious these last -days; he had sent off and received a number of telegrams. - -“Where are we going? Wouldn’t it be best to go home?” wondered Hedvig. - -“You are going to have a magnificent present,” cried Percy, who glowed -with the pleasure of planning, acting and moving about after years of -supervision and inactivity. - -So they went down into the valley when the first September days had -already sprayed the woods with gold. There the train stood ready. The -smoke, the noise, the jolting about soon tired Percy, who was so spoilt -with fresh air and quiet. Then Hedvig turned nurse again, and wrapped -him up in their reserved compartment. But that evening the train rushed -into a town by the sea under the mountains. It was Genoa and they at -once went aboard a steamer which seemed to have waited only for them in -order to depart. - -“But where is this boat going to? Where are we going?” wondered Hedvig. - -She positively knew nothing. Percy only smiled mysteriously. - -One brilliantly fine morning they went ashore at white Cadiz. - -“Here is my present,” said Percy. “It is the country that suits your -hair and your eyes.” - -At the sanatorium Hedvig had forgotten to be Spanish. She felt terribly -nervous and cast out into the unknown. - -“Now we will choose towns for you, just as one chooses frocks,” -continued Percy. “We shall begin with Seville, though I suspect that -Toledo would be the most suitable.” - -So they arrived at Seville. - -“I can’t offer you an auto-da-fé,” he whispered. “You will have to be -satisfied with a ‘corrida’.” - -Above the entrance to the _plaza de toros_ there stood in big letters -“Press Bull-fight in commemoration of the immaculate conception of the -Virgin Mary.” - -With eyes that still smarted and burnt from all the pitiless light on -the yellow sand of the arena Hedvig saw within a fraction of a second a -little grey bull, with the picador’s dart in his neck, bury his horns -into the stomach of the rearing horse. The horse beat the air helplessly -with his forefeet and lifted his slender neck and his head with a -gesture of wild, maddening pain, and then fell heavily on one side with -the picador beneath him, but only to rush up again and to gallop, -pursued by the bull, round the arena with bleeding sides and trailing -entrails. - -Hedvig stared fixedly down. She was very pale. - -“This is horrible,” she muttered. “I want to go.” - -But she did not go. - -More picadors, more bleeding horses. Then banderilleros who, dancing -nimbly, buried their flag-adorned darts in the bleeding neck of the bull -with subtle, playful cruelty. Meanwhile the sunlight lay like fire on -the yellow sand, the red blood stains, and the bright shawls of the -women on the rails of the boxes. Even the rising metallic sound of -thousands of voices seemed to be burnt through by the heat of the sun. - -Then the _espada_ entered. With his knee breeches, slippers and pouched -hair he seemed to have stepped straight out of a Mozart opera. - -Swinging his red cloth he dances an elegant Death dance before he draws -his weapon. Now everything gleams bright, the sun, eyes, the thin -fire-shaft of the sword. His posture, as with his weapon raised to the -level of his eyes he calmly awaits the onslaught of the bull, is -extremely graceful. Now the fire of the fine tongue of steel is suddenly -extinguished in the bull’s neck, the Colossus staggers and falls -heavily. - -Hedvig sat mute and pale with devouring eyes. She was staring at the -gate from which the next bull would rush in.... - -When they drove home in the first yellow twilight Percy’s arm stole -round her waist. - -“I believe all the same Toledo has amused itself in Seville,” he smiled. -“Wasn’t that a fine way of getting the sanatorium out of the system?” - -Hedvig pushed away his arm almost unkindly: - -“Don’t laugh at everything,” she muttered. - -And suddenly she felt a secret bitterness that the man by her side was -not stronger, more robust, more dangerous, that he had allowed her to -say “no” so often. - -Darkness requires more heat than light. The sun, the sight of blood, the -inborn cruelty of the south had all at once burnt through her shyness, -her fear and her brooding. Hunger for life buried its claws deep in this -strange virgin soul that had lain so anxious and so self-absorbed. She -was not the first barbarian from a twilight-land to whom the south has -given a bold desire to live. - -That night Sister Hedvig became her husband’s lover. - -They remained the whole autumn in Seville and saw many bull fights. -Hedvig was very beautiful at this time. Hers was a dark passionate -unfolding. Percy overwhelmed her with costly clothes and jewels. He -dressed her up as a Spaniard with combs and shawls and mantillas. He did -not touch his paint brush, but he let her pose to his love. And Hedvig -enjoyed his admiration, enjoyed her own beauty. For the first time in -her life she was at peace with her own body. It was no longer the cause -of restlessness and heavy care and danger. It took pride in this man’s -caresses. Beneath her silk and her jewels she felt the glow of her -nakedness. A solemn thrill would pass through her at the thought of her -own shoulders and breast. And she enjoyed the feeling of satisfaction, -which was both hot and cold. Oh, what a relief not to feel any longer -that anxious longing in her inmost soul. - -Hedvig Hill was happily in love with herself. For Percy also these were -happy days. Their late union gave his mind a bright coolness. Perhaps he -sometimes suspected the gulf which nevertheless existed between them. -But that did not frighten a dilettante, it only now and then liberated a -certain light self-irony. He enjoyed his own extravagant gifts, he -enjoyed seeing her bloom in her own way under his hands. He felt -something of the cool intoxication of the artist before his work when it -has achieved independent life. - -“You are my most beautiful picture,” he would whisper. “I sometimes -imagine I have done it myself.” - -The time was far away when he had lain in the shadow of Death looking at -her with a beggar’s eyes. Percy Hill forgot things easily. - -It was the evening of a clear and brilliant October day. The whitewashed -walls no longer dazzled. Down in the patio of the small hotel two -Spanish matrons in black were sitting talking with phlegmatic fire. -Their talk flowed as musically and as monotonously as the little -spraying fountain in the marble basin. Hedvig and Percy had just -returned from a long drive towards the _vega_. The coolness of the -approaching autumn suited him wonderfully well. He stood leaning against -the window frame with his hands behind his head: - -“Today I feel quite aggressively alive,” he said. “Fancy if we should -have a child, Hedvig. A little girl. I would much rather have a girl -than a boy.” - -There was a slight touch of annoyance in his voice. - -Hedvig sat at her dressing table doing her hair. She felt a sudden -unpleasant shock. Strange as it may sound, she had up till that moment -not thought of the consequences of their life together, and not for a -moment had she thought of herself as a mother. She let slip the knot and -her black hair flowed again over her naked white shoulders. She sprang -up from the dressing table with a hard expression and frightened eyes: - -“I don’t want a child!” she cried. “Never, never!” - -Percy wondered at her vehemence. His smile grew hesitating: - -“Dear child, forget my nonsense. It is bad taste to foretell nature in -that way. I only meant that I should certainly find your condition -beautiful.” - -Hedvig had now calmed down again. She came up to him and stroked his -hair: - -“You must never talk like that, Percy,” she muttered. “You ... we have -no right to children ... they are for those who are healthy...” - -And her face had suddenly resumed the old expression of sisterly -resignation and self-sacrifice. - -Percy grew a shade paler. It seemed as if the climate had suddenly grown -more chilly. It seemed as if the light reflected by the white walls had -been reflected by snow. The sanatorium had followed even to Seville. - -“Forgive me, I forgot for a moment that I was an invalid,” he said. - -From that day Hedvig suffered constant anxiety lest she should have a -child. - -Woman’s egoism is more negative than that of a man—it is a real minus -quantity. For she reveals her sacrifice and her devotion in the very -lines of her body. Her whole body is a manifestation of generosity, a -splendid promise. From the day that her breasts fill out, invisible -childish lips grope round them. Within the sweet swelling lines of her -body and lips slumber the forces of regeneration. Her egoism is a -barrenness, a cowardly self-betrayal, for she betrays her own body and -she betrays the future... - -Of course Hedvig was convinced she had the noblest motives. Of course it -was the curse of heredity that frightened her. She did not admit even to -herself that she would have been still more frightened had he been a -healthy man, that it was her own body she was beginning to fear again -and this time not with a vague and indefinite fear as before. No, now -she knew what was at stake. At any moment there might begin to grow -within her a strange being that would feed on her blood, would tear her -body, would perhaps bring death to her. She grew cold with fear at the -least disquieting sign. She had moments of hatred of her husband. And -she began to behave with a meanness and nervous caution that deprived -their life of all its charm. - -Percy yielded. Probably it was criminal of him to hope for children. - -He did not see through his wife, or at least only half saw through her. -There were perhaps dark moments when he suspected the cowardly poverty -of her character, but people of his type do not pursue disagreeable -thoughts to the end. All the same Percy relapsed into a restless state. -He felt as if he had been exiled from the kingdom of peace and health of -which he had only had a glimpse. He left Seville and began to lead a -roving life in Spain and the south of France. Galleries, ruins, -mountains, waterfalls. It was the same old hunt for beauty! Several -times he tried to stay in one place and take up his paint brush again. -But these were only good intentions, interrupted by crises of -discouragement. Towards Spring they reached Paris, for which he had all -the time been longing. Percy settled in Montparnasse amongst the -Scandinavian painters and talked art with feverish and excited interest. -Here he suddenly fell victim to the modern extremists, to futurism, -cubism, naïvism and ultra-expressionism, on which he had formerly only -bestowed an ironic curiosity. It seemed as if his very refinement and -submissiveness had rendered him defenceless against the latest -brutalities. He began to buy the crudest objects. The strangest things -were sent to their studio on the Boulevard Raspail. There was a -“Portrait of a Lady,” consisting of four straight, black-green lines on -a pink ground. There was a picture called “Motion” which consisted of -four triangular fields containing parts of a woman’s leg and a -locomotive. - -Percy looked stealthily at Hedvig when with eager explanations and cold -enthusiasm he showed her these acquisitions. “I am not happy,” his look -said. “This kind of art is not for happy people. It is for those who -have something to avenge.” - -They were, as a matter of fact, so many reproaches flung in the face of -life because he was weak, enervated, sorely tried and without a future. - -Hedvig had suffered all the time from his new associates, among whom she -felt helpless and embarrassed. She was jealous of all the strange, -poisonous indecency that they called modern art. She stared silently at -the new monstrosities. Very well—he prefers all this to me, she thought. -It did not merely hurt her. She had also a strange, suppressed feeling, -never admitted, but nevertheless real, of becoming free, of slipping out -of his hands; a throbbing, secret, insolent feeling that anything was -possible. But with all this there immediately blended an anxious care, -an old frightened care as old as the Selambshof days, which stirred -within her every time he gave her expensive flowers, bought first-class -tickets or threw a big silver coin to a beggar. - -“What have you given for those pictures?” she asked defiantly. - -He mentioned a large sum, several thousand francs. And she went into her -own room with a pale face. - -From this time Hedvig began to insist on their going home. - -But Percy continued to buy modern art. Everything was not so provocative -as those first pictures. There were also pearls of bold but still -exquisitely tasteful expressionism. After running about all the day at -exhibitions and art dealers he sat down to drink his apéritif. He looked -out over the murmuring streams of humanity on the big boulevards, which -always make you feel that you are a poor little drop in the ocean and -may be washed away at any moment. But all the same there came into his -eyes a little look of anger. And he did not turn to Hedvig, who sat -there dressed in black looking stiff and disapproving, but to the young -painters round the table. It was strange how the air of Paris made him -free and independent: - -“It’s a pity it’s so damned banal to make a donation,” he exclaimed. -“But a poor wretch like me has no other way out. I have no children. I -won’t live very much longer. I am an end and not a beginning like you -boys. My money has no personal future. But if I add a wing to my little -art gallery and fill it with first-class explosive matter and then -present the whole splendour to the nation or rather to the city, yes, to -Stockholm, then I shall at any rate have sown the seeds of a little -healthy restlessness in their minds. And a little help to you fellows. -And I shall have erected a little monument to myself in the usual -dishonest but generally approved way. The Hill Collection! What do you -think of that idea?” - -They grew excited round the table: - -“We must thank you, of course! But why don’t you do something yourself? -You can, Percy! You are no bourgeois! Why don’t you stick it out?” - -Hedvig had been sitting all the time silent and forbidding. At Percy’s -unexpected mention of an endowment she suddenly felt a cold shiver of -anger. She rose quickly: - -“You all seem to forget that Percy is ill,” she said. “He must not be -rushed. He is much too excited here in Paris. Shan’t we go back home -now, Percy?” - -The young painters felt a little nervous of Mrs. Hill, of her -aristocratic air, her dark nun-like beauty. Silence fell around the -table. Percy rose with his little, absent-minded, apologetic smile: - -“Yes, there you see, gentlemen,” he said. - -And then they left. - -At last Hedvig succeeded in making her husband leave Paris, where it was -already beginning to be hot and dusty. There is always an element of -danger in the journey home for consumptives who have been living in the -south. In Stockholm there had been an unfortunate relapse in the late -spring, with storm and icy rain. Percy had to go to bed at once and -Hedvig was again his nurse. He did not want the doctor. He had a real -horror of doctors and Hedvig did not insist on calling one in. She took -great care that he should not be exposed to tiring visits of old artist -friends and she nursed him with quite, inexhaustible energy. There was -no more talk of the great donation and Hedvig began to feel a certain -deep calm. - -But one fine day Percy got up in spite of all her protest and in spite -of his not having quite a normal temperature. And the following morning -an architect arrived. The two men walked round the house, drew, measured -and made a lot of calculations. - -“I want the drawings as quickly as possible,” Percy said at lunch. “I am -in a great hurry.” - -His eyes glowed and he had little red patches in his cheeks. - -The architect promised to do his best. - -Immediately afterwards the pictures began to arrive from Paris. Not only -those that Hedvig had already seen, but a whole lot of new ones. Percy -evidently had somebody down there buying for his account. - -Hedvig said nothing. She kept to herself, locked herself in, brooded and -scarcely answered when spoken to. - -Still more new pictures arrived, and Percy was busy with them the whole -day, studying them, and moving them from one crowded room to another. - -Then the plans were ready and the workmen arrived, a whole swarm of -them. They dug and blasted, laid foundations and built the walls. Percy -sat in an easy chair out in the sunshine and looked on. He was so eager -that he scarcely allowed himself time to eat. “This is my protest -against oblivion,” he thought. “I am building a house for my ashes. I am -building my own little pyramid....” - -He really imagined his ashes standing in a beautiful Japanese urn in a -corner of the Hill gallery. - -Towards autumn the roof was already on the new wing. Percy began to hang -the pictures at once. He could not even wait till the walls had dried. -He himself was not strong enough to move anything, but he sat in his -chair and gave orders to Ohlesson, the coachman, who had now become a -chauffeur. You could see even from Ohlesson’s back how he disapproved of -these awful novelties. Percy did not worry. Whenever he looked in at the -rooms containing examples of the older art, everything there seemed to -him strangely quiet and as it were covered over with a fine dust. His -taste was already brutalised by these strident colours and paradoxical -forms. He really needed strong food now, poor Percy. Fatigue sometimes -descended like a grey mist over his feverish zeal. He used these new -excesses as weapons against the deepening shadows. - -Hedvig walked about devoured by a silent consuming bitterness. Her -feelings were a strange compound of jealousy of his overpowering -interest in art and brooding anxiety at his wicked extravagance. This -donation seemed to her like a challenge, like a theft from one who had -sacrificed herself for him. Percy had allowed himself to be seduced, she -thought. He has no power of resistance. But she dared not speak openly -to him. She had a vague feeling that there was something within her that -she must not betray. That is why she never went beyond her increasingly -bitter reproaches that he overtired himself, and neglected himself. She -wore an expression as if the crêpe were already floating round her. Yes, -Percy thought sometimes that she assumed her widowhood in advance. There -was something sharp and nervous in his answer: - -“Why do you insist on wearing black?” he said. “I should understand you -much better in sealing wax red or sulphur green.” - -Her old method of holding him was no longer effective. Hedvig again -began to feel his lack of respect for illness as a personal insult. By -and by they almost quarrelled about Ohlesson, the chauffeur. Hedvig -began to drive into town every day in the car. Then Percy would have no -one to help him, she thought. Then he would be forced to rest. This made -her a little easier. One day she did something she had been tempted to -do for a long time. She ordered Ohlesson to drive to Selambshof. - -The avenue was full of yellow leaves. Several of the old trees had blown -down and there were ugly gaps as in a broken set of teeth. - -Peter sat in the office puffing at an unlit cigar and looking at his -papers. He had aged. He was bent, his face was flabby and yellow. Hedvig -stood before him as Laura had done once upon a time. She could not help -having been spoilt by so many beautiful and expensive things. For a -moment she shivered at the ugliness of her brother. But in her inmost -heart she tolerated him, had even a feeling of security in the presence -of something intimate and familiar. - -“Good-morning, Peter!” - -“Good-morning, Hedvig. So the elegant Mrs. Hill visits this remote spot. -Why this honour?” - -Hedvig did not answer but looked out through the window with an -expression of resignation. - -Peter wore a look of injured innocence which suited him perfectly: - -“Is it perhaps for the last dividends? Because Levy has long ago cashed -them.” - -Hedvig had, on Laura’s recommendation, appointed the lawyer Levy to look -after her personal estate, including her shares in Selambshof. And Peter -did not at all like the insolent supervision of the Jew. - -Hedvig shook her head. - -“I am anxious about Percy,” she mumbled. It sounded as if this -confession had been forced out of her by a thumbscrew. - -“Really, how—how is your lord and master, anyhow?” - -On Peter’s face there appeared a well-meaning grin of sympathy. He -summoned up all that was left of his former sentimentality, but it did -not reach beyond his expression. His eyes penetrated swiftly into her -very soul with a cold, familiar, insolently searching glance. “Aha, my -dear,” they seemed to say, “this business did not turn out so well as -you thought.” Hedvig, of course, stood in silent, dignified protest -against his every low thought. But all the same she enjoyed his -glance—something that groped blindly and stealthily in her vitals. - -“Percy is very bad,” she exclaimed in a kind of exaltation, “much worse -than he thinks himself. And he has quite lost his balance. He does -nothing but buy picture after picture, mad things that unscrupulous -people palm off on him. He is positively throwing away all he has! It is -such a dreadful shame!” - -Peter was playing with his pencil. He had never heard Hedvig say so much -at once before. - -“You mean that Percy ought to be under restraint,” he interrupted -calmly. “I am afraid that would be rather difficult.” - -“I shall have remorse all my life if I do nothing to help and protect -him.” - -Peter wanted to damp what he thought was unbusiness-like vehemence. - -“Pictures, you said ... but pictures can be good, almost as good as -shares. They give no dividend but they can rise a damned lot in value.” - -“No, not the pictures that Percy buys. He is being robbed by real -swindlers. And then he wants to give it all away to the State. But they -will never accept such rubbish. People will only laugh at us.” - -Peter was startled. A donation! This was damned serious. He rose -panting, walked up to Hedvig and poked his thumb into her arm: - -“You ... you ought to occupy Percy’s time a little more,” he leered. “So -that he won’t have any left for this nonsense. Why the devil are you so -black and white and beautiful as sin?... And have expensive pretty -frocks and all that sort of thing.... The chief thing is that Percy does -not commit any folly while he is still ... well, I mean that one can -always protest against a will....” - -There was a certain satisfaction in Peter’s grunts. He enjoyed saying -this kind of thing to an elegant lady in diamond rings and black silk. -There was a sort of luxurious revenge at last in being able to speak -straight out to Hedvig, the hypocritical Hedvig. - -His sister did not push him away. She smelled his breath, and the smell -of stale tobacco and of cheese on his old clothes. All the time she had -the same feeling in the pit of her stomach as one has when one sinks -rapidly in a lift. Now she had reached the bottom. She did not push him -away. She stood there with closed eyes without a trace of colour in her -face. She felt his shamelessness groping with coarse, hairy hands about -her reserve, her shyness, and her stealthy and lying fear. - -“How dare you!” she whispered in a low, hoarse voice, “how dare you say -anything so vile?” - -But his words stuck all the same. They crawled about, teemed and -multiplied within her. They stimulated her to action and emboldened her -gloomy heart. - -Hedvig staggered out of Peter’s hovel. She stood beneath the naked, -shivering maples on the soil of her bitter youth and of her long -humiliation. A dull consuming autumn restlessness ran through her blood. -The darkness of the main building attracted her suddenly as by some -secret hardening of her heart. The door stood ajar above the bank of -withering leaves on the steps. She entered. Everything was dim, dusty, -cold, stuffy. She wandered about the empty echoing corridors, turned the -creaking locks, stole through swarms of moths between the covered -mirrors and chairs and the windows which were specked with innumerable -dead flies. In her own room she sank with a groan on to the edge of the -old narrow bed of her girlhood. Memories of her poor, lonely, miserable -childhood rushed over her with renewed strength. She felt a wild self -pity, a kind of fury clawing her breast. But she liked to feel that -claw. That was why she was here. She drained the cup of pain to the last -drop with voluptuous bitterness. It gave her a right to revenge. - -When, as if under the pressure of a dangerous burden, Hedvig slowly -staggered out again it was only to pursue the past still further. She -strolled through the neglected, overgrown garden where the benches and -the paths were covered with dead stalks and the trees were already -robbed of their fruit. Here in the old pear tree beside the well there -was a big hole in which she used to hide her secrets—as a dog hides a -bone. There had lain for a long time a broken seal out of the smoking -room and a little ring with a green heart that she had taken from Laura. -In her thoughts she still obstinately defended this theft: “Had not -Laura broken her fine comb? And not given her anything in place of it!” -How quiet and self-possessed she had been as she sat there and Laura -searched for the ring, cried and stamped.... - -Hedvig cast a shy and searching glance around her. Then she quickly -pulled off her glove and pushed her hand down into the hole. Her arm had -grown plumper and it was a little difficult to reach the bottom. With -the tips of her fingers she felt something hard and managed to pull it -up. It was a little bottle with a death’s head and cross bones on it. -There was still something thick and brown at the bottom. It was a -souvenir of her confirmation. She had taken the bottle from the family -medicine chest after that affair with Brundin. In the darkness she often -ran down to feel it. It was death she fingered ... death ... - -Hedvig stared at the sluggish brown drops. “It was that struggle that -made a nurse of me,” she thought with sudden clear vision. “I had to -finger—death. I was a fool.” And seized by a wild mortification she -flung the bottle on the ground so that it was shattered into a thousand -pieces. - -Now Hedvig stepped through a broken-down hanging gate into a road, from -the rustling, leafy carpet of which there was reflected a strange, -sulphur yellow light which seemed like the very shimmer of putrefaction. -Not a human soul was visible. It seemed as if Peter had devoured the -whole population. Next she stood on the cliff by The Rookery where she -used to spy on Laura’s and Herman’s kisses. Oh, she could still feel her -burning mortification and her envy of her sister. Overhead the autumn -breeze soughed heavily in the dark pine tops. Out on the lake sudden -black gusts perturbed the surface as if in irresolute fury. But the -waves beat against the shiny green stones on the shore with short, sharp -onslaughts, already troubled by the thought of the moment when -everything would be frozen up. Hedvig suddenly lifted her hands as if to -ward off a blow. The thought that Percy would soon die, that she would -soon be alone again, rushed over her with a vehemence as never before. -Alas! to know a thing is one thing; to feel it in your heart and bones -is another thing. She felt a shivering fear of the old loneliness of -Selambshof. The autumn day, the decay all round her, the icy cold shadow -of death, suddenly awakened all the hunger in her blood. The memories -from Seville rose up before her flame-clear on this chilly northern -autumn day. Once more they swept away her cautious fears and her anxious -reserve. She had a savage pleasure in standing there in the cold wind -and letting loose all the black hot gusts.... - -And deep, deep down in her soul there was during all this seething -turmoil the consciousness that Peter had given his approval, that she -had the sanction of the Selamb family spirit for whatever might happen. -Without that she might never, never have undertaken this stimulating and -fateful excursion into the past.... - -They had late dinner at the Hills’. Hedvig came down in her black -Spanish dress, with her hair parted in the middle and a high comb under -the mantilla. She was as stiff as an image of a saint. But she had a -burning pallor, and there was fire in her alluring black eyes. - -The saint drank several glasses of wine. - -Percy sat mute. He did not take his eyes off her and trembled as if -before some overpowering phenomenon of nature. We are to begin again, he -thought. It was not dead. From the first moment he saw her there was no -thought of resistance in his mind. - -When they were sitting over coffee in the yellow twilight of the -intimate little anteroom she suddenly threw her arms round his neck and -kissed him. He no longer wondered how it had happened, or why it had -happened just then. He only revelled in his intoxication of joy, at once -awful and glorious. He had a strange feeling of starting on a journey -from which he would never return. - -During a long, silent, dark autumn night she drank his fever like a -fiery wine. She was the intoxicated nun officiating at the dark mass of -love. Never had Percy found her lips so greedy, so glorious and -unashamed. - -In the morning Hedvig played with Percy, as the cat plays with the -mouse. She stood there wonderfully naked in the pale sunlight from the -window. Never before had she been able to show herself to him thus. -There was in the very lines of her body something wild and virginal, a -shyness which made the sight of her nakedness a sort of breathless -sacrilege. Percy had the sensation of beholding a martyred girl who, -with her clothes torn from her body, awaits the fierce and hungry beasts -on the yellow sands of the arena. - -“Today I need some air,” she said, “but I don’t mind walking if you want -the chauffeur!” - -“May I not come with you?” whispered Percy from his pillows. He looked -so small in the big carved bed resembling a catafalque. “Could we not -take a long run into the country to look at the autumn.” - -That day Percy no longer spoke of his pictures, nor during the following -days either. Hedvig did not see him even glance at the new gallery. He -seemed to have grown afraid of his plans for farewell, his pyramid, the -urn for his ashes and all the rest of it. - -All Percy’s feelings had been transfused into a new, passionate love. -Day and night he wanted to be with Hedvig. Protected by her white limbs -he huddled together in the growing shadows and intoxicated himself in -the warmth of her presence. But it was a fatal intoxication. Love made -everything, even death, greater, more real, more terrible—. It seemed as -if strong hands had torn to pieces the bright artistically woven veil -that dilettantism had suspended between him and reality. He felt for -perhaps the first time in his life a deep fear. But then he only drank -the deeper from Hedvig’s unbroken life as if by doing so he might save -his own. And when he noticed that the intoxication consumed his strength -instead of increasing it then he drank deeper still in order to benumb -himself. - -But now it was Hedvig’s turn to steal into Percy’s picture galleries. -Yes, the rôles were strangely reversed. She positively felt attracted to -her former chamber of horror. She would stay there for a long time -staring around her. It was not that any artistic instincts had awakened -in her. It was not that she had begun to understand any of these new -paradoxes. No, but she imbibed courage from their impudent recklessness. -She deafened her conscience with their excesses. “Everything is -permitted,” that was what Percy’s pictures whispered into the ear of a -Selamb. - -Life and death soar strangely near each other in love. You give and take -with the same recklessness. Sacrifice and selfishness disport themselves -side by side. And just at the moment when the human egoism is nearest to -its dissolution it is sometimes most blindly cruel. - -During these weeks Hedvig loved Percy and killed him. There came a -moment when she began to be afraid to look into his face. But all the -same she could not find the strength to spare him. During the day she -invented many a cunning trick to escape seeing the truth. There was -something round his mouth and eyes which now and then filled her with a -cold terror, almost with hatred. It was the disease in him she hated. -She would feel fits of cruel invincible hunger for the moment when death -would at last strike its blow and no longer creep stealthily around -them. And all the same she loved him, loved for the first time in her -life with a kind of dim, wild abandon. So strange is the human heart. In -the midst of these fits she longed for the night, the darkness, the -great, teeming, blind darkness when she could once more draw him to her, -kiss him, drink up his fever. - -Sometimes Hedvig was seized by a kind of dark frenzy. Their love had -resembled a silent bitter struggle with death. Percy sank back with -perspiring temples. Convulsively, like, a drowning man, he would seize -her black hair and stare into her eyes, which he saw in spite of the -darkness and which seemed to him surrounded by pale little dancing -flames: - -“My beautiful angel of death,” he whispered. “My beautiful angel of -death.” And in his voice was a strange mixture of love, hopelessness -and, to the very last, playful irony. - -One such night there came a fresh hæmorrhage of the lungs. It was the -third, and Percy knew at once that it was the last. For several days he -lay there white and thin and faded away without any serious pain. The -winter had come early. The light from the snow on the pines lit up the -room just as in the sanatorium in Switzerland. The doctors had that -all-wise and important expression which always means that they are -completely powerless. Percy had recovered his little, wan, ironical, -submissive smile. He did not complain and did not seem to regret -anything. He smiled also to his wife without wondering at her -metamorphosis. - -Hedvig had turned nurse again. Silent, indefatigable, with the -expression of painfully heroic resignation of her profession she moved -silently about his bed. Not a word did they speak of what had passed -between them. They were like people who have become sober and who -scarcely suspect what they have done during their intoxication. - -Until one day Percy wanted to be carried out into the new gallery. - -At first Hedvig objected vehemently. He was not to be moved. He could -not bear the least movement. Only after persistent prayers did she give -in to his whim, but with an injured, worried expression. And she did not -leave him alone. Erect and rigid she stood on guard by his pillow in the -hall. - -Here the dying Percy lay amongst all his new art. A look of bitterness -and weariness fell across his face. He shivered a little. The walls -looked around him indescribably cold and unsubstantial. They seemed to -radiate cold and meaninglessness. The stiffness and perverse spasms of -the latest fashion in art gave him a terrible feeling of a blighted life -frozen in death. - -“They can never have had a fire here,” he mumbled, and crept right down -under the bedclothes. - -Hedvig was already prepared to have him carried back to the bedroom. But -then Percy caught a glimpse through his half-closed eyelids of a little -spring landscape, a hill with apple trees in bloom against white walls. -In the midst of all the frostiness he received a lovely impression of a -pure motive, of a simplicity that was full of meaning and of quiet -appealing beauty. And he remembered again his promises in Paris. They -again seemed to him important and binding. He took the picture with him -and had it placed at the foot of the bed when he was carried back into -his “crypt,” as he called his bedroom alcove. Tomorrow, he thought. -Tomorrow I will send for a lawyer and will arrange the matter. - -But the lawyer was not sent for. Percy had other things to dream about. -In the twilight Hedvig came and sat down on the edge of his bed. She had -been into town for a while, for the first time for weeks. She looked as -solemn as a priestess. And after a moment’s silence she told him that -she expected a child. - -Percy did not say much. He whispered thanks. Then he kissed her hand and -put it on his chest. And then he lay there trying to imagine that new -life that he would never raise up in his arms. But it was difficult to -feel that it was true. He could scarcely imagine Hedvig as a mother. He -had remorse because he did not feel this more deeply. He kissed her hand -again. - -Percy lived one week longer. He had several troublesome attacks of -suffocation after which he was seized by a death-like weakness. But as -soon as he had a clear moment Hedvig spoke to him of the child. It grew, -it developed, it lived in her consciousness. It was a boy and he was -called Percy. He was a little delicate, but handsome, with dark hair -like his mother’s, blue eyes like his father’s. Hedvig was no longer so -quiet. She spoke quickly, nervously, in short breathless sentences. It -seemed as if she had tried to put her own fear to sleep. She made a -convulsive and touching effort to keep death away with the last -resources of her womanhood. - -And still the whole thing was a lie. - -One winter morning when the snow lay thick on the ground Percy Hill died -in his wife’s arms. Something seemed to make him restless during his -last moments. It was not the child. No, he muttered something over and -over again about the lawyer ... the donation.... It sounded almost as if -he had wanted to force a promise from Hedvig. - -Truly pitiful was this hopeless appeal to her. - -Percy Hill died a dilettante. He had succeeded in completing nothing in -all his life. Not even a new will had he been able to draw up. There was -only the one that he had written the day they were married and in which -he left Hedvig everything. - -And there was no child born to him after his death. Hedvig had cheated -him. It was a lie of love. Yes, no doubt she believed that she lied to -console him, to sweeten his last moments and to make death easier. She -was perhaps quite unconscious of the terrible Selamb logic in the fact -that it was just on the very day that Percy began to be interested in -his donation again that her fiction about an heir escaped her. - -Exhausted by vigils and anxiety Hedvig collapsed after Percy’s death. -For several days she lay unconscious. Not one of those who arranged for -the funeral knew any of Percy’s old artist friends. So the strange thing -happened that he was driven out to Lidingö cemetery together with Peter, -Stellan and an old gouty sea-captain from Gothenburg, whom he had never -seen in his life. - -Hedvig mourned him sincerely. As soon as she could stand up she hurried -out to his grave. For months not a day passed without her paying it a -visit. A rigid figure in black, she stood there under the snowcovered -trees staring at his grave. Did she ask his pardon for her lie, for not -laying his ashes in an urn in the Hill gallery? Did she fall back upon -memories of their love, sensuous memories? Did she only try to fill an -aching void with the foolish illusion of physical proximity? I don’t -know, but it is a fact that the tears often came to her eyes. Hedvig -cried, the tearless Hedvig.... - -Then she returned home to conferences with Levy, who was making the -inventory. Percy had an old-established, solid fortune. He had only been -obliged to sell an insignificant part of it in order to realize his -dreams of a gallery. There was a cold, numb pleasure in hearing the -clever Jew descant on funds, interest, dividend warrants and -investments. It seemed as if the very soul of gold had spoken to her -with glib tongue and beautiful though ironically curled lips. After a -time she began to understand with a feeling of secret, refreshing joy -how rich she really was. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IV - - +THE COLD MOMENT+ - - -There was a charity fête at the Athletic Ground. The quadrille on -horseback and the bicycle race were over and now people thronged round -the tombola and the stalls. - -Stellan did not look up at the sky when he stepped out into the saddling -yard. He did not give a thought to the balloon whose gigantic yellow -silk bubble was already beginning to swell out and shimmer in the cool -September sunshine. No, his looks searched anxiously amongst the -scattered groups of spectators outside the ring of guard. And he -suddenly muttered a half-suppressed oath at the sight of Peter who, -furious and massive as a bull, bore down on him from his ambush. He -awaited the attack in the most deserted spot he could find. And a -certain weariness appeared in the hard lines of his mouth: - -“You have become damned difficult to find,” panted Peter. But Stellan -was already prepared with a smile. It is strange that smiles can thrive -so many degrees below freezing point. - -“You can meet me as much as you like when you have got decent -clothes—and a decent face....” - -Peter was unshaven. His overcoat dated from the fat and sentimental -period. It now hung on him like a sack. His barge-like shoes were -covered with the dirt of the bad roads of Selambshof and he had in his -hand, not a stick but a cudgel. And he shook the cudgel and struck the -ground with it: - -“You are damned smart, you are! But if I take everything this fine -gentleman possesses perhaps he won’t be quite so smart. Tomorrow I want -my seventy-five thousand, or else I’ll make you bankrupt!” - -Stellan still smiled. He pointed to the balloon and his tone became -exquisitely ironical: - -“Come up with me and then we can talk business.” - -Peter looked with a ludicrous expression of suspicion and disapproval on -the expensive and dangerous ascent in which his seventy-five thousand -would soar heavenwards: - -“If you were at least decently insured,” he sighed. Then he suddenly -grew furious again and shouted, so that he was overheard by the people -round about them: - -“I must have the money tomorrow. I won’t wait any longer.” - -Stellan grew pale and came close up to his brother. It was as if he were -abusing some obstinate labourer: - -“You lout! You want to get hold of my last share in Selambshof! But I -have already put them up another spout. Curse you, there are better and -bigger creditors than you! Yes, I have nothing but debts, so my position -is really excellent. The only hope for the creditors is that the bubble -won’t burst. But do you think it will improve matters for a shabby old -moneylender to come and hang on to my coat tails just as I am going up? -No, get away and keep quiet and I will show you something to make you -think.” - -Stellan suddenly had an idea. He pushed aside the astonished and -hesitating Peter without further ceremony and went straight towards the -steps of the tennis pavilion. - -There Miss Lähnfeldt was standing amidst a group of uniforms and allowed -Manne von Strelert to pay her his court. Both had taken part in the -quadrille on horseback and she was dressed in riding breeches, which at -that time was something quite new and bold, and she stood there amongst -all the men, slim and slight, but with her head held high and with a -proud carriage. - -Stellan ploughed his way through the group. Not a feature betrayed what -kind of conversation he had just passed through. The lines round his -mouth were gay and slightly cruel. He saluted, kissed her hand, and said -aloud, so that everybody round them should hear: - -“Miss Lähnfeldt, do you remember I promised you a sensation? Come up -with me today.” - -Miss Lähnfeldt wanted to appear a sportwoman. She cultivated to the best -of her ability the Anglo-Saxon style. Thanks to persistent and expensive -training she had really developed her little strength until she was -considered a bold rider and a fairly good tennis player. She did not -answer Stellan at once, but bit her lip and cast a glance at the -officers round her. But Manne protested. One had no right to tempt -charming ladies into the clouds, he thought. Charming ladies might get -dizzy.... - -Stellan looked gratefully at Manne, certain that his words would only -egg her on. She was not a coward, or at least she was more vain than she -was afraid. And a crowd is a bellows to vanity. Elvira Lähnfeldt was one -of those women who are excited by a crowd. The thought of some kind of -notoriety always occupied her thoughts. In every crowd the desire to be -noticed, spoken of, praised and envied, worked like a stinging poison in -her veins. When she now looked at the group around her it was in order -to measure the effect of the proposal! It would surely create a -sensation if she went up, a real sensation.... - -She did not say “yes” straight out. She answered by the eternal feminine -question: - -“But what shall I put on?” - -“My military fur coat,” said Stellan. “Besides, your riding costume is -most suitable. But come along, it is twelve o’clock and the people are -waiting.” - -She took his arm and they stepped out into the open space. The group -behind them applauded. Manne was teased at the cavalry being -outdistanced by the air force. There were several people there who were -interested in seeing the two friends’ position improved. The balloon was -already filled. Stellan turned away a poor journalist who had had half a -promise to be allowed to go up with him, and amidst a murmur of surprise -from the crowd he lifted Miss Lähnfeldt very chivalrously over the edge -of the gondola. But he did not give the order to let go at once. He did -not grudge his partner a few moments of exquisite joy in the polite and -encouraging exclamations of the gentlemen and the little cries of alarm -from her lady friends. - -Then the attendants let go the ropes and the balloon rose. There was a -flutter of white handkerchiefs from the dark group below in the grey -oval of the cycle course. - -As you know, one need not rise very high before everything down below -looks small. - -“What mites,” said Miss Lähnfeldt. And her voice sounded a little -malicious. - -Stellan cast a side-glance at her in order to gauge the effect of the -increasing depth beneath them. She looked down with an expression which -seemed to say; “This is nothing much.” - -“Wait a bit, my dear,” thought Stellan. “You will get as much as you can -stand.” He had already made up his mind that this would not be a -pleasure trip, but an adventure. - -The wind was west south-west. The balloon had not had time to rise much -before they were out over Lidingön. Below him Stellan saw the shining -green roof of the Hills’ villa. - -Hedvig ... yes, he would have to try there too if everything else went -wrong. If only Percy had been alive.... But Hedvig alone, no, there -wasn’t much chance.... - -The balloon began to sink very suddenly. One must always be careful when -passing over forests, where the air is warmer and lighter. But Stellan -purposely neglected to cast out any ballast till they almost swept over -the tops of the trees. That was a trick that used to impress beginners. -Stellan looked again at his partner. She was perhaps a little paler than -before and held on a little more tightly to the edge of the gondola. But -if he had hoped for any frightened screams and looks of anxious appeal -he was doomed to disappointment. - -“The balloon must manœuvre badly,” she said. - -Stellan flung out ballast, perhaps more than was necessary and they rose -quickly into silent and radiant space over the bright and dazzling -autumn coast landscape. It was really wonderfully beautiful with the -spray of gold that the leafy trees made amongst the dark pines and the -deep solemn September blue of the water in the bays—which to the -far-penetrating gaze of those above shivered in iridescence of -algæ-green, seaweed-brown and shimmering gneiss-red nearer inshore in -the shallower water. In a narrow smooth belt of calm water a toy steamer -drew behind it a silver shimmering fan of dwarf-like waves. And far away -in the east along the strangely banked up horizon the sea stretched like -a low endless blue ridge. - -But most wonderful of all was the silence and the stillness, the -incomparable, mighty calm in a balloon that moved with the wind and in -which a candle flame would burn as steadily as in a closed room. - -“Strange ... it is like sitting in a glass cupboard,” said Miss -Lähnfeldt in a low voice and there was after all involuntary admiration -in her voice. But then she added: “Though I must say I thought it would -be more exciting....” - -Stellan bit his lip: he was not in the mood for enjoying anything -beautiful just now. He felt like a stage manager who is responsible for -effect before a critical and spoilt public. He thought of Peter, his -affairs, marriage—without any enthusiasm for the last.... He felt almost -hostile to the woman by his side. Her affected indifference irritated -him. He could not manage to pay her any sort of attention. He felt like -a partner who dances out of time and has nothing to whisper into his -partner’s ear. Annoyed, he tapped the barometer. It sank, though the -balloon was sinking slowly. It was already three o’clock in the -afternoon. The sun suddenly disappeared. Behind them in the west the sky -was clouded. The air began to grow a cold, whitish grey, and clouded -over, they no longer saw the earth below them. In an incredibly short -time they had become enveloped in a dense cloud. - -Stellan did not descend, as was his duty with an approaching storm when -he was so near the sea. He was a desperado. Miss Lähnfeldt was going to -have an experience, that was all. He threw out several sacks of ballast, -which disappeared in long brown streaks in the fog below them. - -His manœuvring was not quite planless. He had observed that the wind in -the upper strata was several degrees more southerly and he began to -think of the Åland islands. - -Now they were suddenly out in the sunshine again, in the cold dazzling -sunlight over an enormous shimmering sea of cloud. They soared alone in -a dazzling white, ever changing, chaos of snow mountains and lakes of -fog—millions of years before human life existed.... - -“I have seen this before in Switzerland,” said Miss Lähnfeldt shivering -with cold. - -The balloon had risen rapidly and lost much gas. It soon began to sink -again through the cloud world, which now grew grey. When it cleared up -below them they were already out over a nasty grey, white-crested sea. A -very strong wind was blowing. - -Then the first feminine exclamation escaped from Miss Lähnfeldt: - -“But, good heavens, how shall we get back?” - -Stellan bowed for the first time with a polite and amiable smile: - -“By steamer,” he said. “We will sleep at Mariehamn tonight.” - -As a matter of fact he was not so sure of it. The wind higher up had -evidently been a few degrees more in the west than he had counted on. In -its present quarter they would pass south of Åland. But the storm lower -down might draw them south ... otherwise ... well what otherwise? Well, -otherwise they would go to hell.... - -What does a man like Captain Stellan Selamb feel when he mutters to -himself that he might “go to hell”? Nothing really. He has never -properly conceived death. His egoism is so hard and polished that the -thought of death slips off everywhere. - -If you want an opinion of a man, try to find out his views of death. -Death comes _in_ life and not _after_ life. And it is what happens in -life that makes us really alive. What else are we but our conception of, -our defiance of, our struggle against, and our victory over, death? Yes, -because there is a real, a living courage which conquers death.... - -Stellan had the gambler’s courage. It is always better than cowardice. -But it is really very superficial. A hard frozen surface with no -resilience beneath. Clear but shallow thoughts that have never -penetrated to the depths of life. An inner reflection of a blind, -pitiless Fate.... How much of the courage that meets us in the wild and -bloody history of the world is not of this kind? The great gamblers! -Minds and souls are only cards to them, playing cards or trumps in the -wild gamble of politics and war. They only know themselves even as -trumps in the game. Even their own terrible egoism is really only a -mirage. For death has not made them alive.... - -The balloon drove eastwards with the gale. Stellan sailed low and saved -his ballast. In the north they could see Åland and Lernland and -Lumparland. The waves washed heavily in the apparent stillness around -them. They were sinking lower and lower. The last sack of ballast went -over. The balloon began to shrink round the valve. There must be a -leakage. Now a giant roaring wave attempted to grab the gondola. - -Stellan had to throw out everything loose, the ballast sacks themselves, -ropes, fur coats, stethoscopes and barometer. He used the momentary -respite to assist Miss Lähnfeldt up into the rigging where she sat as on -a trapeze and held on to the cordage. She was very pale and looked as if -she might faint any moment, so he thought it best to make her fast. - -“This is abominable,” she mumbled, as if she had been exposed to some -clumsiness on the part of a vulgar partner. But she did not whimper. - -They swept in over the breakers and rocks of the wild and deserted -skerries of Kökars. The gondola was already trailing in the water, and -the balloon began to swing and jerk to and fro. Stellan also climbed up -into the rigging. He took the anchor with him. With violent jerks they -trailed over a stony rocky island on the skerries. Then again they were -carried over an empty roaring bay. But now the wind had really turned -into the south and there was some wooded country ahead of them. Stellan -cut away the gondola, as it made the balloon dip. Then it rose for the -last time. They sat as in a swing over the surging water. Phew! now they -were rushing in towards the land. A jetty and a few red-painted -outhouses were visible in the grey twilight. Stellan dropped anchor in a -damp marshy meadow so that the balloon might trail a little and reduce -speed. It caught in an alder with a terrible jerk. Quick as lightning he -tore open one of the gores—and the balloon partly fell and was partly -flung down into a copse of young birches. - -Stellan freed himself at once. He hastened to drag out his fellow -passenger from below the torn, flapping and billowing balloon cloth. She -had fainted.... - -Some people came running up and he made them carry her in. They had had -the luck to land just beside a country house. Then he rushed to the -telephone and arranged for telegrams.... - -Miss Lähnfeldt lay ill for a few days, till Stellan one day stepped in -to her with a bundle of Swedish newspapers full of highly coloured -descriptions of the unique and adventurous balloon flight of the -well-known tennis player and rider, Miss Lähnfeldt. - -For the first time she looked at Stellan with gratitude and approval. - - * * * * * - -Stellan was invited to the autumn shoot at Trefvinge. He gave a low -whistle when he saw the name of Miss Lähnfeldt and not her father on the -invitation card. He understood that the invitation was from her and not -from her father. - -But he also whistled, though in another key, when he heard from the -coachman that Captain von Strelert had already arrived. For it was -equally evident that Manne, Baron Manne von Strelert was the guest of -the Count. - - * * * * * - -Count Lähnfeldt had, as a matter of fact, been extremely angry over his -daughter’s rash action. Busybodies, of course, telephoned at once to -Trefvinge to tell him that his daughter had gone up in a balloon with -Captain Selamb. In a balloon! It seemed almost indecent to him. He could -not remember any really aristocratic ladies who had gone up in a -balloon. And with that Captain Selamb into the bargain! From Selambshof -... brother of Peter Selamb...! - -When, later in the day, there came a telephone message from Furusund -that the balloon had been driven out to sea in the gale, then he -regarded the information as a confirmation of his view that Captain -Selamb was not the sort of gentleman that the daughter of Count -Lähnfeldt should go up in the air with. He was so extremely vexed that -he scarcely felt any anxiety for the life of his only child. - -Towards evening he calmed down a little when he received a wire that -they had landed at a quite respectable Finnish-Swedish country house. -And when the following day he read in the papers of the brave and -sporting action of a lady moving in the highest circles, and of the -courage and the self-control of Miss Lähnfeldt, daughter of the -well-known Count Lähnfeldt of the magnificent seat at Trefvinge, well, -then he thought at last that perhaps his daughter’s eccentricity had -something aristocratic in it after all. - -But from that admission to the approval of Captain Selamb as in any sort -of capacity suitable company for his daughter was a long step,—So far -Stellan had not yet come, in spite of his well arranged stage management -and press advertisement. It was therefore with measured dignity and a -rather chilly expression that the Lord of Trefvinge received him. And -this occurred in the largest and most splendid room of the castle, the -great tapestry hall, which might well have subdued even the boldest. - -“Good-morning, Captain Selamb! My daughter is just dressing for a ride -with Baron von Strelert.” - -“Yes, I heard that Manne had promised to come for a few days,” answered -Stellan in a light, almost insolent, tone. He read the master of the -house quite clearly, so clearly indeed that he sometimes was afraid of -not being able to keep a straight face. - -Count Lähnfeldt was a very short man, in spite of the high heels and -extra soles on his shoes. He had an extremely neat face. His words and -his gestures were dignified, slow, and heraldically stiff. But his eyes -showed a continual nervousness, the nervousness of the actor: “Do I make -an impression—do you believe in me?” they seemed to say. - -Alas, nobody believed at all in him. People made most impudent fun of -him behind his back. He was generally called Count _Loanfeldt_, and the -reason was known to everybody. - -The owner of Trefvinge was the son of an unmarried actress, but whilst -still very young he married the extremely wealthy widow of a brewer, who -died when his only daughter was born. The title of Count was Portuguese. -He had received it from King Charles, of the house of Bragança, after -having on a certain delicate occasion lent him a hundred thousand -crowns. This happened in Vienna whilst the monarch was still only Crown -Prince. Lähnfeldt, who had quite early begun to imagine that his unknown -father was a high-born aristocrat, did everything to correct the unjust -fate that had given him a plebeian name, and when travelling he always -used to try to come into contact with royalty. And now he had managed to -procure rooms at the hotel adjoining the suite of the Crown Prince, -Charles. It struck him at once that the Crown Prince received a lot of -people who did not behave with becoming reverence at all. When he -questioned the porters, he shrugged his shoulders. The callers were -simply creditors. A gentleman of his Highness’ suite had gambled away -all the funds, and for some incomprehensible reason no money arrived -from home. He could not even pay his hotel bill. - -Herman Bogislaus Lähnfeldt needed no more. He decided to intervene at -once for the salvation of the monarchic principle. Bowing, he stepped up -to the Crown Prince Charles and begged that an old admirer of the house -of Bragança might be allowed to hand over to its present august -representative an humble gift of a hundred thousand crowns to be used -for some charitable purpose. - -The Crown Prince received the cheque with an amazed but gracious smile. - -About half a year later, Lähnfeldt received two large letters with seals -of State and Portuguese stamps. One contained an account of the use to -which his money had been put in an Orphanage in Lisbon, the other letter -contained the letters patent of his title. - -He rushed down to Lisbon and threw himself at the feet of the newly -crowned King Charles. Then he rushed home again to buy an estate as a -background to his new dignity. And now he sat here at Trefvinge, the -ancestral home of the Oxenstierna family, and tried to fill out the -magnificent frame. - -Such was Count Lähnfeldt’s history. - -He had one great grief. The title was not hereditary. Already in -Elvira’s childhood he would look at the little plebeian with compassion -and melancholy. And when she grew up his only hope lay in a suitable -marriage for her. - -“You must marry, Elvira,” he preached. “If you don’t marry you will -remain plain ‘Miss’ all your life.” - -But it had not pleased Miss Elvira to marry yet. She was already nearing -thirty. Some suitors she had turned away herself, others had withdrawn -of their own accord, to the great astonishment of all but the initiated. - -Neither Stellan nor Manne belonged to the initiated. But both were in -such miserable circumstances. And they knew only too well each other’s -business at Trefvinge. All the same, they kept countenance when they met -out in the sunshine on the steps, at least Stellan did. Manne was not -quite so happy. The poor boy had of course arrived first at the mill but -it hurt him all the same to stand in the way of an old friend. So he -cast timid and remorseful glances at Stellan when he helped Miss Elvira -into the saddle. - -She, on the other hand, seemed in excellent spirits this morning. - -“Come on, Captain Selamb,” she said with a little side-glance at her -father. “Cæsar II is free. We are riding towards the sand pit.” - -Stellan’s voice sounded cold: - -“Thank you, but I am too much handicapped.” - -She shrugged her shoulders and gave her black mare a light cut with her -whip. But Manne sat still and looked as if he could not get going. -Stellan was cruel enough to wave a glove, with a meaning wink, to remind -his friend of his faithlessness to “The Glove.” - -Never before in his life had Manne looked so lost on horseback. He -suddenly set his bay to a gallop and followed his companion, who was -already disappearing through the park gates. - -Stellan had settled on an entirely different plan of action to Manne. He -had made up his mind to be indifferent to Miss Lähnfeldt so as to excite -her spirit of contradiction, and to try to win the father instead. For -that reason he at once began to display immense interest in the history -of the castle. Faithfully and indefatigably he accompanied the Count, as -he rattled out a whole armoury of dates, and roamed around like a parody -of greatness in the many splendid apartments. Patiently he sat for hours -in the library amongst peerages, pedigrees, genealogies, and -Gotha-almanacs and listened to the anecdotes of the lord of the castle. -Count Lähnfeldt knew every anecdote concerning a prince.... Then they -walked outside and down the steps, and Stellan duly admired the -Oxenstierna coat of arms cut in sandstone over the proud Renaissance -doorway. He sat with a becoming thrill of reverence on the seat round -the giant oak which Axel Oxenstierna had planted with his own hand and -in the shadow of which the Count, like the previous owners of the -castle, used to sit and marvel at “the small amount of wisdom that the -world is ruled with” and grow horrified at the tendency of the time to -level us all “like pigs’ feet.” Stellan was surprised at himself that he -need not sit silent at the feast but was also able to say something -about Oxenstierna. The moment before he had not suspected his knowledge. -It had been the same at school long ago when lazy Stellan always knew an -answer after all. Perhaps it was some kind of thought reading.... - -The Count by and by worked himself up into stammering enthusiasm. -Oxenstierna! Oxenstierna! It sounded as if he were speaking of his own -ancestor. Well, who knows if he had not some such thoughts. Then he took -Stellan’s arm and drew him to the small Chapel, of which he had the -patronage, whose white-washed gable shone under the yellowing birches on -the other side of the garden wall. He took the rather large key of the -crypt out of a case he always carried in his pocket, and staggered in -front of Stellan down into the dusky vault. And over the richly carved -oak and copper coffins he mumbled reverently a string of names of which -most were well known in history, and stopped at last in front of a -gigantic open coffin of porphyry, the lid of which was leaning against -the wall. - -“This,” he said, caressing the carvings on the lid, which depicted a -bear with a little child on its back, “is the Lähnfeldt coat of arms. -And here I shall one day rest my weary bones.” - -You could hear from his tone that death had lost its bitterness for him -since he would enter such distinguished company. - -After all this the Count was a little tired, and, excusing himself on -the plea of important correspondence, he went up to take his little -snooze before dinner, just like any ordinary human being. - -Stellan wandered about alone with his hands behind his back in the -stately park of Trefvinge. Around him this September day he heard from -the high tree tops a sharp sound, as from an over-tense string. In the -clear transparent air a dry leaf floated slowly down to his feet with a -fine even motion. It was a motion as symmetrical and regular as the -shape of the leaf itself. He pondered for a moment on the static -problem. Then it struck him that even in his youth he had felt irritated -that wealth and secure luxury should chase shadows and idle fancies in -order to obtain a little excitement. He suddenly shivered with a light -but penetrating dread. He realised here in the silence of the park in a -way that he had never done before, that he, Stellan Selamb, was on the -verge of ruin. “If I don’t succeed in this,” he thought, “there is no -other way out than the revolver....” - -Stellan stood there with twitching face and a queer helpless movement of -his right hand. What was the matter, were his nerves already giving way? -“Well, of course, one does not lead a life like mine without being -punished for it,” he muttered. “Strange that it comes like this in the -stillness and not in the balloon out there over the sea, for -instance....” - -He took a few steps but halted again suddenly amongst the sunny patches -on the hard dry road. The thought that she, Elvira Lähnfeldt, was now -riding by Manne’s side irritated him like a noxious poison. He saw her -suddenly in the light of anxious and trembling hope. He saw her as she -had sat in the sunshine, light, straight, elegant on her nervous jet -black horse. Her assurance and her recklessness were thorns in his side. -For a moment he found her really beautiful and desirable in her cool -refinement. The brittle, overstrung elements in her character seemed to -him to be in wonderful harmony with the beautiful autumn day. Fancy if -he might lead a calm and exquisite life together with this child of -luxury and taste with her the joys of a satisfied ambition! Even the -thought of her secret infirmity seemed to him at this moment an -additional refinement, a promise of a painless, concentrated life of -pleasure. - -Stellan pulled himself up as if at a word of command. “Damn it, I am not -falling in love, I hope,” he thought. But the next moment his thought -was: “No, dash it all, the fact is I have not slept for several nights!” -He struck his leg with his stick: “Keep cool! If you get sentimental, -all is lost. She is nothing but a whimsical and obstinate child and you -must conquer her through her whims and her obstinacy.” - -For a moment Stellan felt his head swim and the ground give way under -his feet. This made him doubly reckless. Partly from a kind of cruel -sensuousness and partly to give himself courage, he began in imagination -to undress her and lay bare her infirmity. “It is not the softest women -who are the weakest,” he thought. “With all her arrogance and all her -sport she is really a poor, delicate, and enfeebled creature. She is -suffering from the disease of wealth, the sapping of strength of those -who do not need to do anything for their living. And she can’t have -children. The future is cut out of her body. Whence can she derive any -strong instincts difficult to conquer? No, she is really a very easy -victim to one who is wise and reckless....” - -Stellan already smiled to himself. “No, my dear Manne, you are too good -natured,” he thought. “Even from behind one can see when you are -lying....” - -Then he hurried in to dress for dinner. - -The evening of that same day, Stellan and Manne were standing out in the -moonlight on the narrow balcony that ran outside their two rooms on the -first floor. The host and hostess had already withdrawn and everything -was quiet in the big house behind them. - -Stellan scrutinized his old friend. Manne’s face was pale over his big -white shirt front. There was really not much left of the old -irrepressible Manne von Strelert. - -“The old man isn’t exactly exciting,” Stellan mumbled, pointing with his -thumb towards the house. Manne answered with unusual vehemence: - -“Why can’t he realize that he is behind the times with his aristocracy! -That sort of thing originated in the middle ages, damn it all! And how -he chews my poor ‘Baron.’ Heavens above, it makes me wish I were a -grocer.” - -Stellan was amazed that Manne should get excited so easily. He felt a -strange cold satisfaction and continued pitilessly: - -“My dear Manne, you have not much respect for your prospective -father-in-law.” - -Manne started as if he had been struck. He was unguarded and had no -repartee ready. He put his hand on Stellan’s arm and mumbled almost -tenderly: - -“Stellan ... don’t let us talk about that any more....” - -For a moment they stood silent, looking out into the blue shimmering -night which was full of small fluttering creatures. Below them the apple -trees in the orchard were bowed down with fruit. Further away a thin -veil of mist lay over a meadow in which were some grazing cows whose -white spots shone like newly washed clothes in the moonlight. And beyond -the bright edging of yellow reeds the bay of Lake Mälar lay dreaming -with a narrow silver streak upon it that leapt into life when a breeze -passed. Still further there were reflections of the moon constantly -appearing and disappearing where the water seemed to repose as calm as a -mirror but was all the same stirred by a faint ground swell. - -The whole atmosphere seemed full of the delicious coolness of rich ripe -fruits, and full of the peace and calm of possession and ownership. - -“Fancy that there are people who lead quiet and happy lives,” mumbled -Manne. - -Stellan imitated his tone: - -“Yes, why are we not innocent vegetarians, feeding on carrots and -staring at the moon.... Nonsense! Manne! Nonsense! There are people who -lead dull lives, and people who don’t. Let us as long as possible belong -to the latter! Now is the hour of lovers and gamblers.” - -He suddenly made a gesture embracing the castles and the acres of -Trefvinge. - -“Look here, Manne, all this that seems so safe and still—shall we cut -through the pack for it tonight?” - -When these words escaped Stellan he had still no second thought. It -looked as if Manne did not at first understand what he meant. He -remained silent for a long time, but then he mumbled too: - -“Yes. Let’s cut for it.” - -There was a strange dull note of relief in his voice. It was as if his -friend had relieved him of the burden of willing and choosing for -himself. - -Thoughts flashed quick as lightning through Stellan’s brain. It was now -that he began to feel a strange assurance that he would somehow win. His -words came quick, like rapier thrusts: - -“I have an unopened pack of cards with me. We will simply back our luck. -He who draws the highest heart stays. The other leaves early tomorrow -morning on the clear understanding that he does not intend to come -back.” - -Manne was paler than ever and had a vacant look in his eyes: - -“Right you are!” - -Stellan ran inside to his room and searched for the cards. The lamp was -not lit. He had to search for a long time in his suit case. Meanwhile he -was thinking swift as lightning. “Manne must not draw the highest -heart,” he thought, “No, not this time. For then all is over with -me....” The shiver and the dizziness he had felt in the park returned. -“No, Manne must not draw the highest card....” At last he found the pack -of cards, picked it up with trembling hands and pressed his thumb nail -hard into the edge of the ace of hearts as it peeped out through the -round hole in the wrapper. There must be quite a noticeable mark on the -other side ... Stellan had not premeditated this, had never before done -anything of the kind. He felt something approaching surprise. - -“Well, that is what we Selambs do,” he muttered to himself. Quickly he -went back to Manne’s room and flung the pack on the table: - -“You open the pack and shuffle!” - -Manne took up the pack and shuffled slowly, almost indifferently. -Stellan sat down opposite him. - -“We must avoid misunderstandings,” he said. “The two is lowest and the -ace highest, isn’t that so?” - -“Good!” - -With a gesture indicative of long practice Manne spread the cards out -fan-like on the polished surface of the mahogany table: - -“You draw first, as I shuffled.” - -Stellan’s eyes looked searchingly at the fan for the marked card. No, he -could not see it. He must gain time. He opened his cigarette case: - -“Let us smoke a cigarette together, before we draw. It will be the most -exquisite cigarette we ever smoked together. A cigarette with Fate....” - -“All right!” - -The cigarettes were finished. Stellan had to draw. Now he saw the ace on -the extreme right. The little mark on the back of the card was -noticeable in a tiny reflection from the lamp. Stellan had a feeling of -being lifted off the floor, of soaring. But he did not dare to draw the -ace at once. That would have looked too strange. He had to minimize the -risk. - -“Look here, Manne,” he said, smilingly. “Supposing I draw a low heart -straight off and you draw a club. Then it would be sudden death. That -would be idiotic extravagance with our precious excitement. We will -continue to draw till each of us has at least one heart and after that -the highest wins.” - -“All right,” said Manne. His tone had become more and more obviously -indifferent. - -Stellan drew the nine of clubs. He saw Manne’s hand hovering over the -cards with cold excitement. But it stopped at the harmless end and drew -the ace of spades. - -Next draw. Not even now could Stellan make up his mind to take the ace -of hearts. He drew a card beside it, thinking that Manne, in obedience -to some psychological law, would try his luck at the other end. He drew -the two of clubs. - -Manne drew the knave of hearts. A cry escaped him. It sounded as if he -had hurt himself. - -Stellan had not drawn a heart yet. Now he had to take it. He felt -strangely frightened. It seemed as if he were about to put his hand into -somebody else’s purse. He felt as if all his fellow officers were -sitting round him staring at his fingers. “No, damn it, what am I really -doing,” he thought. Then he pulled himself together. “Bah—you must throw -out ballast—keep afloat. And nobody knows!” - -He turned up the ace. - -Manne leaned back in his chair with a little tired smile, a smile of -sad, weary, pathetic relief. - -“Congratulations,” he muttered, “congratulations. Fate was right that -time, perfectly right.” - -They smoked for a moment in silence. Stellan wanted to say something -encouraging but could not get the words over his lips. It was Manne who -took up the thread again: - -“I say, Stellan, don’t you sometimes shudder at life ... and yourself?” - -“When some excitement is over, I sometimes feel discomfort....” - -Manne’s voice sounded childishly pleading: - -“Yes, but Stellan, have you never experienced moments when you really -shudder at yourself ... at all the miserable and damnable things one has -done?” - -“No, I have never permitted myself that luxury.” - -Marine looked at him with a mien in which for the first time there was -something of a stranger. - -“You are a bit of a barbarian after all, my dear Stellan,” he mumbled, -“You have a queer insensibility on which to fall back. I am damned if I -know how it is but I have never been able to _will_ anything when I have -been with you. But I will tell you this much, I should never have -entered into this folly if I had not made up my mind beforehand to -escape from it all. It’s disquieting to play for a living human -being.... No, away with it all....” - -“My dear Manne, I can’t help it if you only drew a knave of hearts,” -mumbled Stellan coldly. - -“No, old boy, of course you can’t, but that’s not the point. I have felt -the whole time that this was impossible. You don’t understand what a -human being can feel like, Stellan. I played only because you proposed -it. For twenty years I have not done anything else but what you -proposed. I am a wretch. And you, Stellan, what are you? Imagine! I have -known you for so long and yet I don’t even know that. It’s strange, but -tonight ... I almost seem to catch a glimpse of you, after all. Yes, you -are one of those who succeed in everything. You remain a Selamb. And all -the same I am somehow sorry for you, Stellan. Yes, I feel damned sorry -for you, because, you see, there is something in life that you would -never understand if you lived to be a hundred....” - -Manne had never been known to make so long a speech before. Stellan -stood up and patted him on the shoulders. - -“My dear Manne, now you are ready for a rest,” he said. - -“That’s right ... ready for a rest,” muttered Manne, and gave Stellan a -hand which at first was limp, but afterwards pressed hard the hand of -his friend. - -Thus they separated. - -If Manne had realized, about ten years earlier, all he realized that -night, his life would perhaps have been shaped differently. - -Stellan did not go to bed immediately. The genial mists of sleep seemed -to have flown into the infinite distance. He stood in the moonlight -leaning against the stone parapet of the balcony and felt how its chill -mounted from his hands to his chest. His thoughts multiplied -mechanically and spread like hoar frost. He thought of his own life. “I -have been an incurable gambler,” he thought. “Well, what of it—it -requires courage after all, that flirtation with Fate. You can say what -you like but I have been a dare-devil. Chance has been my God and I have -not betrayed him....” - -Cold and penetrating a voice returned the answer he had expected all the -time: “Not until tonight. You marked the cards. You were frightened, -Stellan Selamb, frightened....” - -Stellan was not, for the moment, thinking of Manne, whom he had seduced -into gambling, from whom he had won, and whom he now knew to be -destitute. No, he only heard the voice that had called him afraid: So -cold and selfish can conscience be. - -“No, I was not at all frightened,” he protested. “The fact is that I at -last perceived my own stupidity. What the devil is the use of relying on -chance. Chance is the fool of necessity, nothing else. And we have been -the fools of the fool. If everything is a mathematical certainty what -the deuce does it matter if I dig my nail into an ace of hearts!” - -But it is dangerous to betray one’s God even if he is a fool. The -pitiless voice was not silenced: “You stole your friend’s last chance, -Stellan Selamb, you are no longer a gambler, you are a thief, a cowardly -thief.” - -Stellan shuddered. That is the worst that can happen to a man of his -stamp—to doubt his own courage. He discovers all at once all the things -he has neglected to be afraid of. The stone parapet felt dreadfully -cold. It positively made his hands stiff. But he could not let go. The -moon seemed to breathe a silent, cold threat. What lies were told about -the moon? A dead world! The death’s head from space grinned into his -face. Stellan suddenly looked round with an uncertain look. Behind him -rose the high white façade like a wall of snow. It struck a chill into -his back. And behind it slept the woman without a future, the woman -whose bosom was a tomb. Was it not almost suicide to take such a half -dead creature to wife? - -“Why do I stand here in the moonlight,” he thought. “Am I alive or am I -only a ghost?” - -Yes, the moment of agony had come to Stellan Selamb as it comes to -everybody. He felt a cruel fear. But it was not the fear that is the -beginning of wisdom. He had gracefully skated on the outside edge on the -smooth ice of prejudices and fictions. But now he had fallen through -into deep reality. “Ugh—this seems to be bottomless! Yes, the world is -as deep as my fears.” - - * * * * * - -Stellan came down late the following morning and found Count Lähnfeldt -in an evident bad temper at Captain von Strelert’s sudden and -unceremonious departure. - -But out on the parapet of the steps Elvira sat already impatiently -waiting for her ride. She laughed and shrugged her shoulders: - -“The Baron has already run away,” she said. “It was not an orderly -retreat, it was precipitate flight.” - -The morning sun and the ride helped Stellan to recover himself. After -the ghostly visions of the night he enjoyed feeling Cæsar’s fine -shoulders working beneath him. The coolness of the rushing air around -his forehead and temples mingled exquisitely with the gentle innocent -warmth of the beautiful, gleaming body of the horse. Stellan did not -feel exactly tired, only strangely unsubstantial and fragile. - -They were riding in silence and he kept a little behind. He could not -understand his feelings yesterday in the park. No, today he looked at -her more critically than ever. Even during the ride when she appeared to -greater advantage than otherwise he found in her something attenuated, -tense, unsexed, that left his instincts cold and unmoved. But that did -not worry him now. It was rather a relief. It somehow made the thing -easier. For one always feels it is easier to reach a goal that one does -not long for too intensely. And it was high time. Tomorrow the rest of -the shooting party was due to arrive, and then it might be difficult to -find an opportunity. - -Stellan tried to imagine how his rejected predecessors had behaved under -similar circumstances. Of course they had stopped her in a narrow -concealed forest path where the horses had been forced close together -and were caressing each other’s noses in the twilight of the pines. And -then they had avowed their intentions in the traditional style and -received a shrug of the shoulders for an answer. - -Stellan made up his mind that she should hear something different. - -He chose a moment when they were stopped by a floating bridge which was -open to let pass a sand barge that was just being slowly towed through. -His tone was as cold as possible: - -“Miss Lähnfeldt, what would you say to a shoot in Africa?” - -She really looked surprised. - -“A shoot in Africa?” - -“Yes, up the Nile, for instance. To shoot hippopotamuses, crocodiles, -lions. You get a licence in Cairo and hire a boat, a comfortable -house-boat, and a few niggers.” - -“Well ... yes ... perhaps it would be an idea ... since we can’t go to -the moon....” - -“And how do you think I would be as manager and courier then?” - -“Well ... perhaps....” - -“Would you like to try it with me?” - -“I am afraid it would be a bit difficult to arrange.” - -“Not if we got married....” - -She suddenly looked straight at him, defiantly, nervously. Her voice was -hard, almost shrill. - -“I am ... an invalid....” - -“And I am ruined....” - -A moment before Stellan had never meant to say anything of the kind; he -only had a clear feeling that he must be absolutely unsentimental. But -he did not regret it. A brutal sincerity may sometimes be the most -refined of lies. - -The barge had at last passed through and sailed on. Stellan continued in -a different and more passionate tone: - -“I don’t seek any repetition of my life’s former adventures. What is -most exquisite in you, Elvira, is that you are ... free. Heaven protect -me from those women who only breathe the nursery. No, there is a -different and more robust air about you, an air in which one can -breathe. I have never dreamt of such courage in a woman as you showed up -in the rigging of the balloon. I sincerely believe that we together -might do something bold and great with our lives.” - -“To begin with, we should make father furious,” she said in a voice that -did not sound at all distressed at the prospect. Then she suddenly -turned her horse and started off homewards at a sharp gallop. - -Stellan followed silent and pale, with lips pressed tight together, -without knowing what to think. It was exactly the same feeling as he had -in the presence of the roulette ball. Through his head a ridiculous -thought flashed. “Be bold and take your courage in both hands. I never -talked about courage till I began to doubt it. And now just because I am -afraid I shall fling down my courage as if it were the ace of trumps in -the highest suit. It will be a continuation of yesterday’s little -cheating game.” - -And he felt how chill self-contempt was beginning to grow up out of the -events of the night.... - -Not until they had arrived at the broad steps did the whirling ball -stop. Then the princess of the palace reined in her horse and graciously -stretched out her hand with a quick nervous smile: - -“Well, all right then....” - -Stellan did not kiss her riding glove. In front of the groom he bent -quickly forward and pressed his lips to her cheek. - -She kept her countenance. - -“Well, one can still live, even with a little self-contempt,” he -thought, when of her own accord she put her arm through his on the -steps. He was right. Nothing really improves your chances better in the -game of life. - -Elvira was right in saying her father would be furious. The little man -positively swelled with wounded dignity, when Stellan came to ask for -his daughter’s hand. Elvira hastened to point out that she was of age -and could do as she liked, but then he threatened to cast her off, to -disinherit her. Yes, he would give all he possessed to the House of -Nobles. She tore his heart to pieces when she reminded him in a dry tone -that all he possessed came from her mother and that she had her own -inheritance from her mother. To be the head of the noble family of -Lähnfeldt, and to hear such words from a degenerate plebeian daughter -was truly terrible. He summoned to his assistance all the great departed -of the castle to fight his fight against his blind and irreverent -daughter. He painted in wonderful colours the brilliant and -distinguished future she was thoughtlessly flinging away. He threatened -to descend on her wedding day into the big porphyry coffin in the crypt -below the Church. - -Goodness only knows if Elvira would have had the strength to struggle -on, had not the old man’s mad and obstinate resistance suddenly received -a blow. A few weeks later a scandal occurred in society that put the -Count’s superstitious belief in the aristocrat to a severe test. - -His own choice, Baron Manne von Strelert, Captain of the Horse Guards, -had shot himself after having forged Count Lähnfeldt’s signature on a -bill for twenty thousand crowns. Then the lord of Trefvinge at last gave -in, sighing. Poor Manne had served Stellan even unto death.... - -Where Manne had hidden those lost twenty thousand crowns was never quite -cleared up. But amongst his fellow officers there was some talk about -“The Glove,” having taken fine new business premises immediately after -his death and having considerably increased her business. - -Stellan was married at the end of November. There was a splendid -ceremony in Church with many decorations and uniforms. Peter was -promised higher interest on his loans on the condition that he was ill -and absent from the celebrations. - -The general opinion was that the bridegroom looked a little stiff and -aged. - -The pair set out immediately for Africa for their shoot. - -While the rice pattered against the window of the reserved carriage -decorated with flowers, people outside on the platform whispered to each -other that there was not much risk in this couple penetrating into -Africa, as everybody knew that nothing could happen to the bride. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - V - - +WASTE+ - - -The Selamb stratagem had succeeded with Tord and his wife. A couple of -years had passed without anything being heard from them. Stellan could -celebrate his wedding without the slightest admixture of bohemianism. -And Tord had not again exercised his temperament in the press. -Everything was quiet and the pair had evidently settled for good out -there by the sea. - -But then a communication arrived at Selambshof, signed Tord of Järnö, in -which Peter was enjoined in angry and haughty tones immediately to -procure more money. - -In less than three years the money had wasted away. Let us see how this -had happened. - -First of all they had of course built beyond their means in the wildest -manner. When Tord and Dagmar one still and radiant April day paid their -first visit to Järnö, they, of course, proudly ignored the insipid, -idyllic southern glen with its little red tenant’s cottage and rushed up -amongst the sparse stunted pines on the hill above. On the highest, most -exposed point, where there was a view over both the bay and the sea, -they stopped: - -“This is where the house shall stand!” - -And it must be built of thick, round logs with a covered verandah, and a -dragon’s head and open fireplace. An eagle’s eyrie on the cliff it was -to be. Tord made the drawings himself. But not a tree must be felled on -Järnö, so all the timber must be brought in. Labour might probably have -been found on the islands round about if they had not been in such a -hurry. But they had to get workmen from town. And terribly troublesome -and expensive it was to trail the heavy logs from the pier up the steep -hill, where there was not even a path. - -Anyhow, towards the middle of the summer the grating of the saws and the -blows of the hammers were heard. - -Meanwhile Tord and Dagmar lived a glorious tent life on a meadow by the -sea. They sailed in their new-built boat, swam, took sunbaths and ran -about naked like savages on the rocks to the great amusement of the -workmen up on top. - -One day Tord covered Dagmar all over with fine clay taken from the -bottom of the bay and she stood there in shining blue on the -shell-covered sand, like a statue. Mattson the bailiff came walking down -between the juniper bushes with an unfinished oar on his shoulders. She, -however, stood still and laughed aloud: - -“Selamb has made a statue of me! Don’t you think I’m a funny statue, -Mattson?” - -Mattson blinked his eyes and walked on, shaking his grey head at such -shamelessness. He wondered in his own mind what sort of gentlefolk had -come out to Järnö. - -After dinner they went up towards the hill to see if their house was -growing. Tord always had a bottle under his arm, and when work was -finished the men were treated all round to a drink. Neither he nor -Dagmar despised the glass. These little festivities were not exactly -ceremonious, for the men soon discovered that they had no need to choose -their words. Dagmar laughed and Tord imitated their phrases as soon as -the drink began to affect him. It was wonderfully easy to learn their -language. “I am studying the people,” he thought, “I look straight -through their simple minds. I will make something out of it some day, -something uncommonly fresh and piquant....” - -But then it grew suddenly silent as the weary workmen staggered down to -sleep in the bailiff’s barn. And with the silence it seemed as if space -had suddenly become a deep vortex. And the evening was cruelly cold and -green over the serrated edges of the black forests in the west. Then it -was a comfort to have spirit in your body. Tord threw back his head, a -little too much back, he almost toppled over. “I am a poet,” he thought. -“It is I, Tord Selamb, who am pleased to interpret the mysterious -meaning of the dull song of the ground swell. The sea, the clouds, the -cliffs are mine, and I do with them as I like. Wait till I give myself -up to it. Then I shall produce a hymn, something powerful, rude, -infernal, something of nature’s elemental beauty....” - -And he felt a supreme contempt for the miserable slaves in town. - -Then he went to sleep in Dagmar’s arms, which were brown and cool and -soft. - -Towards autumn the eyrie in the cliffs was ready. It was visible from -afar and became at once an excellent and recognized landmark for sailors -both out at sea and in the bay. There was a large, high hall and a -couple of small rooms with folding beds. Tord furnished them with -reindeer skins, elk horns, Lapplanders’ knives, guns, axes and ice -hooks. And over the door a bear’s skull glinted ghostlike in the -twilight. - -They had made a secret arrangement with the old gardener at Selambshof, -the philosopher in the neglected garden, and he used to come out as -their only servant. He had been a sailor before he started growing -cabbages and he felt a longing for the sea. His work was to carry water, -make log fires, and open tins of preserves. - -Meanwhile the Mattsons down in the dell lived their quiet workaday life, -tied to the soil, the water, and the seasons of the year. They banked up -their potatoes, cut their hay and their rye, milked their two cows, and -plied their nets and lines, all with silent, disapproving side-glances -at the queer folk on the hill. - -As long as there was summer and sunshine and the air vibrated with the -hammer blows on his cliff fortress, Tord was contemptuous of the silent -disapproval that crawled about on its ridiculous daily round somewhere -below his feet. But now it was autumn, silent, still, darkening autumn, -far away from the noise and the lights of the town. And Tord began by -and by to realize that the Mattsons were in their neighbourhood. - -One evening he took a bottle in his pocket and climbed down into the -valley: “I will feel that devil’s pulse,” he thought. - -Mattson sat in his workshop carving: - -“Well, Mattson, shall we have a drink to clear our heads?” - -“Thank you, sir, but I don’t care about anything strong in the middle of -the week like this.” - -“All right, I’ll drink it myself then. What are you slaving away at?” - -The old man thoughtfully turned a piece of lilac wood in his hand before -he began to work with his knife: - -“I am making pins for a rake.” - -“Now, for the winter?” - -“Summer will come again. And it’s not good for poor people to be -idle....” - -That was one for Tord. He struck at the nettles outside the door with -his stick. The calm in Mattson’s eyes irritated him. Both sea and sky -became commonplace beside that miserable plodding. What was the use of -the autumn coming and the leaves falling and the darkness and loneliness -when Mattson sat carving rake pins all the same? - -“I will pay you back for that, old fellow,” thought Tord. And he longed -for an autumn storm, a real three-day autumn gale. Especially when he -had his nets out. - -Then came the autumn ploughing. Nobody possessed beasts of burden out -here by the sea, but Mattson’s neighbours came sailing in with their -wives. And then they yoked themselves to the plough. Mattson’s wife also -took part and pulled, though she was so old, but Mattson drove. Furrow -after furrow they ploughed in the drizzling rain with tough sustained -persistence. - -Tord ran into the forest to escape seeing it. But he found no peace, he -had to go back to the ploughing. For a moment he stood behind a juniper -bush and stamped with anger, then he suddenly rushed out into the clay: - -“Stop!” he cried. “This is my soil and I won’t look on at this miserable -business.” - -They stopped and stared at him: - -“What is one to do when the island will not feed a beast?” suggested -Mattson. - -Tord stalked about with heavy lumps of clay under his shoes: - -“How much can you get out of these miserable patches?” - -“Oh, about three bushels of rye,” mumbled the bailiff, and wiped the -perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. “The soil is -good.” - -“All right, I’ll pay you for three bushels! But get away now!” - -And Tord took out some bank-notes. - -But Mattson looked at his neighbour and shook his head: - -“No, sir, you mustn’t make fun of an old man. I have ploughed this soil -for forty years, I have. You put your money back again.” - -Upon which Mattson made a sign to the drawers, who put their backs into -the work again and continued their furrow as if nothing had happened. - -From that day on Tord hated all that was Mattson’s. Incessantly he was -running up against the object of his annoyance. Mattson’s cock woke him -in the mornings with his obstinate moralisings on the dung heap. When he -went down to his boat he swore because he had to dive under the old -man’s nets, and on the juniper slope he was irritated by the stupid -bleating of the sheep. In the midst of his land he was again reminded of -Mattson by a lot of troublesome fences, cleverly built up of stones, -branches and thorns. Such things irritate a free man strolling about on -his own property. Tord did not step over them, no, he put his foot on -the rubbish and enjoyed hearing it crash down, and he stepped through as -proudly as if he were stepping over the walls of Jericho. But the next -time he came strolling along he found to his fury that the fence had -been repaired as if by magic. - -It was work, patience, foresight, civilization that Tord hated in -Mattson. This hatred occupied him fully the whole of the autumn. If he -sat down to write and could not get into the right mood it was Mattson’s -fault. If he got drunk it was as a protest against the sobriety of that -damned old blockhead. When at last the gale came, Tord had his great -day. A real raging south-easterly gale so that the old man could not get -out and save his catch but had to go about waiting anxiously to haul in -his torn nets full of seaweed and rubbish. - -One day Tord flew into a real rage. One of his dogs, a big ferocious -mastiff, had caught his leg in a fox trap which the bailiff persisted in -putting out in spite of Tord’s prohibition. There was a terrible scene -and Tord would probably have struck the old man in his own kitchen if -Dagmar had not come between them. But from that moment Tord swore -inwardly that Mattson should leave Järnö. He only waited for quarter -day, which was the first of December, to give him notice. - -You can imagine his malicious joy when the whole first week of December -had passed without Mattson bringing the rent. - -The old man only stared when at last he came with his poor notes and was -told that he was to leave at once. - -“I have lived here forty years,” he mumbled calmly, “And I have always -been accustomed to pay some time in December after I have been into town -and sold my salted herrings and mutton.” - -He could not realize anything so catastrophic as that he should leave -Järnö. - -Tord stood there grey in the face shaking the lease in his hand. “Now I -suppose I shall see something else than that damned calm in your eyes,” -he thought. - -“You have not paid in due time, and now you have got to clear out. Järnö -is mine, you see, and I don’t want you here any longer.” - -Mattson only shook his head. He went home with a very thoughtful -expression, and the same day he hauled up the sail of his big boat to go -into town to speak to the storekeeper and to people versed in law, in -order to find out the rights of the matter. But his wife came up to -Dagmar crying. And Dagmar begged for her and scolded Tord and said that -he was disgusting, but it was no use. And then she cried too, because -she was afraid of the loneliness, when she would be the only woman on -the island. But Tord rushed out and stalked about alone the whole of the -cold winter day with his lame dog and would not be mollified. - -Mattson returned from his journey with a gloomy face, and offered to -compromise by a payment of damages. Yes, he would even try to pay a -higher rent. But Tord only shouted that he wanted to be left in peace. - -The following day Mattson came again, and this time he was humble and -alarmed, and begged as if for his life. And now it was a joy for Tord to -look into his eyes. Yes, he had a great and lovely revenge on all the -prudence and calmness of the world. He escaped with a cruel feeling of -pleasure from the idler’s secret feeling of inferiority. - -“No!” he cut him short. “I won’t move. You’ll find here, Mattson, no use -for your rake pins. Clear out now!” - -Shortly before Christmas a couple of sand barges arrived at the pier, -and took on board Mattson’s corn, cattle, furniture and tools. It cut -one’s heart to see the kitchen table, the folding bed, the plants, moved -out into the winter cold. Tord stood up on his hill-top and watched. He -meant to be defiant and hardhearted and enjoy the ice-cold wind. But as -a matter of fact he was frightened and felt sick. - -Then four steady and determined men from the barges came up and demanded -on Mattson’s account a round sum for the autumn sowing, manure, newly -planted fruit trees, and improvements to piers, fences, outhouses. Tord -paid without bargaining and with a certain tremulous eagerness. - -Mattson did not show himself except on a receipt. - -Then one of the barges set off with the old couple on board. The other -remained a little behind. There, hidden among the alders by the shore, -stood a powerful youth and peered up towards the hill. When he saw Tord -set out for a walk, he followed him unperceived. He chose a quiet, -suitable place where there were no witnesses. There he suddenly sprang -out and gave Tord a blow on the back of his head, so that he fell -unconscious for a time and awoke covered with blood and with two teeth -missing. The barge had already disappeared, swallowed up by the grey -ice-cold winter twilight across the bay. - -That was the first time Tord had suffered rough, bodily ill-treatment. -It brought out again all the timid hatred of mankind that his marriage -had seemed for a moment to thrust aside. - -He came home late and said he had fallen and struck against a tree -stump. Dagmar could not help laughing for a moment at the ridiculous gap -in his teeth. But she stopped short when she saw his expression, and her -laugh turned to sobs. She had evil presentiments, Dagmar, and they were -to come true.... - -Tord had not so many opportunities of kicking down Mattson’s fences and -revelling in his new eaglelike loneliness. It soon appeared that he must -go and buy provisions if they were not to starve to death when the ice -came and it was too thick to get through with a boat, and not thick -enough to walk on. They had, as a matter of fact, cut away the ground -beneath their feet by turning Mattson out. Where were they now to -procure milk, fish, meat and wood? Tord sailed about to the neighbouring -islands and told the peasants to bring him these necessities, but they -were annoyed at his treatment of Mattson and therefore could not spare -him even a herring. - -Tord was to learn to his annoyance that Mattson with his foresight and -experience had stood like a rock between him and a thousand worries and -difficulties. But this only strengthened him in his angry resolve to -help himself. In a furious north wind he and the old gardener sailed -twelve miles to the nearest store and there he bought a boatload of -preserved food, ham, potatoes, flour and lamp oil. They had to hack -their way out of the harbour through ice half an inch thick, frozen -during the night, so it was high time.... - -Then came the real winter and locked them in with dark and unsafe ice. - -At the end of February the old gardener fell on the very slippery ground -when he was carrying water from the well, and broke his leg above the -knee. Fortunately the ice bore just then, so they were able to get him -into hospital. They could not tempt another servant out to the eagle’s -nest, so now they had to shift for themselves. Tord was not able to -climb the hill with water and wood, so they had to move into Mattson’s -humble cottage for the winter. In the spring Tord had soundings made but -they found no water up on the hill: so he had to bring out more workmen -to construct a proper road up. All this cost money—so much that even -Tord realized he could not go on for ever. Then he bought fishing and -shooting implements and a few goats in order to help him out, and he -took to cattle breeding. But now for the first time he really missed -Mattson’s experience.... He did not know where to try for the cod. He -did not know how to deal with a tangled net. The ducks flew past when he -lay out in the skerries. And the goats soon dried up; and besides, they -became so wild that he could not catch them. So during the course of the -summer these means of support failed him, and he had to turn to -expensive preserved food again. - -Dagmar had not much time to run about naked in the sunshine this summer. -There was not so much left that was “beautiful and wonderful and -lovely.” But she had not quite lost her gypsy-like boisterousness and -freedom from care, though when there was no alcohol left and the bad -weather really set in, it might happen that she grew sulky and -quarrelsome. Once towards the autumn when she had had special cause for -anxiety she mentioned town, but Tord flew into such a rage that she was -frightened and flew out into the kitchen with her cards and her pipe. -And Tord strolled about the shores for weeks cogitating in dull anger on -the shameless weakness and faithlessness of women. - -The whole of this winter Tord went about plaguing himself with his money -worries, so that he had no energy left for anything else. The great book -that he was to write, his masterpiece, his hymn to nature, weighed him -down like a dead weight. It was like loose ballast which only increased -the lurch, when he inclined to melancholy. Nature swayed around him like -a helpless chaos. He had moments of hatred of the frequent gales that -would never yield a song. He grew furious with the eternal, rolling, -breaking seas whose rhythm he could not catch. - -“Money,” he thought, “that cursed money. I am never free!” - -Towards the spring he at last wrote the letter to Peter. It had cost him -weeks of effort and disgust, such a terror had he of everything in the -nature of business. His haughty insolence was only an armour to shield -him against his lack of confidence, his fear, and his suspicions. - -Peter had not expected such news so soon. He rubbed his hands. And he -took good care not to show the letter to his brother and sisters. This -time he meant to settle the business alone. Peter delayed his reply for -a whole fortnight in order to humble Tord. Then he came sailing out -himself to Järnö, not in his own cutter, but in a humble little -fisherman’s boat. It was in the twilight of an April day. Nobody seemed -to have noticed him up in the big, grey, log house. The island looked -completely deserted. Peter took the opportunity of looking round a -little. Neglect and waste struck him like a cold blast. Broken down -fences, unploughed fields, empty cattle sheds, plundered outhouses with -half open doors hanging on a single hinge. Not a cow or a pig or a hen. -He scratched his chin thoughtfully, but his expression was not of -discontent, on the contrary! “I see, that’s how things are,” he thought, -“I shall escape cheaper than I had thought. Why give a lot of money to -people who can’t look after anything?” And he mentally lowered his bid -for the remainder of Tord’s shares in Selambshof by several tens of -thousand crowns. - -That neglect cost Tord Selamb dear. - -At last Peter struggled up the hill panting, and knocked at the door; he -was greeted by an infernal barking from the brutes inside. - -Tord had been watching Peter the whole time from the window, but had not -cared to go and meet him. Such is the custom of the skerries! And then, -he did not want to appear too eager, poor fellow! - -The first evening they did not talk business, but they drank the whiskey -Peter had brought. But he broke up early. He wanted to get up early to -shoot duck. - -So at dawn they lay out at Kallö skerries, which belonged to Järnö. In -front of them lay the grey sea with smooth patches to the lea of white -drifting ice floes, where the little waves lapped the point of land and -the silly eider decoys nodded in their wooden way and pretended to be -alive. But here Tord’s horror of business lifted a little. He felt a -grim, fierce kind of excitement. “This is the struggle for life in all -its hellish nakedness,” he thought, not without satisfaction. “Here I -lie in the icy cold on a primitive rock in an arctic sea and wait for -the opportunity to lure and kill.” Under the open sky with a gun in his -hand he felt hardened and reckless, capable of any struggle. Yes, he -even became intoxicated at the crazy thought that Peter was in some way -in his power out here in the wilderness of Järnö. Where it was a matter -of deceiving himself he could be a poet right enough, poor Tord! - -But Peter lay there in his greasy old fur coat and peeped at Tord with -his cunning little bear eyes. He appreciated those little, nervous -twitchings which suddenly stiffened into defiance. “But how mad is he?” -thought Peter. “How far can I go?” He made little frightened delicious -guesses, and he felt much easier in the region of his pocketbook. - -Then a flight of ducks approached from the south. It looked at first -like a dark, billowing ribbon against a low, bright rift in a cloud. -Then it quickly became a stormy, vibrating wave. The wind held its -breath before this space-devouring speed, which made sea and sky shrink. -The living wave swung around in a curve towards the decoys. A confusion -of wings beat the air to froth around their heavy bodies. The ducks did -not seem to want to descend. All the same Tord had time to let go his -two barrels into the flight. Peter’s gun boomed a little later. His furs -were too heavy for him. The old gardener who lay concealed with the boat -was able to bring in three birds. “Of course, one can get a shot in when -Peter is here,” thought Tord, with a certain bitterness. The fact was -that he had never had the patience to wait when he was alone. But Peter -loudly praised Tord’s shot and confessed that he himself had missed. - -They shot quite a lot of eiders and also longtailed ducks later on in -the day. Peter was lost in admiration. He warmly praised the fine -shooting and the wonders of Järnö generally. He himself was a -heavy-witted, clumsy, impossible rustic whilst Tord appeared to be a -master shot and a splendid sportsman. And it ended in Tord, under the -influence of the several drinks, indulging in the wildest bragging of -his fierce, free, eagle’s life betwixt sea and cliff. - -Then they returned home. - -Dinner was quite festive. Dagmar had, in honour of the occasion, put on -some gaudy silk rags and had powdered her nose. It was of no importance -that her fingers were sooty. Tord’s excited pride derived new strength -from the burgundy, the brandy, and the whiskey. He clenched his fists -and stalked to and fro between his bear skins and elk heads in the high -resounding hall. The firelight from the burning logs flickered over his -jersey, Lapp shoes and untrimmed beard. He showed his contempt, with -terrible oaths, of the miserable herds that thronged the streets out -there in the town. He was the lonely, free, scornful ... superman. He -recognized no other relations and friends than the sea, the wind and -infinite space. - -Peter also seemed to be very far from claiming the honour of -relationship. He shrank up in his seat. He enjoyed doing so before the -magnificent Tord. He was not well, he was dusty, worried, tired. -Business worried him. There was no difficulty in making oneself small if -only one’s pocketbook grew fat in the process. - -They did not talk of Tord’s affairs. - -Three days of constant drinking passed. Then Peter suddenly got it into -his head that he must go back home at once. He had a great big bill -falling due the following day. He groaned over that bill as he was -packing up his things. He had still not said a word of Tord’s affairs. -“You begin, old man,” he thought. - -Tord stood there with a sick headache and bit his lips. “Cash! Cash! -Cash!” throbbed in his head. It was sickening to talk money after all -his wild, eagle-like boasting. He caught hold of Peter’s arm in a way -that rather resembled pinching: - -“Well, curse you, what about my letter?” he cried. “What will you give -for my shares?” - -Peter shrank more than ever, smaller and smaller until he was like a -little grey mouse: - -“Buy shares? Impossible! These are not the times ... I have no ready -money.” - -“Why the devil did you come here then?” Tord said brutally. - -Dagmar went about tidying up with a fur coat on top of her chemise and -her hair down: - -“What a polite host!” she laughed. - -“Yes, I suppose I’d better clear out at once,” whined Peter. - -For once Tord said something sensible. - -“All right, I will come in with you to talk to Stellan and Laura about -the shares.” - -Peter suddenly became very thoughtful. He sat down at a table and began -to calculate in a small greasy notebook: - -“I might try to renew that bill, and then I could perhaps help you,” he -mumbled. - -Tord had an instinctive feeling that his last proposal had been the best -one, and that he ought to talk to his sisters and brother. But he did -not stick to it, so incurably lazy was he. - -“Well, what will you give?” he asked in a voice that was thick with -excitement. - -Peter writhed. He seemed quite in despair. - -“I might risk about fifty thousand.” - -Tord thought it sounded too absurdly little compared with what he had -received before. - -“Damn you!” he shouted. - -Peter began again with an injured expression to pack his bag. And Tord -asked Dagmar to bring out his town clothes. - -“Sixty-five thousand,” Peter suddenly ejaculated. - -“A hundred thousand!” Tord hissed through the gap in his teeth. - -Then Peter felt a wild joy. But it was deep, deep-seated. Not a spark of -it came to the surface. He took out his shapeless pocketbook and slowly -counted out seventy-five notes of a thousand crowns each. - -“That is all I have with me.” - -Tord suddenly closed. Such is the power of cash over weak minds. And of -course he could not know that Peter had exactly the same amount in his -other pocketbook. - -But he had scarcely signed Peter’s paper and parted with his shares when -he felt that he had been tricked. - -“Clear out now, you cheat!” he shouted. “And don’t come near Järnö -again, because if you do you will get a bullet in your head.” - -And Peter quickly disappeared with the old gardener, who was to sail him -over to the steamer. He calculated that he had earned about two hundred -thousand on this stroke of business. But it had been too easy. He felt -almost uncomfortable as he sat there huddled up on the lee side and -looked out at the calm April day. Yes, there was something uncanny in a -Selamb having such wretched ideas of business. - -Tord did not go into town to put his seventy-five thousand in the bank. -He kept them out at Järnö. No signing of papers, no hanging over a -counter. The money must not link him to the town, the community. - -“Now I am free,” thought Tord, “absolutely free....” He went out to -devour the living spring. Alone like a cock he walked about and -endeavoured to seek inspiration. Yes, now the moment had come when Tord -Selamb would become a poet. - -But alas! no notes would come. He had a big grey lump in his chest that -would not melt. His work, his cursed masterpiece simply oppressed him -like a quintessence, a rude microcosm of his vague conceit. There came -cramp, but nothing else. And it was not easy to go about with that cramp -in the wild teeming life of spring.... - -May is once and for all not a month for the Selambs. - -It was already growing summerlike. Tord came to meet it with staring, -feverish eyes and a thin emaciated face. He began to keep to the sea -more and more. It seemed as if the soil burnt his face. - -It had been a long, wet, windy day, but towards evening the clouds -lifted a little and it grew calm. Tord rowed out over the great shallow -bay covered with reeds and with only a narrow passage out to the big -buoy. From the wet oars and thwarts arose a damp chill. The shores, -already beginning to look mysterious in the twilight, echoed back the -flapping of the cuckoos’ wings. When Tord bent over the side he could -imagine the brown, tangled swamp of lakeweed down there in the shallow -water. But above him in the cool endless depth of the sky there glowed a -chaos of vanishing cloud, flung out by the storm but now forgotten and -left to the stillness. There were clouds that had stiffened in every -gesture of perplexity, of terror and of suffering, clouds on the -whipping post, clouds on the rack, clouds that had had the “Swedish -draught.” But all seemed to have died in torture. - -Mute immeasurable disruption. - -Tord rested on his oars. He felt it to the very bottom of his being, -this disruption. The cramp suddenly relaxed within him. He felt a -strange, shivering relief. Then he rowed homewards, but slowly, -carefully, as if he were afraid of breaking everything with his oars. -Afraid to meet anybody, silently as a thief he stole into his house, -crept up to his bed and fell asleep voluptuously tired with the sky -beneath his eyelids. - -At dawn he awoke and at once sat down to write with this mute, wild -disruption still within him. - -His poetic rapture lasted for several weeks. It was a wonderful joy at -last to be able to pour it forth, to reveal himself, to shout out all he -felt, to take revenge on all the thousand impressions that had weighed -him down to earth with their luxuriant wealth. - -When Tord was not writing he wandered about with staring eyes and -careful, groping steps, as if he were fragile and afraid to fall to -pieces. If Dagmar spoke to him he told her to shut up, though in an -anxious, almost gentle voice. - -Tord had already filled a tremendous packet of notepaper when his -imagination suddenly dried up one long, gloomy, wet day. He sat down to -copy it out, but he had some difficulty in finding the way in the maze -of his own inspiration. What did they really mean, all those strange -figures resembling a barometric curve during a storm or the seismograph -record registering an earthquake? Certain after-echoes of his -inspiration and an infinite reverence for his own Selambian genius -helped him, however, over the worst. Only here and there a brief humdrum -phrase crept in to make it more intelligible and as a sacrifice to the -philistines. - -On an absolutely still, sultry day in July, with distant thunder in the -air, Tord copied out with trembling hand the last line of his poem. Then -he rushed out into the kitchen and tore Dagmar away from the stove, -where she stood in her chemise and an underskirt with her pipe in the -corner of her mouth, cooking sausage for supper. He trailed her with him -into the bedroom, forced her into a chair, pulled down the blind, and -began to read. - -It was unrhymed verse, of course, in the shortest possible lines, abrupt -sentences and inarticulate phrases. A collection of exclamations, -questions, curses, shouts of jubilation, all expressive of Tord Selamb’s -relation to woman, the clouds, the sea, the lightning and the eagles. - -Tord read with a hoarse, trembling voice. He seemed to whisper the most -extraordinary secrets of his life with a wild emotion. And still, had he -not, in the presence of the uninitiated, been seized already at the very -first line by a terrible doubt? Was this ... was this really poetry? He -looked at his wife above the sheets of papers with the eyes of a beggar, -but of a mad beggar beseeching prostrate adoration. - -Dagmar responded rather badly to his expectations. At first she looked a -little embarrassed, almost like a child when its parents speak of -something it should not understand. Then she looked at the door and -mumbled: - -“Pray excuse your slave, but I am afraid the sausages will be burnt....” - -“Let them burn then, idiot,” shouted Tord. After which he continued his -reading in a more threatening voice. - -Dagmar listened again. She sat quite still and good for a long while. -Then her mouth began to twitch quite irresistibly, though she looked -frightened. - -Tord then hissed out the following lines: - - - “In a blue flash of lightning - With a blue hissing sound - Creaking - Manly - Zig-zag - I saw it suddenly - The filth - The original filth - In the recesses of your body ... - Damnation - Unclean one!” - - -“Splendid,” Dagmar snorted. “Thunder and filth!” - -Whereupon she burst out laughing just as when Tord came home with his -teeth knocked out, a thoughtless irrepressible feminine laugh, cruel -without malice, pitiless though with no ill-will. But Tord hated her at -this moment, hated her. She laughed! When she ought to have sunk at his -feet, and adored his genius, saved him from doubt! Oh! the weakling’s -dream of power is often far more intense than that of the strong man. It -is not the bad poets who are the least devoted to their verses. Just the -line that most challenges the ridicule of the world is often aglow with -the most intense passion. Just the very wretchedness of the form often -reflects a seriousness from which there has been no deliverance. Yes, -the bad poets are the unborn children of emotion. Their sufferings are -cruel. People seem to them empty, blind, perverse, malevolent. How can -anyone laugh at red, flowing blood? How can anyone help trembling in the -presence of a volcano in eruption? - -Tord ran to the door and tore it open. His eyes shrank and his beard -shook when he looked at his wife: - -“Get out,” he shouted. “Out with you into the kitchen. That’s your -place!” - -And Dagmar went, without any such refinement as injured pride, but with -her heart suddenly filled with compassion, a sort of slovenly, annoyed -pity. - -For several weeks Tord did not open his mouth. He strolled about alone -along his shores or locked himself in to file away at his verse. His -ambition soon discovered the usual solace for the wounds and doubts of -the hermit. “I am too singular, too wildly original and deep,” he -thought. “They can’t understand me. I must fill out my voids, if I want -any followers. I must soften down, moderate and chasten my verse.” So he -sat down with intense suffering to convert his poems to a more human -note: a process which really consisted in his striking out a few oaths -and putting in a few “ands” and “buts” instead of a simple comma. - -Then he sent in his revised work to a publisher in Stockholm, this time -taking good care not to read anything to Dagmar. He had to wait a long -time for a reply. Already after the first week he sailed across to the -store for his post. Then he went every second day. As it was a long way, -he spent most of his time with the tiller in his hand. In the end he did -not trouble to sail home, but stayed away in the harbour. And it was as -if the store had become his home. - -Poor Tord! So little was his proud self-sufficiency worth. - -At last one day the storekeeper flung a parcel to him. It contained -Tord’s poems. They had been returned. Pale and trembling with fury he -staggered down to his boat. He did not sail directly home, but roamed -about for several days among the skerries, calling the elements to -witness the shocking injustice he had suffered. - -But at last he had to return to his home on the cliff, which he saw -wherever he sailed. His hatred began to long for her, the woman. He must -have somebody to vent his spleen on. - -There was something dark, startling and fierce in his face when he -stepped into the hall, without a greeting, and flung himself down on one -of the benches in the wall. He could not even wait for an excuse for a -quarrel. Dagmar only needed to ask him where he had been so long when he -poured a torrent of abuse and accusations over her. She was a stupid, -dirty, greedy animal who couldn’t help pulling a man down and degrading -him. Yes, a short time ago humanity had been a lot of scoundrels who -would not recognize his greatness, now he was pulled down and degraded. -Suffering knows no logic. He wanted to see her suffer and groan and hate -as he himself suffered and groaned and hated. But alas! already long ago -during the loneliness of the cold winter’s evenings he had dulled the -effect of hard words. Dagmar did not even trouble to get angry: - -“Poor boy, so they have been returned,” she muttered. - -Then he rushed up and struck her with his clenched fist on her soft -breast so that she fell to the floor. And with her cry in his ears he -rushed out and sat down in a crack in the hillside. He stared into the -gloomy darkness that lay so close to his eyes and blended the sea and -sky to a lifeless mass. His hand shuddered after having struck something -too soft. But his outburst had not brought him any relief. It was -himself he had struck, himself he had hated because he was not capable -of doing what he wanted to; because he had not the liberating sense of -form; because he was closed off from the great brotherhood of souls. But -his was a selfish self-hatred without any spirit of resignation or -reconciliation. There was not a trace of self-conquest. And until he has -overcome himself a Selamb does not become a poet. - - * * * * * - -Now Tord sat mostly indoors absorbed in zoology. If he sometimes went -out shooting or fishing he locked up the oars and the sails of the boats -he was not using himself. He was afraid of finding the house empty on -his return. - -Already in early childhood Tord had turned to animals. There was -something of the timid idleness of the savage in him. He was too lazy -for most people. Perhaps already then he felt a sentimental attraction -to dumb animals, which was natural in one who himself lacked the power -of expression. Now he fled to them again—in protest. That was his -attitude towards a coarse, degenerate humanity, which did not -understand how to appreciate him. No! crows and common snakes are -better! But Tord’s new devotion to animals was without any -sentimentality. He enjoyed seeing them pursue and hurt each other. He -hunted them and killed them himself without hesitation. And he studied -them—scientifically, as he liked to imagine—in thick folios and with -knife and microscope. - -It was a cool and sweet-smelling evening in spring. Tord stood in a -clearing in the open copse and waited for a flight of woodcocks. The -leaves were nicely wrinkled like the fingers of a newborn babe and -shimmered reddish brown in the level sunlight. But Tord bit his lips -together and did not suffer as he did before in the spring. His gun was -his salvation. Now they were coming, flying low over the treetops: -“rrrt! rrrt! pisp!” It was the mating call, the love flight of the male. -Tord threw up his gun and the warm body of the bird fell down among the -tree trunks. He hurried home, eager to examine his bag. The little -bird’s heart still beat when he plunged the knife into it, its fibres -still trembled beneath the glass of the microscope. - -It was a knife in the heart of the spring. There was _revenge_ in this -Selambian thirst of knowledge. - - * * * * * - -But soon Tord’s interest was caught in a quite special way by a branch -of the animal world that he had hitherto overlooked—insects. He became -in his own way a passionate entomologist. - -To Tord the study of insects was that of a diabolical collection of -caricatures. Here life and nature unveiled their whole cruelty and -amorality. On most parts of the surface of the earth the spread of -humanity has swept away the most gorgeous forms of wildness and cruelty. -The larger animals seem on the whole rather tame. But the little animals -of the soil and the air our civilization has, for the most part, proudly -passed over. Here theft, parasitism, poison-murder, crude cannibalism, -and the most terrible perversity still rage without check. Tord learnt -to observe and enjoy the jaws of the lion-ant in the treacherous -sandpit, the graceful poisonous thrust of the hymenoptera, the erratic -frenzy of the golden beetle, the horrible life of the burning beetle -amidst putrefaction, the devouring by the female cross spider of the -male after impregnation. Yes, this was a lovely Lilliputian world. The -devilish struggle for existence at first seemed to him a parody on this -miniature scale. But as he penetrated deeper into his mysteries the -elements of parody disappeared and only horror was left. The little -animal males grew in his eyes to gigantic creatures, still more horrible -because of the glistening stiffness of the cutaneous skeleton that made -them resemble living machines. They peopled his dreams with horrible -sights. They laid their parasitical larvæ in the intestines of his -thoughts. They became the pretext and symbol of his new philosophy of -life.... - -In this way Tord Selamb soon fell into black naturalism. He overlooked -the fact that if, as he supposed, everything was nature, this must also -apply to our human reaction against nature’s cruelty. And that therefore -nature contained within herself the correction of this evil. Horror -itself is in the last resort a promise. There is a profound -contradiction. But these are not Selambian truths. - -What lies behind the Selambian egoism is the “blind spot,” the blind -spot of the soul. They are simply insensitive to rays from certain -directions. - -During his studies of insect life Tord had a special favourite. That was -the praying cricket, Nature’s most exquisite wonder. With her, his -brooding spirit celebrated its gloomy mass. One dark, sultry August -evening he fell a victim to her charm in old Henri Fabre, the Homer of -insects. Round the lamp there was a restless buzzing of Daddy-Longlegs -and grey night-moths that seemed to be made of dust. He watched them, -with a mixed feeling of voluptuousness and sickness, blind themselves -and burn themselves on the hot lamp funnel. And then he read about the -praying cricket, and how with crossed front legs and lifted head she -seems to assume a pious attitude of prayer beneath the nun’s veil of -folded wings. But as soon as a victim approaches she unveils herself. -Then she resembles a vampire, a flying dragon. Then the scissors of her -crossed legs open, she seizes a victim, much bigger than she herself, -and devours it as quickly as lightning. Of course, she also seizes the -opportunity of devouring the male after mating. But—this is the -exquisite point—it has also been noticed how, during the very act of -copulation, she turns backwards and begins to devour the male’s head. -Yes, she positively devours him whilst the hind part of his body -continues to fulfil the function of sex, till her greed has reached the -most vital organs.... - -When Tord had come so far, he rose vehemently and rushed in to Dagmar. -His face was pale and wet with perspiration and a mingled expression of -disgust and triumph. And without any preliminaries he flung the love -story of the praying cricket in the face of his wife: - -“Do you hear, woman, she eats the male’s head? But he goes on all the -same, just goes on! Say, then, if love is not stronger than death!” - -Dagmar did not answer. She did not bother to understand what he was -saying. She did not care a straw for his praying cricket. But she was -frightened at his tone. Yes, from that moment she felt a kind of terror -of Tord Selamb and of life out at Järnö. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VI - - +THE GREAT DINNER+ - - -Leaning against the polished black marble counter in a magnificent new -bank was standing a thin slightly grey gentleman with a rigid haughty -face. He was rather pale, and in spite of the summer heat was dressed in -a closely buttoned-up dark frock-coat. He was Stellan Selamb, ex-Captain -of the Göta Guards, now landed proprietor. He had suffered since his -long shooting expedition in Africa from the after effects of a malarial -fever which made him sensitive to chill. - -Stellan wore mourning crepe round his arm. His father-in-law had moved -down to the aristocracy in the sepulchral vault at Trefvinge half a year -ago, not without having first immortalized his memory by a donation to -the House of Nobles and in this way gaining posthumous admittance. - -Stellan had arranged to meet Laura at the bank. He felt quite -comfortable in banks nowadays, since he no longer had any bills to meet -on their due date. He had waited more than a quarter of an hour without -showing any special signs of impatience. He enjoyed the quiet hum, the -hushed murmur of voices, as in a temple. And indeed the big vaulted hall -supported on its massive polished stone pillars was like a temple above -his shining silk hat. Behind the counter the bank clerks solemnly -officiated at the high altar of capital, to the accompaniment of -rustling bank-notes, ringing coins and the rattling of the calculating -machines that reminded you of eternally revolving prayer wheels. - -It was a temple raised to the real State religion. Above its high copper -doors there ought to have stood in thin gold letters the one great word: -“Possess!” - -Here in the bank Stellan almost seemed to grow reconciled to the thought -of his new brother-in-law. At first he had felt a pronounced discomfort -when the news of Laura’s marriage in Petersburg suddenly tumbled down on -him at Trefvinge. Her husband, Count Alexis von Borgk, was a Finnish -senator of the Bobrikov régime and was a very well-known instrument of -Tzarism in Finland. And Laura had written that they meant to move over -to Sweden. Stellan did not need to see his wife screw up her face to -feel anxious concerning the reception of the couple in society. - -But Count von Borgk was rich, very rich, it was said. And here in the -bank Stellan felt, as I said before, a little calmer. - -At last Laura appeared through the swingdoors, smiling light-heartedly, -just pleasantly plump, perhaps a shade more blonde than before. She was -dressed in white, dazzling white, from the silk ribbon in her hat to the -tips of her shoes below the rich folds of her skirt. - -“Good-morning, Laura dear! Congratulations. It was a surprise!” - -“For me too,” said Laura and smiled her most innocent smile. “I had -positively no idea I was going to get married. But why does Your -Highness give audience here and not at Trefvinge?” - -“Oh, I wanted to meet you alone the first time.” - -“I see—and Elvira detests banks, doesn’t she...?” Laura looked round and -turned up her nose a little: “Well, so here we are back in this -gossipping hole. And I who felt so happy in Petersburg! Asia, that’s the -place for me!” - -Stellan blinked his eyes somewhat nervously: - -“Why did you not stay in—Asia, then, my dear Laura?” - -“I can understand that it would have saved Elvira some worry. But Alexis -has altogether withdrawn from politics. And he does not feel at home in -either Finland or Russia. He is just selling his estates there. ‘I have -saved them from one revolution,’ he says, ‘but I should not succeed in -the next.’ He longs for the peace of Sweden. It was the last -negotiations that unexpectedly detained him. He is coming next week....” - -The bank began to fill up with people. Stellan proposed that they should -go down into the safe deposit where he had some papers to look through. - -It was quiet and cool down in the crypt of the Mammon temple. The -electric lights hung more heavily and more motionless there than -anywhere else in this catacomb of wealth, where deeds of mortgages, -receipts and share certificates slept their sleep in hundreds and -hundreds of polished steel boxes in the walls, and where there were -discreet and comfortable little compartments for the devotions of the -worshippers. - -Sister and brother sat down in one compartment. - -“So this is your refuge nowadays,” said Laura. “Well, but what about -your Aeronautic Society and your ballooning? I have looked in the papers -but have never seen your name.” - -“No, I have given it up.” - -“Yes, it is easier to go up with a hundred thousand in debts than with -double the amount in income. But you still gamble in this little town, I -suppose?” - -Stellan shrugged his shoulders: - -“I’ve given that up, too,” he muttered. - -“But what in God’s name do you do then?” - -“I cut off coupons and look after my malaria. But it was not of me we -were speaking, but of you. Where do you intend to settle?” - -“Well, not in the country, that is certain,” exclaimed Laura, and one -could see in her face that this point had been the subject of -discussions. - -“So your husband wants to settle on an estate.” - -“Yes, he imagines he does.” - -“What if you should make a compromise and take Selambshof.” - -“Selambshof! That dismal old place! Are you mad?” - -“Why not? The big house stands quite unoccupied. Repaired and restored -it might make a splendid home. And then it would be useful to keep an -eye on Peter. He is getting too awful. There are always stories about -him in the papers.” - -Laura looked at her brother coldly: - -“The master of Trefvinge is afraid of the papers. And so he wants to put -me in as a lovely guardian for Peter.” - -Stellan lowered his voice: - -“There are other reasons too. Peter is, as a matter of fact, beginning -to go down hill. He is yellow and flabby in the face and he doesn’t take -care of himself. If I am not mistaken something may soon happen. We have -great interests to guard.” - -Laura suddenly became thoughtful. She swung the gold knob of her white -sunshade and looked as if she were making calculations. She always did -this when she was serious. - -Stellan had got his papers and the steel lid of his safe closed with a -bang: - -“You needn’t say anything definite now,” he said. “I will arrange a -family dinner out there when your husband comes. My man will have to -clean up a little, as best he can. And on a fine summer evening -Selambshof doesn’t look so bad.... Well, we shall see.” - -Laura nodded silently. As a matter of fact over there in the East she -had boasted a little of her social relations. Count von Borgk had -perhaps partly married her in order to be introduced to the aristocratic -circles of Sweden. And that is why she wanted Selambshof to appear as -attractive as possible. - -They left the vault. - -Up in the bank they met Levy with a black portfolio under his arm and -surrounded by a crowd of business friends. He was pale, handsome, and -still wore his old exquisitely ironical expression. He hurried up and -bowed to Laura. - -“Congratulations, Countess von Borgk! Is it true what people say, that -you won your husband at roulette?” - -Levy was his old self. - -Laura tapped him on the shoulders with her sunshade and laughed -unconcernedly. But Stellan looked stiffly after the Jew as he -disappeared in eager discussion with his company. - -Sister and brother stopped for a moment at the corner before they said -good-bye: - -“That fellow Levy is making up to Hedvig, I think,” Stellan mumbled. -“The winding-up of the estate took an enormous time. They say he still -appears out there at Lidingön.” - -There was a malicious flash in Laura’s eyes: - -“Hedvig? Poor fellow!” - -“It would not be exactly pleasant to have Levy in the family, don’t you -think so?” - -Laura stood there in shining white and without a trace of a flush. - -“No ... perhaps not....” - -“It would be best to give Hedvig a hint—tactfully—that Levy is—second -hand....” - -“Nonsense, just frighten her and tell her that Levy wants her money. -That will have more effect!” - -Then they separated. - -“Ugh,” Laura mumbled as she walked about in the sunshine outside the -Grand Hotel, “ugh, how moral Stellan has grown.” - -From which you can see that everything is relative in this world. - - * * * * * - -Peter stalked home from his tailor. It was Stellan who had forced him to -order a new suit of evening clothes for the family dinner. - -Peter had at first obstinately refused. It seemed to him a matter of -honour not to betray his greasy old evening coat. Not till Stellan had -promised to pay the bill did he give in. - -“Tell the tailor you have won the suit as a bet,” Stellan hissed out. -“It is unnecessary to show people what a mean beggar you are!” - -Peter took his revenge by ordering the most expensive things he could -get hold of. - -He was walking homewards one sultry August night, yellow in the face, -bent and heavy. His head, which had always been a little askew, had sunk -between his shoulders. He walked on the edge of the foot path, staring -at the paving stones, and carefully avoided stepping on the joints, so -that sometimes he took gigantic steps and sometimes proceeded with a -ridiculous strut. It was always so when Peter went pondering over -business. - -Twice he stole into small bars and had a glass. The further he came out -towards the suburb—his suburb—the more slowly he walked. He stopped at a -row of houses that were being built in a blocked up suburban street that -was under repair and from which you could see the tops of the masts in -the Ekbacken shipyard away in the background. These houses lay silent -and deserted. Their uneven brick walls glowed in the last rays of the -sun high up above the chasm of the street. But in the empty window-holes -the heavy twilight floated and he visualized all the struggles and mean -worries that would soon be housed there. Peter stood in the raw chilly -draught from the gaps in the walls and thoughtfully stirred a big trough -of mortar with his stick. His expression was at the same time one of -disapproval and contempt. “Don’t build,” he muttered, “don’t build! Buy -from those who have built beyond their means. Houses are worst for those -who have them first. Quite different from girls, ha, ha! But then they -are good, damned good. No shares and such rubbish for me. What is it -they say about a thief? Yes, he is one who has not had time to promote a -company, ha, ha! No, land and bricks are better. Both real bricks and -those that have engraved on them ‘robur et securitas.’” - -After this monologue Peter stalked on in the twilight. He then came to a -rather wild and queer patch of stony ground which most resembled the -scene of a devastating battle. It was here that the country and town -skirmished with each other on a battlefield that was never cleared, full -of blown-up rocks, rubbish heaps, bottomless fragments of road and -fields brown and intersected with a deep trench. The town had pushed -forward its apparatus of siege: stone-cutters’ sheds, metal-crushers and -dynamite boxes. The country obstinately defended its retreat by guerilla -troops of creeping nettles and dock leaves, whilst one or two dried-up -dusty pines represented the remnants of the main army in retreat. - -And over it all whirled the crows, the ravens of the battlefield. - -But Peter was the marauder in this war. From each onward push of the -town he would creep home with fresh booty of war. He strolled among the -rubbish and interposed his coarse signature between those of the buyer -and seller. And woe to him who had ventured too far in the heat of the -moment. They were his victims at once. - -Peter struggled panting up a mountain of road metal. He stood up dark -against the red evening sky, a grinning and spying evil spirit on a -pedestal of millions of broken fragments of stones. He looked out over -the masses of houses of the town. They were enveloped in smoke, -smouldering like a weary brain after a long working day. The very air -around them seem used up and tired. Yes, there the stupid town lay and -sweated and converted Peter’s rocks into gold. It paid dearly for its -work. And still there was no gratitude in his glance as he looked down -upon it from the macadam mountain, but rather something resembling -inveterate distrust and aversion. The town, the community, and the -public were there to be cheated and that was all. This was the doom -pronounced on the honest old granite rocks and it made them less safe, -less suited for human habitation. - -Then Peter turned on his heel and glanced at his own domains. Then he -saw the grey ribbon of a new road stretched past red fences and high -piles of wood, long and straight as an arrow it stretched with neat, -well measured plots of building land on either side. Yes, it was like -following the columns of a cash book with safe entries and solid -credits. All the way to the big sandpit all was well. But there Majängen -began, Peter’s sore spot. He fell in his own estimation as half -involuntarily he stared at that miserable agglomeration of cottages -above which even the sunset glow seemed sullied and decayed. - -Peter was afraid of Majängen. For several years he had not dared to set -foot there. And his fear was shared by all his neighbours and, as a -matter of fact, by the whole town. Yes, Majängen was a name of terror. -Peter’s own policy had long ago driven away all decent, honest people, -and now only the worst rabble lived there. In the twilight they swarmed -out of their holes, the Majängen roughs, thin, pale, with their hands -deep in the pockets of their wide trousers and caps pulled down over -their eyes. They had a new style. Their slang and their types quickly -took possession of the comic papers, so that Peter and his like soon -began to talk the simple but expressive language of their mortal -enemies. - -These youths conducted a bitter war against Selambshof. They pulled down -fences, broke windows, trampled on garden beds. Their numerous thefts -testified to their activity, against which he tried in vain to defend -himself with fierce dogs and barbed wire. Safe in their immunity from -punishment and intoxicated with their success, the hooligans of Majängen -extended their raids to the outskirts of the town, where epidemics of -theft and brawling broke out. But it was not enough that hooliganism, -prostitution, theft, damage to property and brawls issued from Majängen -as from an open sore, worst of all were the epidemics. Diphtheria, -scarlet fever and typhus succeeded each other out there in the cottages -and were a constant menace both to Selambshof and to the town. These -were Peter’s epidemics. There were no drains, and in his greed he had -not given a hand’s breadth of land to those who wanted to supply water -and light to the community. It was a terrible blunder that was to become -both costly and dangerous both to him and to the town. Now in the dog -days there raged again a terrible typhus epidemic which had caused the -loss of several human lives in the immediate neighbourhood of -Selambshof. - -Peter crawled down from the heap of road metal as if the very sight of -the seat of plague were dangerous. As usual, he returned by way of -Ekbacken. - -Slowly he walked past the fine house, where old Hermansson had lived, -and which was now used as a public-house and for working men’s -tenements. Down in the shipyard he stopped below an old ghost of a brig -that raised its blackened rigging towards the empty space above and -whose riven sides disclosed serious rot. Here, as usual, his temper -improved. Why did Peter really like to walk about among the tarred -shavings or to sit and ponder over the rough weathered logs on the -stack? Why did he continue this business, which, even if it did not -quite run at a loss, was still of no importance? Did he perhaps after -all enjoy the shadow of honest and productive work that lifted its -languishing head here on his fine shore property—which increased in -value from year to year? Or did he keep the yard going from a pious -memory of Herman and his first good stroke of business? - -Then he came down to the pier, the long rotting, shaking, pier which -still, as if by miracle, held together. Out there on the seat two -figures were visible against the dark smooth water, one bent and huddled -up and the other thin like a boy, with straight back. One was, of -course, Lundbom, the old fixture Lundbom, who was still able to keep the -books. But the other? It was funny how he reminded you of poor old -Herman! But it must be Georg, Laura’s Georg! It was not the first time -Peter had seen the tall lad wandering about here on the quay, talking to -the workmen and old Lundbom. “Let me see,” thought Peter, “what if the -fellow is planning some trouble for Laura.” And this thought brought him -a certain satisfaction. For his own part he did not feel any remorse or -the least unpleasantness at the sight of Georg out here. It simply did -not occur to him that he had once wronged his father. He thought rather -with a certain phantom-like return of sentimentality of the twenty -thousand that Herman had with him when he left. “Well, yes, I saved the -slam for him anyhow, I saved the slam.” - -Of Herman’s fate in America he had during all these years never heard a -sound, he did not even know if he was alive.... - -At last Peter reached the avenue leading up to Selambshof. He now walked -slowly and half reluctantly. The evenings had grown very long in the -bailiff’s wing. And he did not dare to call in the coachman now when -Stellan’s cursed butler was there in the main building.... - -It was very dark under the dense old elms. Just over his head Peter saw -a narrow strip of sky and some faint, twinkling stars. Then he heard -steps and whispers in the garden. Holding his stick tight and feeling -quite revived, he crept behind a scraggy tree trunk. - -The old fence creaked and suddenly several boys came jumping over the -ditch beside Peter. He got hold of the nearest whilst the others -disappeared quick as lightning in the dark. Aha! Apple thieves! The boy -had his pockets full of unripe fruit. - -“Damned rascal!” roared Peter. “You damned rascal! I’ll give you -something for stealing.” - -And he struck the writhing figure with his rough stick. - -A long, terrible, shrill scream rent the close air. And then Peter -suddenly felt the pain of a bite in his arm. He did not let go, but -puffing and blowing he dragged the boy with him into the office, where -he locked the door and lit the lamp. - -“Here nobody will hear if you yell,” he mumbled. - -But when Peter came up to the boy again with the stick, he was startled -at something in his pale dirty face, distorted with crying: - -“Where do you come from?” he mumbled. - -“Majängen.” - -“Who are your parents?” - -“Mother washes....” - -“What’s her name?” - -“Frida Öberg!” - -Then the boy suddenly stopped sobbing and stared Peter boldly in the -face with an impudent, horribly precocious look that seemed to indicate -that he knew all. - -Peter had the sensation of horrid nakedness, of bare shivering flesh. It -was as when in a nightmare you suddenly find you have forgotten your -trousers. But at the same time he was afraid to betray himself by a hint -of weakness. So he seized the boy firmly by the ear and led him to the -door: - -“Don’t ever steal apples again,” he muttered. “It’s ugly to steal. I -won’t thrash you any more this time.” - -Quick as a flash the boy disappeared from his grip and was swallowed up -in the shadows of the trees. But from the thick silent darkness Peter at -once heard a shrill, sharp voice, mad with fury but at the same time -pitiful and terrible: - -“You damned carcase. I’ll pay you out for that, you damned old carcase!” - -Peter closed the shutters. He had long ago had shutters put up. Then he -sat down under the lamp and examined the bite in his arm. And he was -frightened, frightened as a mouse, of infection from Majängen. - - * * * * * - -Then the day of the great family dinner arrived. - -Between resplendent footmen the carriages and the motor cars drove up -over the newly-weeded and freshly-raked sand-covered ground in front of -the house. For many reasons they had avoided the daylight and chosen the -twilight, which concealed the worst neglect. - -Peter had received strict orders to behave decently. He stood in the -hall underneath an improvised decoration of antelopes’ heads and negro -weapons—trophies from Stellan’s African shooting trip—and received the -guests. In his new evening dress he felt like a foot that has gone to -sleep in a tight boot. He had pins and needles in his whole body. The -thought that he would eat and drink as much as he liked quite free of -charge could not overcome his fear of Count von Borgk, whom after all -these magnificent preparations he imagined to be some sort of wonderful -superman, so covered with orders that any other poor devil would feel -quite naked in the region of the left lapel. But Peter calmed down when -the newly married couple arrived at last and the Count proved to be a -gentleman whom Laura could have hidden away in her décolletage. Yes, he -was a little dark gentleman with soft eyes, that avoided looking into -other people’s eyes, and with an expression round the mouth that was -both suffering and sensual. He had thin, hairy hands which seemed to -melt away when you shook hands. He spoke a low, sing-song -Finnish-Swedish with a certain admixture of Slavonic softness and -suppleness. And his dress coat was bare, quite bare over his heart. - -It was strange to think that this was the hated and feared Count Alexis -von Borgk, accused by exiled Finns of a perverse betrayal of his country -and of coarse political sadism. Was he one of those neurasthenics of -authority who are only able to breathe amid the cold momentous gusts of -world politics? Was he one of those strange heraldic beings who are -irresistibly attracted by the austere magnificence of a throne; who are -linked to the forces of reaction by emblems and ceremonies? Or was he -perhaps a weak dreamer who had fallen a victim to the mystery of -panslavism and who had nothing but the grey spleen left for anything so -mean as a Grand Duchy with a few million souls? Anyhow he was now a man -who could no longer retain the post he had chosen, but had retired, -having all the same suffered and sacrificed something. A son by a -previous marriage with a Russian had fallen in the Russian-Japanese war -just after he had been commissioned lieutenant. - -But Laura was not in the least affected by this. She took her husband -playfully. The Countess had really escaped from the skirmishes of life -with surprising ease. Her smile had kept its impertinent freshness. She -still continued to look as if she had just got out of bed, and had a -little of the warmth of the bed left. And her skin was in some strange -way more naked than that of other ladies. This evening a lot of -jewellery with some cold green stones shimmered on it, but no pearls. -Pearls did not suit her, she thought. Did she perhaps realize that their -soft roundness and mellow sheen are symbols of quite a different sort of -womanliness? - -Among those who did not know her, Laura always created a sensation by -having Georg with her. They had not seen him for years and had almost -forgotten his existence. And now he suddenly appeared on the scene, a -tall, well grown lad of sixteen, dressed up in his first dress shirt and -dress coat and still quite shy and confused by this unexpected promotion -after years of oblivion and neglect. He was really very like his father, -Georg, so like that one was almost startled. There was something open, -honest, straight-backed, that the Selambs regarded as stupidity, but -with a new admixture of grit and determination that made all except -Laura think. She seemed to be merely content with her new possession. -Imagine that that overgrown schoolboy in his ridiculous knickers and -worn sailor’s blouse should turn out so presentable. Yes, these last -days Georg had been paraded, introduced, boasted of, and spoilt. She -went with him everywhere just as in the recklessness of love you would -show off a new lover. Perhaps it may, as a matter of fact, have been a -whimsical motherly falling in love. Perhaps something reserved, even -hostile in her son had awakened her feminine desire for conquest. Or was -it only secret anxiety born of the glance of shy, uncomprehending fear -that Georg first cast upon his new stepfather? - -They went in to dinner. - -Stellan and his butler had really worked marvels. The shabby old -dining-room at Selambshof was impossible to recognize, thanks to a soft -wine-red carpet, expensive sconces, handsome high backed chairs, -exquisite table silver, and plenty of white orchids. - -But it looked all the same as if it was going to be a silent dinner. -They were mute after the first nervous talk. They stared at the -batteries of untouched glasses in front of each chair as if they -signified a troublesome journey with many hardships. Mrs. Elvira sat -cool and thin in her armour of jet and black silk and breathed reserve -from every fibre of her body. And Hedvig Hill seemed a monument of -silence. Words seemed to shrink and freeze away in her neighbourhood. -Everybody seemed to be afraid of the wine going down the wrong throat -after Peter’s awkward speech of welcome during the soup. All except -Laura. She continued, apparently unconcerned and gay, her little -flirtation with Georg. - -“Your health, Georg dear!” - -Georg drank to her attentively and obediently, carefully sipping his -glass: - -“Put a white orchid in your buttonhole.” - -Georg obeyed again. Laura threw a kiss to him: “Just look how sweet the -boy looks!” - -Georg grew purple in the face and looked at his plate. Laura clapped her -hands: - -“And he blushes like a little girl!” - -Count Alexis followed this flirtation with languid eyes and a little -tired smile: - -“Well, that is something our good Georg has not inherited from you.” - -Evidently the Count had no illusions. - -Then there was a new silence, only interrupted by the almost inimical -ringing of glasses and knives. But Laura did not give in. She looked -about her with bright defiant eyes. Then she suddenly turned to Hedvig -and began to talk of Levy. It was really deliciously impudent of her to -start just that topic. Laura teased Hedvig a little about her lawyer, -warned her in playful phrases against his business genius and then said -a few malevolent little truths about Jews in general. - -“You see Alexis is an anti-Semite and I’ve caught it from him,” she -ended up with a soft smile. - -Hedvig answered nothing. She only turned white in the face. Even her -perfect bare shoulders grew whiter and seemed to radiate a chill through -the dark velvet of her dress. But her black eyes stared with a shy -irresolute hatred into her sister’s restless eyes. - -Stellan was afraid lest Hedvig should suddenly tell Laura some awful -truth; he was so afraid that his glass jingled against the plate as he -raised it. But Laura had already noticed a haughty expression of disgust -on Elvira’s face and turned at once to her sister-in-law. She began -innocently far far away in Africa, on the Nile, during Stellan’s and -Elvira’s famous wedding trip. From there she went over to the little -panther cubs that they had brought home and which she had seen during -her call at Trefvinge. Yes, they were too sweet, those little panther -cubs, though she for her own part would never have dared to take them in -her arms and play with them now that they had grown so big. But Elvira -had been like a mother to them from the beginning. It was really -delightful to see her with her little twins, so one could imagine worse -results from a wedding trip.... - -That was one for Elvira. If Laura had torn off her clothes and pointed -at the scars after the operation knife it could not have been more -obvious. But the lady of Trefvinge Castle did not move a muscle. She -only muttered quite low—so low that only those nearest to her could -hear: - -“My dear Laura, now you have stayed long enough in Africa. It would -perhaps be good for you to think of a cooler place—say Siberia for -instance.” - -Laura did not trouble to catch the whisper. After her last bravado she -settled down and seemed determined to be bored too. - -Count Alexis seemed absent-minded during the last part of the -conversation. Now his soft and musical voice was heard: - -“I wonder if I might have some water.... No thank you, not -soda,—ordinary water....” - -“Ordinary water?” grunted Peter, suddenly quite amazed. - -“Yes, thank you, if you have spring water.” - -“Yes, certainly, ha, ha. There is certainly spring water!” - -Stellan sent one of the servants for a jug of fresh water, straight from -the well. - -The Count filled a champagne glass, sipped it a little and leant -slightly back with half-closed eyes: - -“Water is so pleasant,” he mumbled. “It taste of nothing, absolutely -nothing.... And everything is so calm in Sweden. You shoot so -surprisingly seldom indoors or in the streets. It is like a sanatorium. -And all the ladies look like nurses, charming nurses—except Laura of -course....” - -Then Count Alexis’ glance fell upon Old Enoch, who hung over the green -sofa opposite him. He started as if a real live person had suddenly -stood up, as if there were a hitherto unnoticed guest in the room. - -“Whom does this excellent portrait represent?” - -“It is our grandfather,” Stellan hastened to answer. “Enoch Selamb, a -landed proprietor. He was a clever agriculturist in his day.” - -The time was past when Stellan indulged in any playful truths about his -ancestors. - -Peter had already in secret found time to drink a good deal, and looked -somewhat bloated. - -“He was a damned rascal,” he cut in contentedly, “a real old rascal. You -couldn’t cheat him....” - -He stopped when Stellan trampled on his feet and turned back to his bird -and his wine. But Laura skittishly made the sign of the cross before her -ancestor. - -“Old Enoch is our patron saint,” she explained to her husband. “He ought -always to have a candle burning before his picture—as before an ikon. -Thanks to him no Selamb can do really bad business.” - -The Count’s glance travelled searchingly round the table and then back -to the portrait. - -“Hm,” he mumbled, “one can see the likeness.” - -There was a pause again and everybody felt old Enoch’s looks directed -towards him, even those who had their backs turned to the portrait. - -Peter ate and drank for the whole company. The dress coat did not pinch -him any more. By Jove, he began to feel at home amongst the guinea-hens -and the golden pheasants. Yes this was not a bad show. “May I be damned -if I ever sat down with so much money before,” he thought, “Here is -Hedvig the Tragedy, who is worth at least three millions. She is lost in -her pile of notes as big as herself, and there are Stellan and Elvira -who are also expensive creatures, even more expensive than Hedvig, at -least five millions if we count Trefvinge as worth three. And Laura, the -little minx, weighs as much, if it is true that the Count has sold three -big estates in Finland and Esthonia.” And then there was himself, Peter -the Boss ... with Ekbacken and Kolsnäs and a big slice of Selambshof and -all his building land and houses. He was the worst of them all, not less -than eight millions. And that was calculating absurdly low, almost as if -for income tax returns. He scarcely dared to confess to himself how much -he owned. And if he added it all together it came to more than twenty -millions. Or perhaps more correctly thirty. Thirty millions. Peter -rolled the figure in his mouth, chewed it with the fowl, swallowed it -with the wine. Thirty millions, thirty millions.... - -He was not at all like King Midas. The gold agreed with him splendidly. - -But just opposite sat Stellan, thin, straight, scrupulously elegant, -with the set face of the retired gambler. He sat looking at the row of -untouched glasses in front of his wife. All those fine vintages! An -exquisite harmony in colour from the golden green mist over the light -sparkling sunshine of the champagne and the glowing burgundy down to the -heavy brown dash of colour in the Malvoisier! And all of it untouched, -disdained. Oh what sort of a creature had he bound himself to, thin, -cold, fastidious, sterile, incapable of life! Not even Africa had for a -moment raised her temperature above zero. Even her capricious love of -sport had suddenly been blown away when she noticed that he had expected -something of it. She seemed nowadays to be exclusively occupied in being -bored. It seemed as if the staff of servants at the Castle had gradually -assumed all her functions of life. Stellan sometimes felt a sort of fear -of her, as of a lingering disease, a dangerous languor. Yes, the disease -of wealth is infectious. He was already infected. And still he could -think of nothing but collecting more money, and more money. He was -afraid when he thought of anything else than money. - -Stellan started. By Jove, they had already reached the dessert. He -absolutely must stand up and make a speech. But how difficult it was to -get out of the chair today! “Supposing I refuse to tell a lot of lies -about Laura and the damned Russian,” he thought suddenly. “Supposing -instead I rise and propose a toast to—absent friends! To poor Manne von -Strelert who happened to shoot a hole through his head. And to that -decent fellow, Herman Hermansson, who took a little trip to America. And -to Percy Hill, who died in beauty. And to von Borgk’s boarders in the -Peter-Paul fortress and in Siberia. And to all the people we have kicked -over and climbed up on. Supposing I raise up Banquo’s ghost! That would -be exciting!” - -Compassion was not one of Stellan’s frailties. He regretted nothing, -felt no remorse. He only felt stiff, isolated, frozen, paralysed by -melancholy irony. And when he looked round the silent circles the others -seemed to him frozen also. It seemed as if they were all sitting frozen -in a gigantic block of ice, and only imagined that they could reach each -other with their thoughts, words and gestures. That they breathed and -moved was probably only imagination. Really they were all dead, except -Peter. Nothing affected him. He belonged to those organisms low down in -the scale that can stand any amount of cold.... - -Yes, it was a ghost-dinner. The great ghost dinner at Selambshof. And -from the wall old Enoch’s eyes stared, stared, and stung. “That’s right, -my children,” they seemed to say, “now you are ready. Now I’ve got you. -Now you are inside my magic circle. And none of you will escape, -none....” - -Stellan felt an emptiness in his head, paralysed, sick. His glance -wandered from one face to the other in the circle. He scorned them, he -saw through them, but still he begged them for help. “If only I can get -up out of this cursed chair. If only I could get up out of this cursed -chair!” - -Then his wandering glance suddenly fell on Georg. Georg sat in his -corner and looked lost and unhappy. An honest young face. “Bah, you know -nothing yet,” Stellan thought, shrugging his shoulders. “What is -straight will be crooked, my young friend, and what is warm will grow -cold.” And he felt his lips move in a pitying smile. But still he could -not look away from the boy’s face. It was as if he had suspected that -here was something like a crack in the wall of ice, a break in the magic -circle. Yes, deep down he felt a strange relief to see him, to notice -his timid protest against his stepfather, his anxious wonder at his -mother, and all reflected in a face that knew nothing of dissimulation. - -At last Stellan got up and made his well-balanced speech to the newly -married couple with a certain military briskness in his delivery. - -After all even lies have nothing but truth to live on. And even the -coldest egoism must in the end draw breath beside whatever honour and -goodness is left in the world. Otherwise it would die of suffocation.... - - * * * * * - -Two days after the dinner at Selambshof, Count von Borgk got typhus and -was taken to a nursing home. At the same time not less than three of the -servants on the estate fell ill, amongst them Peter’s housekeeper. - -Peter was in deadly fear, and could think of no other way out than to -sail away immediately from all this misery. He was already on his way -down to his boat—Herman’s old “Laura,”—which still lay at her buoy in -the bay where the bathing box was. But when he passed the well on the -slope below the terrace, he saw that the cotter pin was not in its place -in the little trap door at the foot of the pump. Peter lifted the lid of -the well and peeped down. It was a shallow well and was now almost dried -up from the long drought of the dog days. He saw at once that the bottom -was covered with newspapers, dirty rags and unspeakable filth. - -Peter got up dizzy and sick. “Majängen!” he thought. “The apple thief! -Frida Öberg’s boy. That was what the Count got for drinking water! -That’s what he got for his sanatorium!” - -With a groan and a push of his massive body, Peter seized the pump and -pump-house in a mighty grip and threw it down so that all might see that -the well was poisoned. Then he fled head over heels down the hill to his -boat and out towards the bays of Lake Mälare. - -Count von Borgk’s condition did not at first cause much anxiety. His -temperature was comparatively low and his strength seemed to hold out. - -Laura felt normal again by and by after her own terror of infection had -passed. She telephoned each day to the nursing home and sent flowers and -little notes. - -But as the time passed she found it more and more difficult to find -anything to write. She began to feel out of sorts, listless, bitter. She -had looked forward to some pleasant weeks at the seaside and now she had -to sit here and be baked at the Grand Hotel in the midst of the summer -heat and the dead season. - -That Count Alexis should immediately fall ill was not a part of the -marriage contract. - -Laura consoled herself as far as possible with Georg. During her long -stay abroad he had been boarded out in the family of a bank cashier. -There he had a tiny room about as big as a wardrobe, which just held his -bed and school books. The cashier and his wife were cold, silent, -nervous people who made a face if you talked aloud or banged the door, -but who otherwise left Georg completely alone. Nobody during the last -two years had asked how he was doing at school. But this very -forlornness had awakened in him a defiant ambition that had kept him up -to the mark. - -Now he moved to his mother at the hotel and they had their meals in the -big dining-room. It was an immense change. Laura had to force him to -help himself to the fine food. He writhed on his chair and it looked as -if he were eating with a bad conscience. - -Laura stayed in bed late in the mornings. Usually she heard no sound -from Georg until he came home breathless for lunch. He had been out for -a walk, he said. Laura became curious. One morning she awoke early, at -eight o’clock, and stole into Georg’s room. It was empty. And he did not -return before twelve. When his mother pressed him with questions, he -suddenly looked her straight in the eyes and answered vehemently that he -had been at Ekbacken.... - -Laura smiled a tart little smile and pulled together her kimono which -had opened and showed her silk stockings: - -“Oh! are you so mad on boats?” she said. - -The following day whilst Laura still lay in bed the telephone on her -night table rang. It was from the nursing home. The nurse who spoke -sounded very serious. The Count was worse and incessantly expressed his -wish that the Countess should come to see him. - -Laura felt a violent discomfort. She grew cold all over. The thought of -the nursing home made her sick. She had not yet been there. She was -afraid, mortally afraid of long corridors, temperature curves, the smell -of disinfectants, groans, biers. Every fibre of her body shrank back -from the serious danger of infection and the nearness of death. But all -of a sudden she felt relief, a wonderful relief. Georg! Yes Georg would -probably go! With trembling fingers she seized the receiver again: - -“Oh! nurse, I should like to come. But I can’t, not today. I am ill in -bed myself. I feel most awfully dizzy. But I will send my son.” - -After which Laura tied a damp towel round her head and waited for Georg. - -When he came in she lay writhing on her pillows and really looked rather -ill. She caught hold of his hand and pressed it violently: - -“Georg dear, they have rung up from the nursing home. He wants to see -me. But I can’t trail myself there. I feel so awfully bad. Will you go -there and give him my love, tell him how ill I am.” - -Georg stood pale, hating the thought of going to the sick bed of this -feared and secretly detested stranger. But he drew himself up. It did -not enter his head to say “no” on an occasion like this. - -After some hours Georg came back. He had not been able to give any -message as the patient was unconscious. - -Laura put no questions about the nursing home, what the doctor had said, -or how the patient looked. She only heaped her gratitude on Georg and -fawned on him like a dog. - -She probably felt she might need him again. - -The next day the Count was still unconscious and then Laura ventured to -be a little bit better and to get up. It was boring to stay in bed, and -besides she had a superstitious fear of pretending to be ill—she might -really become ill. - -On the whole, she thought extraordinarily little of the man whose name -she bore. It seemed as if his illness had obliterated all her memories, -from the earliest society ones to the latest exquisitely sensual; it -seemed as if it had made of him a remote half-hostile stranger. - -Several days passed. There was no talk of any visit to the invalid. He -could speak to nobody, periods of unconsciousness interchanged with -periods of delirium. Laura could no longer keep quiet or sit alone. She -had at last made some acquaintances in the hotel, a secretary of the -Danish Legation and a young widow whom she had met at the seaside. They -in their turn had introduced her to a Russian musician who was passing -through. So they were able to have a little game of bridge up in Laura’s -sitting room in the evening. - -“How is your husband getting on?” said the lady between the bids. - -“Oh, I was there today ... he is much better....” - -Georg heard these words through the half open door. - -Then the telephone in Laura’s bedroom rang. With a sigh she dropped her -cards and went in, carefully closing the door to the sitting room. The -Russian did not play bridge, but was improvising on the piano. - -Once more there was a terrible, pious, insistent voice on the telephone: - -“The Count is conscious again. He only mumbles your name. He must speak -to you. He can’t have long to live. You won’t let him die quite -alone....” - -Laura’s voice sounded like a cry of distress, half in despair, half in -fury: - -“Good God ... I ... I told you, nurse, that I was ill myself ... that I -am in bed ... that the doctor has forbidden me.... But I will try to -send somebody....” - -She rushed in to Georg. She was pale, very much décolletée, dressed in -black rustling silk and covered with jewels. She did not notice how her -son quickly hid a parcel under the table. She stroked him on his arm and -hand quickly and nervously. - -“Dear little Georg, you must go to the nursing home again! Alexis has -become worse. I can’t bear to see him suffer. My nerves are quite -exhausted. Yes, it would quite finish me. I have some friends here but -they must leave, they must leave at once.... I am simply done....” - -Georg turned away. Her perfume enveloped him. As she bent forward he saw -with a shudder her dazzling white breasts move below her low-cut frock. -He suddenly felt a strange sickening shame that she should be his -mother, that he had sprung from her body. He jumped out of his chair: - -“No, mamma, you go yourself!” he exclaimed. - -But she clung to him, moaned, begged, caressed, kissed him. Yes, in her -miserable panic she seemed to have forgotten that he was her son and she -was prepared to employ all the artifices that a frightened woman can -employ in order to move a man. - -Georg jumped up and pushed her away from him: - -“Leave me alone!” he said, “I don’t want you to touch me!” - -Merely from anxiety and in order to get away from her he at last rushed -out for the second time to the sick man. - -Laura stood at the table with a rigid smile on her lips. The danger she -had escaped seemed to have numbed every limb in her body. She pulled her -shawl over her bare shoulders. Her son’s contempt passed like a chill -shiver over her skin. Your own flesh and blood! Bah! The boy was like -wax in her hands. - -She went into the sitting room. She walked slowly and carefully. It -seemed as if there were something cold, frail and motionless within her, -something that could not bear a shock. - -Laura excused herself to her guests: - -“My husband is worse and I must go to him,” she said, quietly and -solemnly. - -Appearances must, of course, be saved. - -They said good-bye with many regrets and expressions of sympathy. The -young Russian musician had a refined and a very sensitive face. He meant -to kiss his hostess’s hand but stopped half way and turned a little -pale. As he bent over this beautiful and robust woman’s body it seemed -as if he had suddenly been startled as before something dead, before the -stench of a dead soul. - -Laura hurried to bed, took a sleeping draught and pulled the bed cover -over her head. - - * * * * * - -Early the next morning she was awakened by the message of the death of -her husband. She first felt a strange creepy sensation of relief. Now he -would never call for her again. Now she no longer need go and see him. -Now she could escape the nursing home.... - -But then she was seized by a bitter ague. Her nerves at least had not -forgotten him. A cold breath chilled certain of her more intimate -memories and the cold bony fingers of death groped too close to her own -spine. It was like a poisoning of the senses. - -Laura felt so out of sorts and so sick that she quite believed she was -mourning her dead husband and felt keenly sorry for herself. She dressed -in her plainest black frock and sank down into an easy chair. - -Then a tall thin man in a black frock coat, carefully buttoned, and -dismal folds on his forehead appeared ghostlike on the scene. He was the -undertaker. Laura told him with a tired, an infinitely tired gesture, -and in a few monosyllables to address himself to her brothers at -Selambshof and Trefvinge. After which the gloomy looking figure withdrew -bowing solemnly. - -Laura sank together. “I am an old woman,” she thought. “Everything -inside me feels so frozen and dead. I am an old, broken, lonely woman. -My life is finished.” - -Then she suddenly thought of Georg. Good God, Georg! She had forgotten -Georg. Of course, she had Georg. She was not alone. Her life was not -finished. She had her son, a big, handsome, clever, brave boy. - -A glow of warmth surged once more through Laura’s veins. A certain -remorse for her previous indifference and neglect stirred inside her. -For once she really suspected something of a mother’s feelings. - -She flew into Georg’s room. - -It was empty. - -She sat down to wait. She sat on the edge of his bed, fingering his -pillow and his night shirt and got out her watch every second minute. -Never before in her life had she really waited for any human being. - -She called the chambermaid. She inquired of the waiter and the hall -porter. No, nobody had seen the young gentleman. And still he had been -sleeping in his bed, you could see that. - -Laura worked herself up into a state of nervous, shivering, whining -anxiety. Towards dinner time the hall porter sent up a letter that had -been left by a messenger boy. It was from Georg and read as follows:— - - - To my mother, - - I am writing to say good-bye. We shall not see each other again. - I had not meant to leave like this, but what happened yesterday - was too cowardly. I can’t stay any longer. I am going to sign on - as soon as I get a chance and sail to America to find father. It - is no good trying to find me because I am sixteen years of age - and I am not coming back to you. I know all about how you and - Uncle Peter behaved to father. I know it through old Lundbom and - Sara, who was a maid at Ekbacken. She is married to a workman in - the yard now. Old Lundbom believed in you at first but he was - sorry when he understood how everything had happened. Two years - ago he received a letter from father that was to be given to me - when I was sixteen. In it is his address and everything. He is - in a big office and has a rather good job, though it was not so - easy at first. He is a noble man, I know that. It is for his - sake I have been working so hard at school because you have - never cared for me before. So now I am going. All the money I - have got from you is in the right hand drawer of the table, - because I don’t want to use it to run away with. Good-bye now. - And you must forgive me, for I cannot do anything else. - - Good-bye! - - Georg Hermansson. - - _P. S._ - - If anybody does any harm to old Lundbom because of this, they - will hear from me when I come back! - - -Laura did not faint after reading this letter. She had no attack of -nerves, made no scene, did not stir up heaven and earth to get her son -back. She only suddenly felt empty, quite empty. She no longer felt -anxious for Georg. She could not as a matter of fact understand her -former anxiety and eagerness for him. - -She washed her face in cold water, powdered it, and drove out to order -mourning clothes. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VII - - +SHADOW PLAY+ - - -The spring was early that year. Through the windows of the renaissance -hall of the Hill villa the May sunshine flowed calm and warm as in June. -But Hedvig, who was walking to and fro, had still retained her winter -complexion. Yes, the tragic beauty of her face was deathly pale as she -took a few steps to and fro like a prisoner measuring his cell. She -seemed slimmer than ever and was still dressed in black. Like a dark -shadow she glided to and fro, to and fro, across the wine-red -sun-bespattered carpet. - -Each time Hedvig came opposite to the little cupboard on the wall where -the telephone was concealed, she stopped a moment with helplessly -hanging hands and a restless, anxious expression. By and by she -approached the spot more and more frequently and it seemed as if an -irresistible force drew her to the telephone. Then she stretched out her -hand to lift the receiver. But then a door banged in the region of the -kitchen and at once she withdrew her hand as if it had been burnt, and -she resumed her restless pacing. Then everything was quiet again and -Hedvig was again at the telephone. In a low unsteady voice she asked for -a number. After which her voice with a tremendous effort rose and became -tense, haughty, commanding: - -“May I speak to Mr. Levy?” - -But the tension died away in a disappointed, dissatisfied tone, - -“I see, not in yet....” - -Hedvig resumed her cell-walking. She mumbled to herself and looked if -possible even paler than before. Incessantly she looked at the clock in -despair that the minutes passed so slowly through the silent and sunny -room. - -For the second time Hedvig was drawn to the telephone. Now at last he -had come to the office. The cool relief suddenly made her voice -indifferent, hard, businesslike: - -“Good-morning! It is Mrs. Hill speaking. I only wanted to remind you of -those mortgages that were to be attended to ... those in....” - -Levy’s voice answered over the ’phone, stern and assured, with an -imperceptible note of satisfaction: - -“Yes, of course, the mortgages.... Yes, that will be all right.... I -will come out to dinner, _if I may_, then we can talk it over....” - -It was not the first time Levy had invited himself to dinner at Hill -villa. Probably in the correct surmise that his client would never be -able to make up her mind to do it. - -Hedvig put the receiver down with a shrug of the shoulders, a wretched -false little shrug. She resumed her walking. You could see how she tried -to convince herself that she was quite cool and indifferent now that her -anxiety lest he should forget the mortgages was over. - -Her steps halted suddenly in front of one of the patches of sunlight on -the carpet. It looked as if she dared not venture out on that red sea of -light. It looked as if the spring sun, which flooded the large silent -room in ever greater volume, had dazzled and paralysed her. - -Good God! What was she to do before dinner? How was she to occupy -herself the whole of this long pitiless radiant spring day! - -She found no way out but the usual one—to fly to the shadows. She rang -the bell and ordered her car. - -“Shan’t we begin with the open car soon, Madam?” said Ohlesson, the -chauffeur. - -“No!” - -So the big black covered car ran out to the cemetery. And then Hedvig -sat there on the seat by Percy’s grave, from which she had not allowed -the dry withered funeral wreaths to be removed. Erect, motionless she -sat under her black sunshade, whilst all around the light May green -sparkled and swayed in the broad stream of sunlight. The sun -appropriated even Hedvig’s black silk cloak and made it live and shimmer -with a thousand colours. But her face was only lit up by a faint -reflection from below, from the marble of the tomb. - -It was more than a year and a half since Percy had died, but lately -Hedvig had begun to take refuge here again. Here she fought her way back -to the life of shadows, a thin life, a continuation of their life in the -sanatorium. Not that she was able to forget even here on the seat in the -cemetery all that consumed her:—money, business and everything connected -with it. No, but she thought of it with less anxiety. Rather with a -solemn and pious feeling that it was her duty to watch over what her -dear Percy had left behind.... - -There was something strange about Percy Hill. He had been a poor -invalid, and yet his character had been so free from any mean fears that -even long after his death his memory acted as a sedative. As Hedvig sat -there her heart filled with quiet gratitude that she had been given the -joy of sacrificing some years of her life to him. She no longer suffered -for having lied to him and cheated him in his last wish. She had only -been the nurse who prevented her poor patient from injuring himself. Her -conscience closed its eyes to the circumstances attending her patient’s -death. - -No, there was no danger in sitting there whispering to her memory, that -sentimental liar. Her egoism was not frightened of the past, but of the -future. - -What a challenge to all the powers of the spirit, this feeble, mute, -half-concealing lie in the midst of the clear sunshine! It seemed as if -the light in sudden anger had surged around her with increased -intensity; had sent a fresh wave of burning restlessness through her -body. She rose and seemed to grope after the receding shadows. Then with -dazzled, burning eyes she staggered along the cemetery path. Outside the -gate her motor hummed, impatient to rush her back to all that waited for -her ... business ... Levy ... the future...! - -“I won’t change,” Hedvig thought in the car. She found there was -something safe, reassuring, in the fact that she did not intend to put -on different clothes. But when she came home she did so all the same. -And she sat long before the mirror. And then she stood in the window -looking down the road. - -At last there came a car and Levy got out. - -“Taxi,” thought Hedvig, as if she could blunt the point of a threat with -that prosaic reflection. Levy ran quickly up the stairs. “Jew,” she -thought, as if by doing so she had kept something at bay. But all the -same she had to force herself to walk slowly, really slowly, out into -the hall to receive her guest. - -Levy had brought some yellow roses. - -“If there were black roses, I should give you them instead,” he said. - -Hedvig forgot the roses on a table in the hall on purpose. She had a -sensation that he flushed up for a moment beneath his even pallor. - -There were primroses and lilac on the dining-table. - -“Those flowers don’t suit you,” he said with a quick bitter smile. Then -he turned to the maid who was serving: “Take away those flowers and -fetch my roses out of the hall!” - -He seemed quite at home. - -Then Levy threw himself into business and made good progress from the -start. - -Levy had made money live for Hedvig, too much so! At first she had -regarded her large fortune as a safe protection against all the demands -and dangers of life. She sat huddled up in the middle of her gold heap -where nothing could reach her. But Levy had thrown out his hands: - -“Good God, what money! What a heavy shapeless mass! What an old, -moss-grown stump of a fortune! For twenty years it has had to take care -of itself. For twenty years not a single experienced hand has touched -it. It looks like a fund for widows and orphans.” - -“You mean that the investments are safe as a rock,” mumbled Hedvig. “But -surely that is a good thing!” - -“Yes, but the interest, Mrs. Hill, the interest! You don’t get much more -than three and a half per cent. and you could get six. You allow a -hundred thousand a year to run through your fingers. That is to make -yourself a laughing stock to God and man. As an expert I can’t bear to -see such an absurdity. Allow me to make some dispositions for you. You -can submit them for the approval of your brothers.” - -Hedvig worried and pondered long before she said yes. But the hundred -thousand were stronger than her fears. And thus Levy had lured her into -his world, the money-world. She began by questioning him on all -occasions in a woman’s way, ignorantly, persistently, suspiciously. And -he would reply. He answered not only patiently but willingly, quickly, -ardently, enthusiastically. He explained the whole economic mechanism of -credits, bills, mortgages, debentures, shares. The whole of this finely -balanced system of suspicion and confidence made a deep impression on -Hedvig. To her over-cautious spirit it seemed like balancing on the edge -of the abyss. His quick purposeful assurance seemed to her something -supernatural, almost creepy. But she had to hear more and more. Oh, it -was deliciously exciting to hear Levy talk of money. It was only now she -began to grasp what money was. And she felt as if she were in a swing, -feeling giddy at the fact of owning so much. - -Yes, Levy’s interest became more and more eager. Hedvig had already been -lured from her gold-heap where she had enjoyed the twilight. Her money -was no longer like a wall protecting her against the world. No, it was -instead a medium in which she moved about. It formed the thousand -connections, the tentacles and nerves thanks to which she at once felt -what was happening in the town, in the country, in Europe, in the whole -world. - -Levy tore Hedvig with him half way into life, at least into that kind of -life which consists of movement and business. He showed to her confined -and numbed egoism another kind of egoism that was world-embracing, -intensely awake and technically brilliant. He was the personification of -that egoism. It was something different from Percy’s laissez-aller and -cool, submissive irony. It was wheels that rolled. It was diamond cut -diamond. It was power, destiny. Hedvig sometimes became quite frightened -at his passionate discourse, frightened as if she had come out into the -strong daylight without a dark corner to which to retreat. And she no -longer had her money to protect her. It had become his confederate, it -betrayed her to him, it was in love with him. Hedvig had no way out but -to assume a forced reserve, a sudden cold, and sheer rudeness. But that -had no effect on him at all. He was insensitive to everything which was -not logic. Then in her anxiety she crept behind her dead husband, draped -herself in crêpe, fled to the shadows and became just piety and memory. -That was the only thing that hitherto could damp Levy’s eagerness. The -world-embracing, hot and cold romance of money shrank up violently and -he became gradually colder and colder, more formal and more ironical, -till at last he said good-bye with a bow that was really a shrug of the -shoulders. - -So today Mrs. Hedvig had to assume her crêpe. - -During the soup Levy raised the question of the mortgage. That was a -mere nothing, a bagatelle. They would buy the house by auction, no doubt -about that. It would certainly be good business, because the house was, -as it happened, valued much too high. Other people are frightened of -houses that are assessed too high. But we are not, Mrs. Hill. For we -know of a certain little insurance company that will take the house with -open arms. They need it on their books. A house that is bought for -200,000 but can be taken up at 300,000 improves the position at once by -100,000—not for the shareholders but for the Board of Directors. - -Levy’s face suddenly became contemptuous and almost offended. This topic -seemed to upset him. It was not worthy of the occasion or of his -feelings: - -“Well, that’s that,” he exclaimed. “I am tired of the house property -swindle. That’s for inferior people, philistines and small fry. I really -can’t understand your brother Peter’s taste. I admit that he has a -brutal sort of natural business shrewdness, but he lives like an -old-fashioned craftsman amidst modern improvements. Before 1905 we -believed that business consisted in cheating each other and the State. -Yes, I believed it too. But that is now old-fashioned, hopelessly -old-fashioned. Nowadays we have at last grasped the fact that the really -lucrative business is the positive one in which money really makes a -contribution.... That is to say shares, industrial shares! We live in -the age of a most tremendous industrial boom. The whole world is -becoming industrialised. You must be blind not to see in which direction -the royal road of capital leads. Money and wheels are related. Shares, -industrial shares! Invest your money in forests, waterfalls and iron -mines! Send it to the saw mills, the harbours and the ammunition works!” - -Here Levy swallowed the third glass of mineral water and broke out into -a vehement flood of share quotations and statistics of exports. And all -the time he stared at Hedvig with an expression that was at once -appealing, passionate, embittered and sceptical. He wanted to dazzle -her, make her enthusiastic, but there was something spasmodic and almost -despairing in his efforts. There was not a spark of real and innocent -joy in the present moment. - -Did he see through her, this woman before him, or did he suffer from the -fact that the passionate pulses of his heart were only capable of -stirring the ashes of some dry calculations? - -Hedvig stared at the table-cloth. She felt his glance on every point of -her face and neck. His harsh, quick voice at the same time opened up the -whole world for her and spun her into a net of supple meshes. It was -already as if she could not move hands or feet. He seemed to her to come -closer, closer. She intermittently felt hot and cold in this strange -heat with cold currents that streamed out from his being. Quickly, -relentlessly the terror rose in her, the irresistible terror of seeing -herself cut off from any possibility of escape, overpowered. - -She suddenly got up from coffee: - -“Shall we not do the round of the pictures today?” she said. “It is the -first time it has been light enough after dinner.” - -The round of the pictures was an invention of Hedvig’s fear. She felt -safer amongst Percy’s pictures. - -Levy rose slowly and offered Hedvig his arm. The tension in his face -broke down. He was evidently not pleased to have to leave his own -special field of attack and to have to resort to a slow roundabout -strategy in order to fight with a dead man. - -And yet Levy could certainly talk of art, in case of need. He was a -connoisseur in his own way and had a great deal to say not only of -market values but also of theories and technique. There were various -things here that he could tell some malicious stories about, various -things he was prepared at once to slaughter with his criticism, but also -some things he had to admire. But it was a jealous, inarticulate -admiration. Levy bit his lip and kept silent. To come up against the -dead husband all the time made him, Jacob Levy, barrister, embarrassed -and uncertain of himself. He knew much, but not how to battle with a -shadow. - -Hedvig found time to breathe. And she at once started the game of -“Chinese shades.” It was really a game in her own style, silent, -stealthy, and unconsciously false. She had had many and long rehearsals -of it out there by the grave. Every accent of her voice was reminiscent -of crêpe. Solemnly she advanced through the rooms which the evening -light was filling with its first pure tones of gold. She stopped with -head inclined before one picture after the other. In every gesture, in -every word, she simulated admiration for her dead husband’s fine -understanding of art and for the modest, unselfish enthusiasm that never -failed in spite of exhaustion and suffering. - -A good dose of almost religious piety was administered to Levy. But he -evidently did not like the medicine. His pallor was tinged with green. -His lips curved into an imperceptible, nervous grimace. But he had to -swallow it all the same. It was only when they had come out into the -hall among the modern things that he suddenly plucked up his courage -again amidst these new, more reckless and more highly coloured -surroundings. With a solemnity that was more austere than ever—perhaps -because it required more effort—Hedvig halted before an animal painting, -signed by a not unknown French artist. The picture represented two -tigers, as innocently striped as if they had been painted by a child of -five. They were playing in a jungle which seemed to consist of a ragged -bouquet of dried grass. - -Then Levy could keep silent no longer: “I know a little story about that -master,” he exclaimed eagerly. “Two Parisian Jewish dealers had a good -lunch together and then went down to the _Salon des Indépendants_. And -there one of the Jews made a bet with the other that inside a year he -would take up and make famous any one of the exhibitors. And the other -Jew walked about a long time searching till he found the most hopeless -and impossible painter in the whole gigantic exhibition. He chose this -painter. But the other was not frightened. He quickly created for the -tiger painter a new school of art, which was dubbed ‘naïvism’ and in one -year he became, as a matter of fact, world-famous. There you see the -power of advertisement and of the Jewish genius.” - -Of course Hedvig in her inmost heart understood Levy much better than -the picture. But we are all most sensitive about our lies. And she also -grew angry because she felt again that she was losing her supremacy and -began to feel unsafe. That’s why she regarded his blasphemous story as -an insult to Percy’s memory. - -“An artist may be great even though he has been run by an unscrupulous -Jew,” she mumbled. “This picture was, as a matter of fact, bought before -the Jews made it expensive. And it was the general opinion amongst my -husband’s friends that it was a real find.” - -Hedvig began an eager defence of the striped tigers and the ragged dried -grass. She used expressions that she had heard on Percy’s lips during -the art discussions down in Montparnasse and from the time when he tried -in vain to convince her of the new ideals. She stole his phrases, his -catchwords, his characteristic abbreviations, his little jokes and even -his trick of bending his head on one side and looking through -half-closed eyes. - -So the game of “Chinese shades” was followed by a plundering of the -dead. All that she could lay hands on was now used as a weapon against -the insistent Levy. Truly, human beings play strange games with each -other. - -Levy suddenly looked very tired. There was something pathetic about his -raised shoulders. He had one of his fits of inevitable truth-telling. -But his quick, harsh voice was unsteady: - -“Why do you lie to me, Hedvig?” he mumbled. “You were an enemy to all -art whilst your husband was alive. Yes, I know it. And you are still to -this day indifferent to all this. And all the same you let loose these -striped tigers on me. Why can you never be sincere, Hedvig? Why are you -so afraid that you must always lie?” - -Hedvig froze up and was silent. Every nerve in her was chilled. Never -had anyone dared to come so near to her. It seemed as if this man had -dared to see more of her than she herself had seen. She kept absolutely -motionless like an animal shamming death to escape a danger. And -still,—did she not feel far, far within a sort of wild relief, something -of the same kind as she had felt once when hearing Peter’s cynicisms, -though deeper, finer.... - -Levy stretched out his hand: - -“Good-night! I am a little tired. I must go now. I will look after your -mortgage. Good-bye—till next time!” - -And then he was gone. - -Hedvig went to bed, though it was still daylight. She was accustomed to -go to bed immediately after his visits. She longed to lie motionless on -her back and think. - -Hedvig undressed slowly and carefully. She still felt her nerves -trembling. For a moment she stood naked before the big mirror built into -the wall. Her body was wonderfully well preserved. In its pale, even -whiteness, its slim roundness, it seemed to her wonderfully young, -immensely younger than she herself. And still it made her shudder. It -might betray her to love, at any moment it might betray her to love.... -And some day it would relentlessly deliver her to death. Yes, Hedvig -belonged to those in whom nakedness always awakens thoughts of death. If -she had lived some hundred years earlier her fear would have driven her -to self-torture. Then she would have scourged and martyred her body in -order to blunt the point of death. - -She quickly drew the blinds and crept beneath the bedcover. She slept in -Percy’s old bedroom, that solemn debauch in the architecture of the -’nineties which had once aroused her frightened amusement when she came -there as a nurse. The bed still resembled a gigantic catafalque, in the -vault of the alcove, the zodiacal signs gleamed and in the twilight on -the opposite wall the blood dripped from Saint Sebastian’s naked -sides.... - -Hedvig knew that she had a long sleepless night in front of her. With -her eyes half-closed and her hands stretched by her sides, she went -slowly and carefully through all that had passed between her and Levy. -In the silence she weighed his gestures, his looks, his tones and his -actions. There was something in them that she revelled in, slowly -sipping, drop by drop, like a frightened drinker. It was a lonely, -selfish joy, separated from the world by walls of darkness and silence. - -But by and by she grew more restless, sighed, and turned over beneath -the bedclothes. She felt that she was approaching a thought that always -recurred with terrible regularity during her nightly meditations. Levy -was her lawyer? Why did he not charge her anything? She had asked once -long ago what she owed for the winding-up, but she had received an -evasive answer. Since then they had not discussed that point. Did he not -want to accept anything? He might have asked for a very large sum. She -could not help enjoying the thought of having perhaps escaped it. But -then came the frightened after-thought: Why does he not want anything? -Of course because it imposes an obligation, because he wants you to -become his. He may ask you to be his wife any day. - -Levy was no longer a harmless, gently stimulating, caressing shadow. He -stood there by the side of her bed terribly alive and with pale face and -harsh, passionate voice, hotly demanding his rights. And behind him -roared the whole traffic of the vast opening world. She had to answer -yes or no. She knew she could not escape that moment. Yes or no. Torn -between jubilation and agony she writhed in the darkness. She could not -quite set aside her passion. Her egoism trembled to the very roots. She -dreamt frightened dreams of being permitted at last to bare herself, -give herself up, be freed from herself, to fling all her misery into the -flames of love. - -But in the midst of her excitement she suddenly became cold as ice. -Horribly clear a voice sounded inside her: “Supposing he only wants your -money!” - -Then suspicion, and anxious greed rushed over her with a thousand -reasons. She tormented herself systematically with her sister’s and -brothers’ shrugs of shoulders, sarcasms and covert warnings. Levy’s -sharpness, his genius for business, his legal acumen, all that she had -profited by in him seemed now to bear witness against him. “Yes, it is -my money he wants,” she mumbled, “of course it is my money.” And now she -forgot his looks, his accents and the unsteadiness of his voice. And the -memory of her own white body in the mirror could no longer warm her with -a single spark of self-confidence. No, it is my money he wants. And -perhaps he does not even mean to marry me to get it. Perhaps he will -simply use his position to cheat me, trick me, and rob me. He must have -seen that I don’t understand business. Perhaps he is just now planning -how he can take all I have from me, and ruin me. - -So Hedvig passed hours of grinding agony, till, calmed by the morning -light, she fell into a short sleep. - - * * * * * - -A few days later she stood again at the telephone, ringing up Levy. Now -it was a question of some timber shares that she had bought on his -advice and that had gone down a few crowns. - -On the fifteenth of June Selambs Ltd. had its annual meeting. That was -the last permitted day according to the articles of association. Peter -could never make himself pay any dividend a single day before he must. - -The meeting was, as usual, held in the office at Selambshof. Hedvig came -early so that the others should not be able to meet and talk about her. -For weeks she had worried over this meeting, at which Levy would again -meet her sister and brothers. A few years ago—on Laura’s and Stellan’s -recommendation—he had been allowed to buy a few shares, and had been -elected to the board, chiefly in order to keep an eye on the managing -director. - -Peter was extremely obliging. He stalked about arranging shares and -distributing writing blocks and pencils. He always looked frightened -nowadays at these meetings, and today more so than usual. - -Levy came late, in a hurry, with his coat buttoned, as impersonal as a -chapter of a law book. He bowed stiffly and sat down at once in his -usual place; the chairman’s place at the writing desk. - -“Well,” said Peter, “shall we elect a chairman for the annual meeting. -Is anybody proposed?” - -Laura played with the chain of her little gilt handbag. She was dressed -in black and white stripes and had a very tight skirt. It was in that -year that skirts began to be worn tight. She still had her golden hair -and her smooth skin. And all the same you could clearly see that she had -aged. Her voice sounded cold, the playful purring had gone. - -“I beg to propose Stellan,” she said. - -Hedvig was huddled up in her corner, staring at Levy. “Now he will look -at me, now he thinks I shall say something,” she thought and grew cold -all over her body. But Levy did not. Perhaps he grew a shade paler, but -he looked at Laura with an amused little smile. Then he calmly put away -his papers. - -“I beg to second the last honourable speaker,” he said. “The more so as -I have things to say which do not come well from the Chair.” - -Peter’s voice sounded like that of a ventriloquist: - -“Is the meeting agreed on this?” - -“Yes,” said Levy in a loud voice. Then he left his place and -demonstratively went and sat down beside Laura on the sofa, where he -took up a foreign newspaper and began to study the quotations. - -So Stellan was chairman. He seemed to take up the hammer without any -enthusiasm and now and then cast embarrassed side-glances at his -predecessor. They then proceeded to the adjustment of votes. When they -came to Tord Selamb, one hundred shares, absent, Levy pricked up his -ears: - -“Mr. Chairman,” he said, in an indifferent tone, “this is now the third -year that Mr. Tord Selamb neither appears in person nor sends a proxy. -Is that not strange?” - -Stellan looked inquiringly at Peter: - -“I suppose the meeting has been properly convened? He has been called?” - -Peter searched his papers: - -“Tord does not care a damn for old Selambshof,” he muttered in a -reproachful tone. “He does not care a damn for anything....” - -“Supposing the reason is that he has sold his shares,” said Levy without -looking up from his paper. - -Now it was Stellan’s and Laura’s turn to prick up their ears: - -“Sold? To whom should he have sold them?” - -Both looked threateningly at Peter. - -Levy continued: - -“We can safely strike Mr. Tord Selamb off the list of voters. Because I -happen to _know_ that for three years he has not possessed a single -share.” - -“How do you know that?” - -“That’s very simple. I wrote and asked him.” - -“But Tord does not answer letters.” - -“No, not the first. But perhaps the third if it makes him really -furious. In the end I got the answer wrapped up in a parcel of abuse. He -has sold his shares.” - -Stellan rose and stared at the managing director of the company: - -“Peter, have you cheated him out of his shares?” - -Peter resembled a bear which has been smoked out of his den. He growled -nervously and beat about him with half paralysed paws. - -“Hm, well, damn it all, what was I to do.... He begged me to help -him....” - -Laura rose purple with anger: - -“You are a wretched scoundrel,” she cried, “a wretched scoundrel! For -three years you have cheated us!” - -Stellan fidgeted at his sister’s vulgar expression: - -“Please tell us immediately what you paid Tord,” he said stiffly. -“Otherwise I will adjourn the meeting and go out myself to Järnö to find -out.” - -Peter stood there rocking and shuffling his feet. His eyes grew smaller -and smaller in his head: - -“Well, seventy-five thousand,” he mumbled with a grin that was now -rather pleased than embarrassed. - -Laura seemed on the point of flying at him: - -“Seventy-five thousand! What a pretty business. We can understand you -wanted to keep it to yourself!” - -Stellan looked as if he had bitten into a very sour apple. He was -apparently exercising his art of formulating things: - -“It will be our common duty to take care of Tord when he has finally -ruined himself,” he said. “Thus it is only reasonable that his shares -should be distributed equally among us.” - -“Never!” said Peter, “never! never!!” - -But Stellan was cold as the grave: - -“In that case you cannot count on being re-elected. There is only one -way in which to regain our confidence.” - -“Yes, you will be instantly kicked out if you don’t share alike,” -assured Laura. “We will make Stellan director instead.” - -Peter growled, beat about, threatened, whined, but in the end he had to -say good-bye to his fine little stroke of family business: - -“But it went off all right for three years,” he mumbled with a -melancholy grin. “Twenty-five shares per head at seven hundred and fifty -each. It is little short of a godsend.” - -After this quarrel in the orthodox Selambian fashion they resumed their -seats and proceeded with smoothed foreheads and clear eyes with the -agenda. - -Hedvig had been sitting silent the whole time staring at Levy. She -thought of the strong family feeling of the Jews, and their racial -_esprit de corps_. She searched nervously for a look of disgust and -contempt in his face. The whole meeting occasioned her a new and -mysterious torment. The harshness of their cold voices jarred on her. -She felt strangely weak and moved. She had suffered and struggled during -those last weeks and now she was tired, tired. She wanted to stand up -and propose that they should give poor Tord what the shares were worth. -The words burnt her tongue. Never before had Hedvig been so near the -mellow and fragrant shores of life. If only Levy had reacted, if only -she could have seen the proper pained expression on his face. But she -could only discover a half-amused and half-contemptuous curiosity behind -his oriental mask. And so she never rose up from her chair. And so the -words remained unsaid. And so she believed that he was cold and hard -like the others.... - -And yet Levy had fought like a lion just for her sake. He had disclosed -what he knew only in order to disarm Stellan and Laura, whose opposition -and ill-will he had foreseen. There is no time to sit and turn up your -nose when you are fighting for the object of your passion. And must he -not be pleased when he saw the magnificent effect of his information? I -have made myself indispensable, he thought. Now they can’t have the -impudence to turn me out.... - -But Levy had reckoned without his host. - -Without any further quarrels they had gone through the annual report and -accounts, agreed the balance sheet, approved the action of the -directors, settled the dividend and had now come to the election of the -new board. Stellan’s fingers travelled thoughtfully along the edge of an -inky paperknife. He seemed to want to sit on only half of the old, worn, -dirty office chair: - -“May I ask the meeting to propose new members of the Board?” - -There was another silence. The room smelt of dust, pipe-smoke, dry paper -and old sun-dried leather. The shadows of the elm branches in the garden -moved sleepily across the knots in the worn floor-boards. Then Laura’s -voice sounded again, clear, dry and cold: - -“I beg to propose Peter and Stellan and then—Mr. Sundelius.” - -Sundelius was the Manager of a rival firm of Levy’s, with whom he was -moreover engaged in a lawsuit. Nothing could be more outspoken. Levy -took a long puff at his cigarette: - -“Excuse me, but has Sundelius any shares in the company?” he mumbled. - -Laura smiled an exquisite little smile and played with her suede shoe -beneath her striped silk skirt: - -“Yes, I have sold a couple to him.” - -Then Stellan’s voice sounded, far away and impersonal: - -“Has anyone anybody else to propose?” - -Levy suddenly looked at Hedvig. Yes, now he looked at her inquiringly, -exactingly, severely. It seemed as if his black pupils would draw her -out of her silent corner. He made a gesture. It was something -indescribable, something between a shrug of the shoulders and a -passionate, supplicating seizing of a receding cloak, the gesture with -which one appeals to a hardened miser in a bazaar in the East. Did she -not see how they were playing with him, sneering at him, wanting to kick -him out? Had he helped her or had he not? Were they friends or not? Did -he love her or not? Were they to marry or not? - -Hedvig sat there fingering her pencil. Her face was white. She shivered -for cold. What was it Levy asked of her? Yes, only that she should -propose the re-election of the present board. She must do it at once or -it would be too late. But why did she not say what she had to say? Why -could she not move her tongue? Why was she so afraid of her own voice? - -Hedvig’s glance left Levy and roamed about the room. Ugh! how many eyes -about her—how horribly many! There sat Stellan pretending to look at his -nails, there Peter sat staring and sulking, there Laura eyed her with -cold scorn. And they all waited for her confession. Go on, admit now -that you are in love with Levy! Call out to anybody who cares to listen -that you are in love with Levy. - -Hedvig sat there as if paralysed, incapable of moving either hand or -tongue. - -She was silent—and condemned herself to silence for all her life. - -Then Stellan’s voice sounded with cruel, calculated hardness: - -“May we consider the nominations closed?” - -“Yes,” said Laura. - -“Does the Meeting elect the candidates proposed, Peter Selamb, Stellan -Selamb and Mr. P. Sundelius?” - -“Yes,” said Laura in a loud voice. - -The hammer fell. - -Levy rose. He was perhaps paler than before. Nobody could see whether -his hands trembled, for he had put them in his trouser pockets. His -voice sounded steady: - -“Well, then I have nothing more to do here. The fee due to me as a -member of the board you will perhaps allow me to forego for the benefit -of your brother, Mr. Tord Selamb, whose circumstances I consider -deserving compassion.” - -And with that Levy left the annual meeting of shareholders in Selambs -Ltd. - -All eyes turned maliciously towards Hedvig’s corner. They forgot Levy’s -sarcasm to enjoy their triumph. - -“Ugh! how nice to be rid of the Jew,” laughed Laura. “It was really wise -of you Hedvig not to persist in clinging to that knave of spades.” - -“He is really an impossible person,” said Stellan. “His father came to -Sweden on foot with a bundle on his back.” - -Peter wanted to add his straw to the heap too, though he did it in a -somewhat strange way: - -“If I had followed that scoundrel’s advice I should still have had -Tord’s shares,” he muttered. “He advised me to transfer the shares in -his name, then we two and Hedvig would have been able to outvote you. -But I thought it was too devilish.” - -This was a lie, a clumsy lie. Hedvig knew it and still she remained -silent and allowed her mind to be poisoned. Yes, she sat there with a -face that shrank in pale, shivering misery and allowed them to thrust -the sting into her love. Their cold malicious joy even gave her a sort -of miserable relief. It soothed her wound. At last she managed to rise -and go out. At the door she suddenly turned round: - -“I don’t know why you make such a fuss about Levy,” she mumbled. “I -think he is useful to run errands.” - -In the car Hedvig sat and repeated these words to herself as if she had -been afraid of losing them. She got out in town and walked about for -hours in the streets. She would have turned to a statue of ice if anyone -had whispered to her that she did so in the secret hope of meeting Levy. -But when she came home she kept near the telephone the whole evening. -“If he rings up now and reproaches me,” she thought, “how shall I make -him understand that it is quite hopeless to expect anything of me.” It -was late when, with a sigh Hedvig tore herself away from the telephone. -Then she lay on her bed in the cool green half light of the summer -night. “Tomorrow he will come of course,” she thought. “He will be pale, -bitter, sarcastic. He stops in front of me without stretching out his -hand. ‘What do you mean? Have I deserved this treatment? Are you so -ungrateful and hard? Or do you mistrust me? Have they told you I want -your money? But that is a lie, you know it is! I love you Hedvig! I -can’t live without you! You must be my wife.’” - -Hedvig lay quite still and felt the blood burning in her veins as in a -fever after an ague. “Yes, then I must tell him—that I can _never_ be -his wife,” she thought. But it was a strange trembling “_never_.” She -longed with every fibre of her being to hear those reproaches, that -prayer which she thought to refuse. - -It was not Levy who came the following day but a letter from the firm of -solicitors Levy & Östring, containing a bill for thirty-five thousand -crowns for winding-up costs and various other commissions. - -Poor Levy. There was a sort of helplessness in this revenge. His -thoughts were cast almost exclusively in terms of money. He could not -grow furious without figures buzzing in his ears. That’s why his wounded -pride and aching love found expression in a heavy bill of costs. Yes, -for he had really loved Hedvig with a passion that was not less because -it was embittered and clear-sighted. - -Levy’s revenge had much more effect than he had suspected. He had as a -matter of fact sent Hedvig a bull of excommunication that was to part -her completely from life and mankind. - -“There!” was her first thought, “he did want to plunder me. He wanted my -money and nothing else.” And she felt confirmed in all her old morbid -suspicions. There were only cheats and crooks in the whole world and -Levy was one of the worst of them. - -But at the same time the last shreds of the veil of charity were torn -from her feelings. She knew now that she had loved him; that she still -loved him in spite of all; that she would never be rid of an aching pain -in her heart. - -That was the climax of a mute and humiliating drama in which love fought -a hopeless fight against mean fear. Hedvig remained with her poor gold. - -Yes, she clung convulsively to the money for which she had sacrificed -all. She could not transact any new business herself but, strange to -say, and in spite of her distrust, she allowed all Levy’s investments -stand. But she collected her papers, pondered and calculated. Down in -the vaults of the bank and at home in her villa she sat and counted and -counted. Like the hermit with his rosary she sat mumbling, letting one -figure after the other slip between her fingers. - -Levy’s letter accompanying the bill she did not answer. Perhaps it was -her timid unwillingness to reveal anything. Perhaps it was a secret hope -that he would call himself. - -In the end Mr. Levy had to take proceedings to get his money. - -Hedvig no longer drove out to Percy’s grave. The shadow game was over. -She no longer needed the dead to protect her against the living. And -though she now more and more rarely went outside the house she no longer -glanced at Percy’s collections. It was really a strange whim of fate -that just such a being as she should steal about in that big house, -built as a home of Art. - - * * * * * - -On a sultry and still summer evening Hedvig rose with smarting eyes and -throbbing temples from her papers in the bedroom. She had an idea that -people stared at her down at the bank and she had therefore brought -everything home: shares, mortgages, title deeds, deposit receipts, -bank-books and bundles of notes. And now it was difficult in the -evenings because she did not dare to light the light from fear of being -seen from the outside through the chinks in the blinds. She sat over her -papers till the figures swam together in a grey mist and there was a -pricking sensation in her eyes. Then she crept to the door to see that -the towel was hanging over the keyhole, so that none of the servants -should peep in. Then she stole slowly, stopping all the time to listen, -towards the big built-in wardrobe where she had found a good hiding -place behind an old carved chest. When her treasure was hidden, she -noiselessly opened a window and looked out to see if anybody moved. - -Hedvig stood long in the window. The evening was sultry and heavy. Far -below the firs lay a woolly darkness. Above, a few faint scattered stars -hung in a sky to which the reflections of the neighbouring town imparted -a reddish, ominous hue. Against this background she presently -distinguished the quick shadowy flight of the bats round the eaves, the -soft flutter of the moths, the flight of the spiders with their long -helplessly suspended legs, all the mysterious fluttering and hovering -things out in the big witches’-kitchen of the damp, warm summer night. - -Hedvig felt a fever round her temples, a dull anxiety. All her silent, -secret, suppressed feelings revived for the last time and moved about in -the darkness. It was the restlessness of the body in the presence of the -relentless oncoming autumn that melted together with her dim light-shy -anxiety for her treasure. - -Hedvig closed the window, pulled down the blind, turned on the light, -and began to undress. She moved slowly, hesitatingly, sighing. At first -she turned her back to the mirror, but by and by she stole one glance -after the other into it. She was irresistibly drawn to the corner where -the mirror stood. It seemed that the air there was not so still and -burdened with loneliness. Before the mirror her movements quickened. -With her glance fastened intently on her own image Hedvig loosened her -hair and let her last garment fall to the floor. She had aged quickly of -late, had grown grey about the temples and had folds beneath her -breasts. And now she suddenly screwed up her face, so that it was full -of wrinkles, and emphasised the weariness of her pose. “I am old,” she -mumbled, “I am old.” And it seemed as if she had huddled up under the -lee of old age. - -But Hedvig did not escape so easily. She did not deceive herself. With a -jerk she straightened herself up again, threw back her head, lifted her -arms behind her neck so that her breasts seemed more beautiful. And she -felt how a smile spread and opened out on her face. She saw it in the -mirror, a strange, girlish trembling smile with pouting mouth, ready to -be kissed and bitten. She began to turn and sway to and fro as if she -heard dance-music. Closer and closer her face approached the mirror. She -felt a faint sickness as if in a swing, and the air felt hot round her -temples. Beside her own nakedness she beheld in the unnatural gloom of -the mirror-room the nakedness of St. Sebastian. The ropes cut into his -beautiful limbs. The points of the arrows were softly embedded in the -even, slightly bronzed flesh.... To Hedvig he suddenly assumed Levy’s -face. Yes, it was Levy’s mouth which smiled at her. His lips had lost -their scorn and smiled close to hers, ecstatically, sensually. His eyes -had lost their sharp, short-sighted stare and revealed black, fathomless -depths of life and passion. His scorching breath rushed over her, his -arms bent her irresistibly.... - -Hedvig collapsed. Moaning and sobbing she rolled on the carpet whilst -the last late attenuated rush of blood painfully fought its way through -her bosom.... - -Suddenly she started as if somebody had poured cold water over her. She -seemed to hear footsteps and whispers outside. She flew to the switch, -turned out the light and listened again intently. Then she quickly put -on some clothes and lifted the blind carefully. Trembling in her whole -body she lay there crouching and watched. At first she saw only the -black darkness, but by and by she distinguished two figures, one dark -and one light, down by the fence. They stood in the shadow of the firs -tightly clasped together. - -It was the chauffeur and the parlourmaid. - -Hedvig was at once overcome by confused emotions of shame, indignation -and furious suspicions. The impudent, shameless, immoral rabble! Before -my eyes! Of course they were spying through the chinks in the blinds. -And now they are laughing at me between their kisses. Yes, I have seen -them often exchange glances of secret understanding. Fancy if they have -seen me with the papers too. Fancy if they are conspiring to rob me. If -they murder me one night and take everything and set fire to the house -to hide their crime.... - -Hedvig remained on her aching knees till the couple had passed through -the gate and disappeared in the darkness of the forest. Then she dragged -herself to bed and lay there listening with every nerve in the thick -darkness. All the time she imagined she heard something move in the -wardrobe. In the end she had to get up and bring the papers and the -money into her bed. With her arm round the two heavy leather portfolios -she at last fell into a restless slumber. - -The following morning Hedvig dismissed the chauffeur and the -parlourmaid. That was the beginning to the depopulation of Hill villa. -Then she sold the car and had a fire and burglar proof safe built into -the wall in the wardrobe. When it began to grow cold in the autumn she -closed up the picture galleries and only heated a few rooms. By that -time both the cook and the other maid and the gardener had gone. She had -only one servant left, an old bad-tempered, silent, faithful servant of -the Hill family. - -The snow came and Hedvig got herself up at dawn, so as not to be seen, -and swept the snow drifts from the gate. For long periods only one thin -column of smoke rose from the chimneys to show that there was still -flickering life in the big white villa. It gradually began to become a -ghost-house. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VIII - - +TORD SAILS OUT TO SEA+ - - -With its knife-sharp stem the big motor boat cut straight through the -September storm. In the stern Stellan and Laura were lying, well -protected from both draught and spray by canvas and bevelled glass -screens. The splash of the waves mingled with the sound of jingling -mirrors and trays in the elegant saloon. - -“The motor runs nicely today,” observed Laura. - -“It always runs well when you are on your way to something -disagreeable,” mumbled Stellan. - -“Do you think there is more vibration in the bows?” - -“Of course there is nearer the motor. Why do you ask?” - -“The vibration is nearly as good as massage. I have not had any for a -whole week. It’s perfectly awful. I think I will move up there.” - -Laura stepped up to the bows. Her life was now characterised by an -incessant struggle against incipient corpulency. She took massage, had -gymnastics, played games and rode. The fear of getting old forced her -out of her feline laziness. She positively dared not sit still. “If I -rest or if I lie on my back, then old age will come over me,” she -thought. This new restlessness went hand in hand with an ardent desire -to be in at everything, not to miss anything. She had fallen a helpless -victim to the disease of seeing and being seen. Dances, first nights, -private views, bazaars, matches:—everywhere you saw Countess von Borgk. -And everywhere you saw her flirt with young men, preferably very young -men. - -It had not been exactly an agreeable surprise for Stellan to discover -her at the great autumn shooting party at Granö. Stellan was no longer -fond of female company. His wife he fortunately escaped. She was always -at the seaside or at some sanatorium, but Laura he often met. But with -the old bachelor Major von Brauner he had thought he would be free from -her. Certainly Brauner had figured at Laura’s gambling evenings out in -the Narvavägen, but Stellan did not know that relations had continued. -Judge of his annoyance, then, when he turned in his motor boat and saw -his pretty sister on the pier; Laura in short skirts, with puttees on -her legs and a young painter fool carrying her gun. - -And at dinner she came down, the only lady amongst so many men, half -naked, wrapped in some green silk stuff that really cried aloud of her -lost youth. And she herself gave the signal for the naughty stories -after dinner. Grotesque! - -As if that were not unpleasant enough they began to talk about the -neighbouring Järnö. And who should start that topic but Laura. She was -half lying in her chair and told lots of stories about dear old Tord. -There was a moment of painful silence, but as the family itself did not -seem to mind ... well, then they let their tongues wag. Nobody mentioned -such a trifle as that Tord had the Governor of the province at him all -the time for neglect. That was to be seen in any paper. But now he had -put up big notices: - - - “Landing forbidden on penalty of death. - - Tord of Järnö.” - - -And he actually did shoot at people who entered his waters. Von Brauner -himself had once sought shelter there during a thunderstorm and had -heard the bullets whizz about his ears. The people round about were so -furious that an accident might happen at any moment. - -“A philosopher who has read too much Darwin and Nietzsche,” mumbled -Stellan. “He wants to be a living protest against the more sentimental -theories.” - -Stellan tried to save the situation by being objective at the same time -as he appealed to the sportman’s individualism and the aristocratic -prejudices of the company. - -But Laura laughed: - -“Nonsense, he is just mad. But anyhow, madmen may be rather jolly.” - -The following day Stellan left Gränö in order to go to Järnö and talk to -Tord. It was not so easy to get Laura to come with him, because she felt -very much at home amongst the shooting party. But now they were on their -way anyhow. The motor boat already began to plunge in the rougher and -heavier seas of the big Järnö bay. - -Stellan put on an old oilskin and went up on the captain’s bridge: - -“Are you quite sure of the chart?” he asked the man at the wheel. - -“Yes, sir, I was born in this neighbourhood.” - -Between the seas Stellan took the opportunity of looking down into the -engine room. Because he had his suspicions of Laura’s vibration. The -mechanic, who was a handsome dark youth, might also have something to do -with it. - -Stellan was an old gambler, who was very frightened of leaving anything -to chance. - -The rocking of the boat soon made Laura leave the fumes from the engine -room and quietly creep into the saloon. - -They were approaching Järnö. Tall and foreboding rose the dark, -rusty-looking hill surmounted by its log castle. The boat steered -straight for the entrance to the harbour. - -Was the madman really going to shoot? Not even through his Feiss-glasses -could Stellan distinguish any sign of life. - -Bang! A shot rang out above the lapping of the waves but nobody saw -where it went. - -“One ought to come here in warships,” the man mumbled. - -Stellan slowed down. They slipped under the lee of the hill beside a -dilapidated old shed. - -Another shot of welcome! This time the shot struck only a few yards to -starboard. But it was impossible to discover who had fired it. - -Laura cried out that she wanted to go back. Stellan looked as if he felt -sick. He waved a handkerchief eagerly as a flag of truce. There were no -more shots. The boat floated quietly in towards a tumbledown fishing -pier. But still no living soul was visible. - -Stellan had some trouble in getting Laura out of the saloon. Not that he -had any illusions about Tord’s chivalry, but he felt safer all the same -when he had her with him. Silent and hesitating they went ashore, still -with the reports of the shots on their nerves. They passed through an -old field which was now running wild and full of little shoots of -birches and aspens, then they cut across a little garden quite overgrown -with pestilence weed out of which a few half suffocated black currant -bushes stretched up their arms like drowning people, whilst the poor -naked apple trees writhed in grey despair in front of a rotting cottage -wall with broken windows and grass-grown porch. Nature crept in over the -work of man and began to resume its power. Over the whole there lay, in -the gloomy autumn day, an indescribable odour of dampness, decay and -dismal neglect. - -Shivering, Laura and Stellan took the path up the hill. Up there, -whipped by the winds, the big house lay with its weathered logs, -surrounded by a litter of empty tins and broken bottles. - -Nobody came out when Stellan knocked. The door was not locked and they -walked in. The big hall was cold, dirty and filled with a strange smell -of animals. The whole house shook in the gale, and on the windows -towards the north a pine branch knocked persistently as if the wind -wished to enter as a guest. - -They cautiously penetrated further. On one of the folding beds in the -bedroom something lay huddled up under a reindeer skin. It moved when -Laura lifted the fur rug and an untidy head peeped out. It was Dagmar. -She stared in dull amazement at the visitors, without recognizing them. - -“I am Laura ... Laura Selamb ... and this is Stellan.” - -“Oh, I see, it’s you....” - -Dagmar crept down. She was dressed in some grey rags. She had the grey -complexion of the really poor, she looked emaciated, worn out. She gave -at the same time the horrible and pitiful impression of a starved and -tormented woman. She shook herself, and her teeth chattered: - -“I am lying down as I am not quite well.” - -“We wanted to speak to Tord,” said Stellan. “Where is he?” - -Dagmar’s face hardened: - -“I don’t know at all.” - -“He greeted us with his gun, so he must be in the neighbourhood.” - -“I suppose he ran away when he recognized you. He is not very fond of -visitors.” - -Then Dagmar suddenly approached Laura and stroked the smooth sleeve of -her raincoat timidly, like a frightened dog: - -“Goodness, how pretty you are! Do you know I have not talked to a woman -for several years.” - -Laura shrugged her shoulders and giggled: - -“Well, that is nothing to long for.” - -An expression of terror suddenly came over Dagmar’s face. - -“You must be hungry,” she mumbled. “And I have only got a little salted -herring.” - -Stellan went out and blew three short sharp signals on a whistle. Then -he returned. - -“Don’t trouble about food,” he said. “My men will bring up all we need. -But how shall we get hold of Tord?” - -“Oh, he has not eaten anything today, and when he is hungry he will come -and feed out of your hand.” - -The men soon arrived carrying up boxes of food and wine. Dagmar excused -herself for a moment and dived into a wardrobe to make herself smart.... -She returned dressed in an old-fashioned, frayed red silk frock which -hung round her thin body. But there still glimmered a last spark of -beauty in her features. - -When dinner was over she went out into the porch and hammered a broken -zinc tub with a poker and shouted into the forest: - -“Food, food, food!” - -It sounded like the cry of an angry bird through the roaring of the -wind. - -Tord did not come. - -“Well, then we can eat without the beast,” said Dagmar. - -Her eyes suddenly grew wet as she sank down by the dazzlingly white -tablecloth. Such a lot of lovely food—so many fine bottles! And then -there was the man with “Rapid” in white letters across his jersey, just -like a footman behind her chair! And then Laura’s jewels and Stellan’s -yachting suit! - -“Goodness me,” she mumbled. “Goodness me!” - -And then she drank her first cocktail. - -Stellan pointed to Tord’s empty chair: - -“How has our amiable host got into the habit of shooting at people who -call on him?” - -Dagmar quickly drank her second cocktail. A wild smile lit up her face -like lightning: - -“He is afraid they will come and take me from him.... So you can see he -is mad.” - -They ate for a moment in silence. The firelight from the logs in the -fireplace flickered over the faces in the big dark hall, which was still -shaken by the gale, and where the pine branch still persistently knocked -at the window: - -Knock, knock, knock...! - -Dagmar drank and drank—with trembling hands and staring eyes. Suddenly -she flung herself forward with her hands stretched across the table and -her forehead on the cloth. She was seized by a paroxysm of weeping: - -“It is terrible here!” she mumbled, “it is terrible here! I shall never -be a human being again, never!” - -She again lifted her face, distorted and dirty from her tears. She shook -her clenched fists and by fits and starts there broke from her a wild -and disconnected wailing over the drudgery, the loneliness, the hatred, -the savagery of life out here on the stormbeaten cliff’s. - -“He is mad!” she cried. “Tord is mad! He can’t bear to see people. He -hides his money under trees. If I had not stolen from him, we should -have starved to death!” - -At the mention of money Laura pricked up her ears and across Stellan’s -rigid mask a glimpse of a melancholy grin appeared. There was thus at -least something comprehensible in this misery. - -“What happened to the money?” he mumbled. - -Stellan was told. Dagmar’s tears dried suddenly. She spluttered out -fragments of the long, bitter monologues of years. Into her voice there -entered the shrill accents of old quarrels. Peter had brought the money. -And it was an enormous bundle of notes. But Tord did not put them into -the bank. No, he pushed them all into a drawer, so mad was he. And he -carried the key on a string round his neck. And he was mean with the -money so that he need not go into town and talk business any more. He -wanted to be free from that mob, he said. The money must last as long as -he lived. And that was why they went half starved, and dressed in old -rags. In the end Tord got it into his head that they did not need any -food from the shops, but could live by shooting and fishing. It was no -use begging or talking, for then he simply went away. Once he lay out in -the skerries for a whole fortnight and then Dagmar had only some plaice -to live on. But when Tord came home she saw no other way out than to -make him drunk with his last bottle, and then she took the key and stole -some of his money and sent the old gardener into town for winter -supplies. For the old gardener was still alive then. - -Tord said nothing when the old man came sailing back with his load of -provisions. He was so hungry that he just threw himself over the food. - -So things went on for a long time. Dagmar had learnt to open the drawer -with a hairpin, and she had to watch for an opportunity to send the old -man out when Tord was drunk or asleep. It seemed almost as if he -acquiesced in the arrangement so long as he need not give out the money -himself. But one day Dagmar found the drawer empty. All the notes were -gone. She became dreadfully frightened. She began to spy on Tord to -discover where he had hidden his money. And he was on his guard to see -if she were following him. And thus they stole about silently and spied -on each other like two criminals. And at last she managed to discover -where he kept his treasure. It was in a hole underneath a tree root -behind Mattson’s barn. She took a whole bundle of notes and hid them for -herself. Tord noticed that the pile had suddenly diminished and he came -home white with fury and threatened to kill her. But she defied him and -would not tell her hiding place. And Tord did not find it. - -One fine day the old gardener died. His pipe just fell out of his mouth -and he was dead. Tord wanted to dig a grave for the old man down there -without further ado. “We can say that he was drowned, if anybody asks,” -he said. Dagmar frightened him by saying that they would be arrested as -murderers if they did not notify the death. At last she got him to put -up the sails of his boat. Dagmar sat down in the deckhouse and cried. -She felt as if she had lost both father and mother when they sailed into -the cemetery with the old man. - -And now she had only herself to fall back on if they were to keep body -and soul together out there at Järnö. Soon everything was eaten up again -and Tord would not go to the shops. And when she herself was going to -set out in the skiff he had hidden the oars. She became so desperate -that she sat down alone on the pier and howled like a wild animal. Then -she remembered she had one more refuge and that was her red blanket. She -had arranged once with the storekeeper that if they were in distress she -was to hang out a big red rug in the window of the big house. And then -he would take the motor boat and bring food to them. She had not much -hope; she sat for an eternity out on the cliff only staring out over the -water to see if the signal worked. On the third day a motor boat -actually rounded the point and so their distress was staved off for that -time. This had happened last autumn. The winter was cruel. They had no -longer anybody to carry wood and water. Dagmar became ill from all the -drudgery. For two months they were isolated when the ice would neither -break nor bear. At last the ice froze properly everywhere except over an -under current. - -But then the peasants smashed up the yacht which was lying in the -steamer track through the ice, and then it was impossible to get across -as they were too weak to drag out another boat. People had begun to -damage everything of Tord’s that they could lay hands on, nets, piers, -boats; so hated was he now. And Tord no longer swore and raged. He only -walked about like a dumb animal for days and weeks together. And about -that time the lamp oil also ran out, so that they had to sit there in -the darkness in the evenings after the logs in the fireplace had burnt -out. So they sat there in the dark and dared not let each other go and -still they couldn’t help nagging. She was ill, and she wanted to die -merely to annoy him. And he tried to keep quiet until she should go mad. - -“Yes, this has been a terribly long winter,” said Dagmar, “a terribly -long winter.” - -After which she was quiet for a moment and sat there rocking her head -and staring straight in front of her. - -Laura had risen from the table and stood warming her back at the open -fireplace: - -“But why, in God’s name, woman, why have you not left him long ago?” she -exclaimed. - -Dagmar started. It seemed as if she had been cruelly torn out of the -voluptuous intoxication of at last shouting out her misery. - -“Why didn’t I leave him?” she mumbled; “it must be because I am mad, -because he has infected me, because I have not spoken to a woman for -years. But now there must be an end. Now I must get away. Fancy, I was -quite young when I came here! Quite young and pretty! And look what he -has made of me now!” - -She tore her frock open and showed her thin neck and shrunken chest. - -“Yes, that’s how I am now. I must get away. I must come with you to -town. He says he will shoot me if I run away—but that doesn’t matter. I -can’t live another winter out here anyhow.” - -During Dagmar’s outpourings Stellan had been sitting motionless sucking -an unlighted cigar. Now he exchanged a quick glance with Laura. -Unpleasantness and scandal threatened from all sides. They must be -careful. He called in the men and ordered them to clear the table and -take the things down to the boat. Then he turned to Dagmar: - -“To take you with us now is absolutely out of the question,” he said -coldly. “But if you can persuade Tord to go abroad, preferably out of -Europe, I am prepared to give you some money.” - -Dagmar had begun to pull out some clothes at random and put them in a -knapsack. She looked up and shook her head: - -“You don’t understand,” she muttered hurriedly. “He is impossible. It is -impossible to talk to him. I must get away!” - -Stellan rose: - -“Good-bye,” he said. “Thank you. We must get away before it grows dark. -Think over what I have said.” - -Dagmar stamped on the floor: - -“No,” she cried. “I must come with you! You can put me ashore wherever -you like. I can very well sleep in the gutter tonight! But I must get -away!” - -Laura and Stellan walked quickly out. Dagmar came after them, without -hat, in her red silk frock and with her bundle in her hand. The gale -tore her untidy fair hair. Mumbling, crying, stumbling, she ran after -Laura and Stellan down the rock hillside. - -“If you don’t take me with you, I will throw myself in the water!” - -And so she did. When by Stellan’s orders the man pulled in the gangway -and the boat began to back out she flung herself in, scorning death, -with bundle and silk frock and all. - -The men had to pick her up. Pale, shivering, dripping, but full of the -determination of despair she clung to the mast on the foredeck. But -Stellan steered into the pier again.... - -At that moment a grey figure appeared round the corner of the shed. It -was Tord. For hours he had been sitting there in the smell of herrings, -amongst torn nets and worm-eaten decoy ducks, and staring at an ant’s -trail that began in a hole in a floor board and disappeared between some -stones at the side of the lake. Now he walked half way out along the -tottering dilapidated pier. He was dressed in a worn fur cap, grey -Iceland sweater and torn Lapp boots. In his hand he held a rifle. His -rough unshaven face was as grey as a lichen, shrunken, and set in -hopeless defiance. For a moment he stood motionless, staring at Dagmar, -who still tremblingly clung to the mast. The gust of wind ruffled the -pools on deck and tore at her wet ragged skirt. The vibration of the -motor set the water in the whole of the little harbour nervously -trembling. It was as if the water, the boat and the woman were shivering -from the same cold squall. - -“I can jump into the water again,” she cried. - -Stellan was going to jump ashore, but Tord fingered his rifle. - -“Back,” he shouted. “Let go! You shall not land at my pier again. To -hell with you all!” - -Yes, that is what Tord cried out. For years he had watched over Dagmar -like a red Indian, so that she should not run away. But now he suddenly -stood there telling her to go to hell! - -Laura had settled down comfortably on the bridge. She pulled Stellan’s -arm: - -“Don’t say anything,” she whispered. “Let us see what he will do. This -is interesting. I have not seen Tord for many years. He really is -interesting.” - -But Stellan took no notice of her. He was ashamed before his men and -stepped up to Tord. He stood there straight and stiff in his yachting -suit with the mien of an officer before a drunken recruit. - -“This won’t do,” he said in a low tone. “Damn it, what a figure you cut! -You are completely impossible. If you will take your wife and go away to -South America I will find the money.” - -Tord came face to face with his brother: - -“South America? Because you have a badge on your cap? By your snobbish -order? You just get aboard. Access to this island is forbidden by Tord -Selamb!” - -Tord planted the muzzle of his rifle in Stellan’s stomach and forced -him, with his fingers on the trigger, to retire on board. After which he -took his curved knife and cut the moorings. - -“Back,” he commanded again, and the man at the wheel obeyed. - -The big red mahogany boat glided quickly out of the harbour. - -Dagmar still clung to the mast and stared shivering at the lonely grey -man out on the pier: - -“The key of the larder lies under my pillow,” she called. And there was -suddenly a tremulous note of pity in her voice at the sight of his -terrible loneliness. - -Then she crept down in the machine room. - -They were already in the open. The gale had increased and the motor boat -rolled and pitched in the high seas in Järnö bay. Laura got out some dry -things for Dagmar. She looked up with a grimace at Stellan: - -“Why the devil had you to go out to Järnö? There was more fun at -Brauner’s!” - -Stellan shrugged his shoulders. - -“It might be as well to have her with us. Tord will soon follow and then -we will deport them.” - -Tord did not see the motor boat for a long while from the pier. It was -hidden by a tongue of land. “I won’t go up the hill,” he thought. “What -the deuce have I to do on the hill?” But soon after he was up there all -the same. The boat was visible far out in the channel. It looked like a -dark spot on the grey waters. Sometimes there was a flash of light as it -dashed through a big sea. It got smaller and smaller. He had to fasten -his gaze upon it intently if the water was not to appear absolutely -deserted. Then the boat disappeared far, far away beneath a grey -headland. - -Tord started. When his hand moved on to the rifle barrel the steel was -so cold that it burnt. Somebody had drawn a deep, moaning sigh. It must -have been himself. - -He was alone now. It was ghastly how everything suddenly grew in the -loneliness, how everything grew big and heavy and terrible, the trees, -the clouds, the wind, the sea. - -Quickly, as if pursued by an enemy, he dived into his house. The fire -had gone out. The pine branch still beat against the window: knock! -knock! knock! He went up to the wall and tried with his hand the draught -from a chink between the logs, then he suddenly rushed out into the -kitchen and swallowed some remains of food. It was the first food he had -tasted that day. A drop of wine was left in a glass. He poured it into -him. Then he spat it out again feeling nauseated. And then he was in the -bedroom by Dagmar’s bed. The pillow was still pressed down after her -head. He raised his clenched fist for a blow but suddenly stopped and -raised the rifle that he still trailed with him. The shot went straight -into the pillow so that the feathers whirled about. Afterwards it became -horribly quiet. Tord shivered. Why make a noise and shoot? There was -nobody to hear him, nobody. Then the pine branch began to beat against -the window again. Knock! knock! No, he could not stay here! - -Tord went down to the little reed-grown bay. He half ran but stopped now -and then like a child that stops crying for a moment to feel its pain. -Down there the old yacht lay riding at anchor. For days and weeks its -deckhouse had been his last refuge when everything else was disgusting -and hateful. The punt lay beneath the alder trees. Tord got it afloat -and rowed out through the scattered, rustling reeds. On board the yacht -the deck was covered with withered leaves. The water had risen up into -the cockpit. Water is never so unpleasant as when, brown with rust from -the ballast, it rises up in an old boat. Tord pumped. With difficulty he -opened the swollen doors of the cabin. Down below it smelt of rotting -oak, rotten ropes, mildew and damp. He pushed away a lot of rubbish and -lay down on a cushion. Flap, flap! went the eternal waves as they -splashed against the stem. Rat-tat! the foresail halyard beat against -the mast as the wind swept in. And the alders and the hill swung to and -fro through the little window, to and fro, to and fro! - -The chill rose out of the cold, stinking cushion so that Tord could no -longer lie on it. He climbed up on deck and began mechanically to hoist -sail. The stiff grey hemp creaked in his hands. Out of the wet, mildewed -folds of the sail crawled swarms of earwigs. The sheets were full of -kinks and doublings. The boom suddenly knocked him down on the deck, but -he rose groaning, pulled in the shiny, green anchor chain and hauled up -the anchor, which was a mass of mire and mud. Then he sprang to the -helm. - -As by magic the yacht found its way out through the narrow, difficult -channel. Now it lay in Järnö bay, under the lee of the familiar hill. -Black, gusty squalls puffed in all directions over the leaden grey -water. At first the old hull did not seem to know what it wanted to do. -The sails filled, shivered and went over. The main-sheet struck off -Tord’s fur cap. He did not care. He sat huddled up by the helm looking -at a feather that had fastened on his sleeve. He stared at the soft, -white down that trembled at each puff. The memories of past kisses, -caresses and embraces softly, wonderfully softly, flattered his soul. -There to starboard was the course to town, to the people, to Dagmar.... -He fell away before an easterly gust; he was already out in the more -steady wind of Järnö bay.... But then the yacht suddenly went about with -whipping sails and headed out towards the open sea visible through “The -Iron Door.” Tord did not know why he had tacked. It was as if the old -boat had known better than he. - -As soon as Tord had rounded the point, the gale cast itself upon him as -if a window had blown in. The yacht luffed, slowed down with flapping -sails and vibrated till you could feel it through the whole hull. Then -it slowly fell away and gathered speed. - -Tord seemed to waken up. Beneath his blown coarse tufts of hair his -glance grew keen again. “By Jove, now we shall have some sailing!” -Muttering sturdy oaths, he worked himself up for a quarrel, a wild -quarrel with his beloved old sea. It was the last thing he had to fight -with. Everything else had gone. - -He was still under the Kall-skerries, and the worst had not yet begun. - -There are gales and gales. This was no puffing, impatient, spring -squall, nor yet a black, summer squall, but a big heavy, autumn gale -with all the grimness of the coming winter behind it. It came from the -north, too. Sky, water and hills had all the hues of iron. The clouds -hung with shades of darkish blue between the lighter clearings in the -sky. The distant cliffs flashed suddenly with a ghostlike, dead, -metallic sheen. - -Now he would soon be out in the open sea. Now it was time to put about -if ever he wanted to get back. But Tord did not. The sea was stronger -than he. - -East of Järnö the sea is almost always deserted. There are no buoys or -lighthouses, no sails and no smoke from steamers. No man stood with -glasses to his eyes following the death struggle of the yacht out in the -raging twilight of the sea. - -Tord did not give in so easily. He sailed like an old sailor. He sat -huddled up to windward and spat out the salt water and avoided the worst -breakers. With a kind of pale and passionate devotion he saw the seas -grow and grow. Every heavy, onrushing, crested wave out there in the -desolate expanse was like a confirmation of something he had long, long -known. Stiff with cold in his dripping rags, shivering to the very -marrow with weariness, he felt a mysterious inward joy as both the boat -and himself irresistibly succumbed. Then the peak blew down and the boom -trailed in the water. Then the waves began to crash in through the -missing hatch in the bows. It became more and more difficult for the -heavy half-disabled hull to lift itself out of the troughs. Then Tord -was flung overboard just at the moment when the boat capsized and sank. -He saw the faded red pennant at the masthead dive a few fathoms away -from him. He still kept afloat, he was still swimming. But he did not -swim towards the land, but further out, towards the sea. The last thing -he saw was a high, wonderfully tall, mountain of water, iron-grey, -ice-green, rising above his head, with a crest of coldest, palest foam. -In the middle of the wave he sucked the water into his lungs, lost -consciousness and passed without pain. - -Thus finished Tord Selamb’s last great wild quarrel. Defiance you might -call it, a wild mad defiance unto death. A philosopher might perhaps -mumble something about the negative in all egoism. Tord had driven the -Selambian selfishness to the point at which it annihilates itself. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IX - - +PETER’S TOMBSTONE+ - - -One cold winter day in the third year of the world war Laura drove out -to Lidingön. Private cars were no longer permitted, but she had borrowed -the big sledge from Trefvinge. - -Laura did not suffer at all from the biting cold, she was too fat for -that. She had given up the struggle and had thrown herself into the arms -of an ever growing appetite. The nervous interest in food which had -arisen during the great crisis had broken down her last timid -resistance. Yes, now when other people grew thin she grew fat, -irrevocably fat. Her appearance was really rather striking. In her -shining furs she resembled an enormous, hairy female animal. Her cheeks -had folds in them but her eyes, embedded in fat, were still clear and -quick, and the small mouth was greedy and hard. - -Some people simply do not seem made for suffering. - -Laura had in good time put on a soft protective layer of fat between -herself and the cruel “fimbul” winter of a world in which starvation, -pain, hatred and death in these days did their terrible work. - -After some searching they found the road that turned off to Villa Hill. -It had not been cleared of snow. There was not a trace of footsteps or -of sledge marks. It was like driving into the desert. One turn and the -house lay there apparently quite deserted in its big wooded park. - -To penetrate to the front door was impossible, the road was blocked by a -giant snowdrift. Laura had to trudge through the snow to the kitchen -door where a few tracks really met. A bad-tempered old servant peeped -suspiciously out through the half-opened door, but did not want to -remove the safety chain. - -“I am Countess von Borgk, your mistress’ sister. I have an important -errand. Open at once, woman.” - -Laura passed through a kitchen that frightened her appetite to a cold -shudder and was then brought through silent, dusky stairs and passages -to the hall. - -“You can wait here. The mistress is out, but will soon be back.” - -Laura sank down on a chair with a grey cover. She had not been out to -see Hedvig for years. Ugh! how awful everything looked here, dark, -dirty, cold, dilapidated.... - -Time passed, and Laura grew impatient. She took a peep at the picture -galleries. The door was locked but she found the key on a shelf. - -The poor deserted pictures! Dust, spiders’ webs, damp spots and dust -again. Through dirty window panes, shaded by overgrown fir hedges and -entangled branches of creeper, through glass roofs covered by the -shrivelled leaves of autumn and the snow of winter a miserable twilight -penetrated. The poor nudes in the pictures shivered in their bare skin -over a long narrow drift that had blown in through a broken window in -the roof. The “_plein air_” and impressionistic landscapes were blotted -out by the dust and twilight. The modern brutalities seemed to survive -longest. One or two shrill colour-screams still cut through the dark, -the icy cold, and the silence like a cry of distress.... - -Laura huddled up in her furs. This was too dismal. She felt hungry—a -desire to chew something—so it was always nowadays if she was exposed to -any emotion. She took a packet of tough nougat out of her hand bag and -took refuge before a big Dutch picture of still life. Chewing and -staring at a crowd of hams, salmon, lobsters, oysters and tankards of -ale she thought for the thousandth time: “That Hedvig! That miserable -emaciated misfortune! What a jolly life she might lead if she were not -so idiotic!” - -Then Laura saw a dark shadow on the window. A woman came stealing out -from the edge of the wood. She was thin and bent and she trudged heavily -along in the deep snow. In her skirt she carried a big bundle of -branches, brought down by the wind. From under the cap pulled deep down -over the eyes she looked with shy, spying glances at the sledge and then -walked quickly up to the kitchen door. - -A moment later she slid stealthily and nervously into the hall. - -That grey ghost was Hedvig Hill. The world had long ago forgotten that -she had been a beauty and had been married to a young sympathetic patron -of art. She generally passed as a half-crazy old maid who was afraid of -people, who hated Jews, and hid her money in the seats of chairs. But -nobody knew how wealthy she was. Whilst she herself got poorer and -poorer and sank into a state of hopeless sterility, her money had -multiplied and multiplied. It now represented an enormous sum of power -and influence that she could not grasp or imagine. - -Hedvig stopped with her hand on the door knob and stared anxiously at -Laura: - -“What do you want here?” - -Laura swallowed a piece of chocolate: - -“Peter has been ill for some time ... well, it is nothing -infectious....” - -Hedvig sounded indifferent. - -“Well, what about it?” - -“He has taken home a creature from Majängen. He imagines it is his son -... you remember that story....” - -An expression of brooding hatred came over Hedvig: - -“All men are disgusting brutes,” she mumbled. - -Laura smiled teasingly: - -“I don’t agree....” - -She really writhed with the desire to say something sarcastic, but kept -quiet for diplomatic reasons. - -Hedvig fidgeted impatiently. She suffered to see Laura’s fatness, her -furs, her smile: - -“But what can I do? Why do you come here?” - -“Well, Stellan asked me to fetch you. We must all three go out to Peter. -Fancy if he is mad enough to recognize that unfortunate boy as his son!” - -On Hedvig’s face came an expression of alarmed excitement, of mean -spite: - -“Would Peter let us suffer for his excesses....” - -“Yes, he has been angry with us ever since we took Tord’s shares from -him. He has got some plan in his head. But be quick now!” - -Hedvig stood hesitating: - -“Will you drive me back here after?” she mumbled. - -“Of course, you won’t have to spend a farthing. But be quick!” - -Hedvig disappeared and returned after a good while, stuffed up in a lot -of moth-eaten woollen underskirts, jerseys and shawls, amongst which you -could distinguish an old ragged Spanish mantilla fastened about her ears -under the hat as if she had toothache. - -They were late for Stellan. He had arranged to meet them away out at the -toll-house. He did not like to be seen with his sisters, neither the fat -one nor the thin one. Frozen and angry he climbed up into the sledge and -pulled the fur rug round him without greeting them. These three, sisters -and brother, were not exactly a centre of warmth in the icy cold winter -twilight. And still their meeting was really an extraordinary event, -because they never met now except at the annual board meetings. - -Laura sat looking at Stellan, thinking that he had grown ridiculously -small. She often thought so of people nowadays. As far as Stellan was -concerned it was in some measure true. Without being bent, he had as a -matter of fact shrunk, sunk into himself. Time had brought to his -face-mask stiff folds which would not permit a smile to peep through. -The hard restless eyes seemed to have lost for ever the secret of joy. -His whole person diffused solemn boredom of long echoing passages and -big empty rooms of state. - -The silence was only broken by the crunching of the horses’ hoofs and -the creaking of the runners where the snow was thin. The snow had fallen -during a gale so that in open spaces the road was almost bare between -the drifts. They had already passed Ekbacken yard, and the three now -drove along the lake, the lake of their childhood. The frosted bushes on -the shore resembled enormous fantastic crystals that had grown without -sap and lived without life. They leant over a world of ice-floes frozen -together, cloven from shore to shore by a black channel of open water. -Nothing gave such a shiver of cold as this reeking trembling open water -where the sluggish poisonous stream of Hell seemed to flow up between -the blocks of ice. Over on the other shore there hung a gigantic cloud, -like an enormous bird, with the grey colour of primeval time, and laden -with pagan cold. Beneath it white globes of light trembled against a -smoky, dull-glowing sky, which seemed red from the reflection of -gigantic sacrificial fires. It was the big new works built round the old -glue factory. Day and night it shone and roared and hissed on the other -shore. Day and night. There the timber of the forests was ground to the -finest powder as a substitute for cotton fibre in explosives. A -flourishing war industry! - -Stellan did not notice that it was the roar of the flight of Nidhögg, -who feeds on corpses, that he heard, nor that he passed along Nastrand, -the shore of corpses, where the dragon sucks the dead.... - -The stiff mask lit up for a moment as he lifted a gloved finger in the -direction of the arc lamps: - -“Good shares,” he mumbled, “rose five today again.” - -“I see,” said Laura, “then I will buy....” - -“All right, but don’t keep them too long....” - -The sledge was already turning up the avenue before Stellan seemed to -remember why they were driving out to Selambshof. - -“We must go slow with Peter,” he said. “If we make a mess of the thing -now we shall scarcely have time to repair the damage. At any moment -there might be serious complications. Fortunately he does not seem to -have written any letters to that woman in Majängen. I mean the mother. -And neither has he taken any steps that point to recognition or -adoption. I know it both through the coachman and the housekeeper, -because I have long been forced to maintain certain relations with them. -This war crisis at once sharpened Peter’s appetite for unpleasant kinds -of business in a way that made it necessary to keep an eye on him. It is -not long since he had half Selambshof full of boxes of sugar and butter. -Yes, the house was practically used as a warehouse. I was there one -evening myself and saw the exquisite portrait of our old grandfather -peeping out from behind a pile of boxes of butter.... And then his -company. He has developed a habit of taking home real criminals, and -then they sit up half the night and drink and gamble like madmen. That -creature from Majängen is by no means the first of his kind. Peter had -scarcely been ill a week when he sent the coachman for him. The mother, -who was a well-known termagant, swore and behaved like a lunatic. She -would have nothing to do with ‘that devil at Selambshof’ she said. And -even the young rogue himself seemed to have had remorse, for at first he -was unwilling to go. But when the coachman returned with certain vague -promises things went more easily and he ran away from his dear mother to -Selambshof.” - -Laura had listened with great interest: - -“I should have liked to see the first touching meeting,” she said. - -“It can’t have been very sentimental; Peter is said to have stared -rather angrily at the figure before him and to have cried: ‘You are a -lucky young rascal!’ And then he asked: ‘Can you play camphio?’ No, he -could not play camphio but he must have been willing to learn, because -from that time the cards were out several evenings one after the other. -Now when Peter is too weak himself, the coachman and that creature have -to be in with him with cards and alcohol.... - -“Yes, that is how things are at present. I don’t for a moment suppose -that Peter’s conscience has in any way awakened or that he has grown -fond of the scamp. No, he is the slave of his money and nothing else. -And now he is working out a trick to keep his fortune together and to -cheat his legal heirs.” - -The sledge stopped, they had arrived. - -Selambshof looked higher and gloomier than ever—with all its black -windows. In the trees the crows were quarrelling over their perch for -the night. Nobody kept them in check any longer, so they collected there -every evening. Both horses and people started at the screams of hundreds -of black ghostlike birds in the deep twilight. - -An uncanny presentiment of death came over brother and sisters. -Selambshof was at one with Peter the Boss. But Selambshof was also their -own youth ... the root of their lives ... and now Peter was going to die -and lots of other things with him.... - -Laura was frightened and wanted to get out of the sledge: - -“No, this is too awful! I am going home again!” - -Stellan had to pull her with him. They walked in silently. - -Peter had had his bed moved into the office. It stood in the place of -the old leather settee underneath the yellow, fly-marked Selambshof map. -A lonely oil lamp feebly lit up some soiled glasses on the night table -and his own swollen, puffy, pale face. It really was a room in which an -Eskimo might have complained of the lack of comfort. But Peter seemed to -think it ought to be like that. He had cheated many in the course of his -life, had Peter the Boss, amongst others himself. - -The visit of his sisters and brother did not seem to be unexpected or -unwelcome. You could even see a little flash of satisfaction in his -features, which seemed to worry Stellan. Hedvig was earnestly requested -to keep quiet at first, and even did so, after she had crept away into a -corner, wrapped up in all her jerseys and shawls. Otherwise their tones -were of the gentlest. They were all kind care and spoke eagerly of -doctors, nurses, cures, during which Laura all the same kept at a -certain cautious distance, nervously chewing.... - -Then a dog was heard to bark outside, a great dull subterranean sound as -if it had come from beyond the copper gates of death. All felt a shiver -pass through them. Even Peter seemed to feel rather uncomfortable: - -“That damned dog!” he swore. “It sounds as if the devil himself was on -the way.” - -Stellan ran to the window. Out in the snow he saw a shadowy figure -dancing a sort of war dance, whilst throwing snowballs and lumps of ice -at the furious watch-dog. Thin, lank, with high shoulders, and bare -hands and head, in spite of the cold, the shadowy figure danced between -the drifts. - -Stellan turned to Peter: - -“It must be your ... your new boarder ... he amuses himself by teasing -the dog....” - -“I see, is it only little Bernhard?” Peter grunted relieved. “Yes, he is -not exactly a friend of watch-dogs....” - -But now Hedvig’s voice sounded suddenly from the corner. She sat there -looking as old-fashioned and motheaten as if she had hung herself away -in a wardrobe out of pure meanness and then forgotten where the key was. -Her voice also sounded strangely stuffy and dusty: - -“You should never have taken up with that woman, Peter,” she mumbled. -“You should never have taken up with that woman....” - -Peter did not seem to have noticed her before. A shiver passed over his -swollen features. Hedvig, that ghost from the time of the great fear, -again raised a secret anxiety in his innermost being, right in the -centre of the hard annual rings of his soul. - -“Aha, is it you, you crotchety old soul?” he muttered. “You are the -right person to cheer up an invalid, you are.” - -After a murderous look at Hedvig, Laura hurried up to Peter. Rustling -with silk she came, covered with jewels, the scalps of many men embedded -on her swelling bosom. Her voice sounded anxious: - -“Dear little Peter, don’t make any scandal, it would be an awful -scandal!” - -Then Stellan came up: - -“You must think of our name. Don’t believe the story is forgotten. You -are confessing that you swore false. A Selamb a perjurer! You can hear -for yourself that it is impossible. That creature would be a walking -witness to your perjury. It is not possible that you should make such a -scandal!” - -Peter half rose on his elbow. His pale, puffy face derived new life from -his malice. He looked at them with an angry gallows-bird expression -reminiscent of the great family quarrels: - -“Scandal,” he panted, “scandal! That will be for you; scandal! I shan’t -suffer from it.” - -That was also an advantage in its way! Peter sank back on his pillow -with an expression that almost resembled peace. - -The dull barking began again. Once more Stellan saw the dark shadows -tumble out into the twilight of the snow-lit garden. Now he was swinging -a bottle in his hand. Carefully he staggered closer to the tied-up dog. -Then he stood balancing and watching with a cunning smile till he could -get in a blow on the head with the bottle. The glass broke and the -contents ran out over the eyes and nose of the dog so that it crept into -its kennel growling and sniffing at the strong alcohol. Now the passage -was clear and the shadowy figure ventured to the window to look in. The -face, suddenly pressed flat against the ice-covered window pane, looked -grotesque. - -Peter, who did not seem to be unconscious of these happenings, beckoned -to the watcher to come in. After some scraping and moving about in the -hall, somebody at last groped about for the door handle. The door was -slowly and cautiously pushed open as if by a burglar and the dog-fighter -came in. He remained in a corner where the light was faint, made a -movement as if to take off a cap that was not there, whilst his -street-arab face, blue with cold, quickly sobered and assumed an -insinuating and fawning expression. - -You could not say that the heir presumptive was exactly pleasant to look -at. But Peter seemed as pleased as ever. He introduced his son with a -mien of having quite unexpectedly, in the eleventh hour, produced out of -his sleeve a small dirty trump that would win the game: - -“Yes, here you have the boy. A handsome lad, don’t you think so? You, -Stellan, have none. And yours ran away, dear Laura. But mine stands here -as big as life. And Bernhard is his name.” - -Bernhard grinned, a grin, however, that faded quickly away when Peter -quite unexpectedly began to shower abuse on him because he had touched -the whiskey without permission. - -There followed a moment’s icy silence. Stellan went slowly up to -Bernhard: - -“We have come here for your sake,” he said. “My poor brother, whose -strength is much reduced by his illness, seems to have got it into his -head for some unaccountable reason that you are a relation of his. It is -of course an absurd mistake. As I don’t like mystery, I tell you so -openly in his presence.” - -Bernhard fidgeted but did not dare to answer. He only stared at Peter, -who, with eyes half-closed, seemed to be waiting: - -Stellan looked like the incarnation of impersonal authority, hard as -iron and firm as a rock. - -“Surely you can understand that we can find doctors and lawyers to clear -up this matter,” he said. - -Peter was still silent, but he began to look as he had done in days gone -by when he used to do a stroke of business. He winked with his right eye -at Bernhard, whose face suddenly lit up: - -“No, thank you, sir—that won’t work. That was too simple.” - -Peter opened both eyes. - -“You ought to say ‘Uncle,’ Bernhard,” he said, “you ought to say -‘Uncle.’” - -Laura could not suppress a little anxious snigger. But Stellan did not -move a feature. He came close up to Bernhard: - -“I advise you to be careful,” he said. “I have collected some -information about you in Majängen and know exactly how you stand with -the police.” - -Bernhard bit his nails, frightened and furious. He looked again at -Peter, who now blinked with both his eyes, and lay down comfortably as -if to listen to music. And Bernhard did not disappoint his expectations, -but stared Stellan boldly in the face: - -“No, Uncle dear, don’t come in here with the police for here you see one -of the family....” - -Stellan turned grey, but still controlled himself: - -“I couldn’t think of bandying words with you. But if you behave decently -we might perhaps compensate you for the vain hopes my brother may have -raised. What would you say to a couple of thousand-crown notes and a -ticket to America?” - -Peter smiled: - -“You want him to go to America, do you? So that he might join Laura’s -Georg, is that it? Well, Bernhard, what do you say to America and the -cash? A fine offer, eh?” - -“No, thanks, America does not suit me at all.” - -Peter wagged his head, filled with paternal pride: - -“The lad is no fool. I needn’t be ashamed of him. I am damned if I don’t -envy you when I think of all the money you will get.” - -Now Hedvig’s voice was suddenly heard again from the corner: - -“You should never have taken up with that woman, Peter. You should never -have taken up with that woman.” - -Stellan grew furious. His thin bony hands trembled and his voice broke. -The brutality of the barrack-room broke through his outer shell. It was -terrible to see the aristocratic mask fall so suddenly: - -“Shut up, you old goat!” he shouted to Hedvig. Then he held his clenched -fist before Bernhard’s face: - -“And you, you damned young scoundrel, be off in less than no time, or -the police will fetch you! Get out now!” - -But Bernhard did not get out at all. With this tone he was familiar. It -frightened him less than the icy authority before. He jumped closer to -the bed and lowered his head between his shoulders ready for a grip at -the throat or a blow at the back of the head. He was evidently prepared -for war as one understood it amongst the youth of Majängen. - -Peter rose. Yes, he rose up in bed. His pale puffy face was covered by a -broad grin: - -“Bravo,” he grunted. “This is better than I thought it would be. I am -damned if I am not beginning to feel quite well again.” - -He was not unlike the man from Chicago who fainted when he came into the -pure air but revived again when somebody held a rotten herring under his -nose. - -It seemed, as a matter of fact, as if death had for a moment withdrawn -from the room before this last grotesque phase of egoism. Poor -overworked death in the third year of the world war! Coarsened and -banalised by the crude slaughter of engines of destruction and by the -horribly laconic press announcements. Talk no more of the twinkling -evening star and the purifying effect of suffering or of clear vision at -the moment of farewell. What an age! when men have grown so empty and -hard that they even know no fear. It is as if they no longer existed -themselves, but only their machines and their money. Egoism driven to -extremes turns into something almost like its opposite. It dies the -death of cold, around a soulless mass of cold metal. Life—spontaneous -happy and suffering life—is nothing, its end cannot therefore be -anything either.... - -Peter was lying with ruined kidneys and was on the point of collapse. -But anything so fine as death, the good old death, he had never met, and -was never to meet. - -He just fell to pieces. - -A first milder paroxysm had come already. Laura suddenly seized -Stellan’s arm and pointed to the bed. Panic made her mass of flesh -tremble. It was an ugly, cowardly fright: - -“Come, let us go!” she panted and pulled her skirts round her as if she -had seen a mouse. “I want to get away from this at once!” - -Peter had sunk back on the pillow. He moaned heavily and spasms passed -over his shapeless face, whilst one hand groped about on his chest and -the other contracted like a claw. - -But Stellan pulled himself together with a furious effort. His face grew -cold and hard. This was the last chance. Now the last card was being -played. He pushed Laura away and bent quickly over Peter with a low but -penetrating whisper: - -“You are not going to steal from us and make a scandal, Peter. The -slightest effort will be the end. Let us separate as friends!” - -Peter struggled with his growing weakness. He forced the words out with -a tremendous effort: - -“The will ... clear ... all clear....” - -Stellan bent still lower. It sounded as if he had wanted to push each -word like a probe into the invalid’s conscience: - -“We shall oppose the will ... there will be a lawsuit ... do you hear, a -lawsuit.” - -“I shall ... win ... win....” - -“You will be declared of unsound mind. The will will be declared null.” - -“No ... I shall win ... win....” - -And it sounded as if a secret malicious satisfaction irresistibly -overcame his cramp and pain. Peter the Boss will bring an action, Peter -the Boss will win. What the deuce does it matter then if he happens to -be dead. - -Laura had already fled. Stellan followed slowly, after having telephoned -for the doctor. Hedvig came last. In the door she turned, stared at her -dying brother and mumbled again obstinately, like a monomaniac: - -“You should never have taken up with that woman, Peter. You should never -have taken up with that woman....” - -But Bernhard had sunk down on a chair by the bed, pale, sick, red-eyed. -In his bold restless eyes there appeared something like tears. Youth, -even neglected and criminal youth, has always a softer fibre. The real -blindness, cruelty, and sterility lies on the other side of the midday -line. - -A few days later Peter the Boss went to sleep, having never wakened -again while he lived. His egoism survived him. Blind and unredeemed it -still survived in his stupid cunning will. “My money shall rule them,” -he had thought. “They shan’t pass over Peter the Boss so easily.” And -neither did they. - -The will showed that he had not taken any steps legally to recognise his -son. He simply made him his sole heir—but with the important and -particularly sound reservation that he should not dissipate the fortune -but only draw the interest. To this will were attached, however, a lot -of strange conditions which really seemed to have been added only to -give the disappointed heirs a tempting opportunity. Thus the heir, if he -wanted to retain the inheritance, must always remain clean shaven like -the testator when alive; never travel in motor cars; never back any -bills or go abroad. Strange also was the way he had remembered his dear -sisters and brother. To Stellan was bequeathed Peter’s watch, an old -silver turnip which the lord of Trefvinge would not even touch with his -fingers. Hedvig got the humble stock of old clothes of the deceased, and -Laura was consoled with the yacht “Laura,” laid up in the yard at -Ekbacken with all its inventory, as for instance, anchor, buoy, ensign -staff, and glass rack, all in memory of her beloved first husband, -Herman Hermansson. - -This will was the tombstone of Peter the Boss, and his relations -celebrated its unveiling by a long and scandalous lawsuit in which -nothing of the Selamb nature was hidden from the eyes of the world. -Against Levy, whom Peter had had the good idea of appointing executor of -the will and who now got a welcome opportunity for revenge both on Laura -and Hedvig, a whole army of lawyers and psychologists was mobilised. The -Selamb brother and sisters were now no longer afraid of scandal. These -people, who were really choking with money, tore every shred of cover -from the deceased and scratched the brain out of his skull, in order to -fling it on the judge’s table. The whole press of the country echoed -these magnificent disclosures. From the court of first instance to that -of final instance this comedy of greed dragged its way along, but Peter -was too cunning for his opponents and won his lawsuit in the end, as he -had said. Yes, one may really say that it was Peter who won and not his -son. That young rogue had, as might have been expected, not been able to -support his good fortune, but by the time of the final settlement of the -case, already lay in hospital, having drunk himself to death. - -Already during his lifetime Peter had been moderately well known, but -now under the plain stone out in the New Cemetery, he grew to a type of -power. He was accepted and quoted. People told anecdotes about him, -laughed at those he had tricked, and shrugged their shoulders at his -enemies. The masses in the end always capitulate to a scoundrel of -coarser calibre than themselves. And when nowadays a poor honest -bourgeois who has been working hard the whole week, takes his Sunday -walk beyond the toll bar and catches sight of Selambshof, he forgets all -that was done up there in that robbers’ stronghold in order to hamper -his own life and make it more difficult and expensive. And he points at -the false Gothic over the edge of the forest and exclaims: - -“Look! That’s where that scoundrel Peter Selamb lived! Do you know what -he used to say? ‘God will surely feed the hawk,’ he used to say. And -that is true enough—for he cheated the town of a good round sum. Twelve -millions he left behind him, that scoundrel, Peter Selamb!” - -There is secret admiration in his voice. The heart swells so strangely -in the poor little bourgeois heart, just as does the heart of a soldier -when you tell him about Napoleon. - -Here ends this book, which has told of such as prefer to hunt alone. - -Georg Hermansson is at the moment of writing already a prominent -engineer in Philadelphia. As far as we can see, he will soon have to -return home to take over the greater part of the spoil. Who knows? -perhaps he will one day fight the battle of civilisation with the -ill-gotten wealth of the Selambs against those who hunt in flocks. The -best days of the Selambs’ system are now over and the egoism of the -masses is perhaps now the greater danger. - - - THE END - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - ● Transcriber’s Notes: - ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected. - ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected. - ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only - when a predominant form was found in this book. - ○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); - text that had extra inter-character spacing by “plus” signs (+The - New Day+). - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Downstream, by Sigfrid Siwertz - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOWNSTREAM *** - -***** This file should be named 60685-0.txt or 60685-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/6/8/60685/ - -Produced by Tim Lindell, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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