rails, locomotive and train with such violence that they sink in the
ground; and then all is still there, covered with sod and crosses as
before. But like giants the spirits advanced, and the hymn, "Let the
dead have rest!" goes before them. He knows it: for daily in all these
years it has sounded through his soul, and now it becomes his own
requiem; for this was death and its visions. The perspiration started
out over his whole body, for nearer and nearer,--and see there, on the
window-pane there, there they are now; and he heard his name.
Overpowered with dread he struggled to shout, for he was strangling; a
dead, cold hand already clenched his throat, when he regained his voice
in a shrieking "Help me!" and awoke. At that moment the window was
burst in with such force that the pieces flew on to his bed. He sprang
up; a man stood in the opening, around him smoke and tongues of fire.
"The house is burning, Lars, we'll help you out!"
It was Canute Aakre.
When again he recovered consciousness, he was lying out in a piercing
wind that chilled his limbs. No one was by him; on the left he saw his
burning house; around him grazed, bellowed, bleated, and neighed his
stock; the sheep huddled together in a terrified flock; the furniture
recklessly scattered: but, on looking around more carefully, he
discovered somebody sitting on a knoll near him, weeping. It was his
wife. He called her name. She started.
"The Lord Jesus be thanked that you live," she exclaimed, coming
forward and seating herself, or rather falling down before him: "O God!
O God! now we have enough of that railroad!"
"The railroad?" he asked: but ere he spoke, it had flashed through his
mind how it was; for, of course, the cause of the fire was the falling
of sparks from the locomotive among the shavings by the new side-wall.
He remained sitting, silent and thoughtful; his wife dared say no more,
but was trying to find clothes for him: the things with which she had
covered him, as he lay unconscious, having fallen off. He received her
attentions in silence, but as she crouched down to cover his feet, he
laid a hand upon her head. She hid her face in his lap, and wept aloud.
At last he had noticed her. Lars understood, and said:
"You are the only friend I have."
Although to hear these words had cost the house, no matter, they made
her happy; she gathered courage and said, rising and looking
submissively at him:
"That is because no one else understands you."
Now again they talked of all that had transpired, or rather he remained
silent, while she told about it. Canute Aakre had been first to
perceive the fire, had awakened his people, sent the girls out through
the parish, while he himself hastened with men and horses to the spot
where all were sleeping. He had taken charge of extinguishing the fire
and saving the property; Lars himself he had dragged from the burning
room and brought him here on the left, to the windward,--here, out on
the churchyard.
While they were talking of all this, some one came driving rapidly up
the road and turned off toward them; soon he alighted. It was Canute,
who had been home after his church-wagon; the one in which so many
times they had ridden together to and from the parish meetings. Now
Lars must get in and ride home with him. They took each other by the
hand, one sitting, the other standing.
"You must come with me now," said Canute, Without reply Lars rose: they
walked side by side to the wagon. Lars was helped in: Canute seated
himself by his side. What they talked about as they rode, or afterward
in the little chamber at Aakre, in which they remained until morning,
has never been known; but from that day they were again inseparable.
As soon as disaster befalls a man, all seem to understand his worth. So
the parish took upon themselves to rebuild Lars Hogstad's houses,
larger and handsomer than any others in the valley. Again he became
chairman, but with Canute Aakre at his side, and from that day all went
well.
TWO FRIENDS
BY
ALEXANDER KIELLAND
From "Tales of Two Countries." Translated by H. H. Boyesen.
TWO FRIENDS
BY
ALEXANDER KIELLAND
No one could understand where he got his money from. But the person who
marvelled most at the dashing and luxurious life led by Alphonse was
his quondam friend and partner.
After they dissolved partnership, most of the custom and the best
connection passed by degrees into Charles's hands. This was not because
he in any way sought to run counter to his former partner; on the
contrary, it arose simply from the fact that Charles was the more
capable man of the two. And as Alphonse had now to work on his own
account, it was soon clear to any one who observed him closely, that in
spite of his promptitude, his amiability, and his prepossessing
appearance, he was not fitted to be at the head of an independent
business.
And there was one person who DID observe him closely. Charles followed
him step by step with his sharp eyes; every blunder, every
extravagance, every loss--he knew all to a nicety, and he wondered that
Alphonse could keep going so long.
They had as good as grown up together. Their mothers were cousins; the
families had lived near each other in the same street; and in a city
like Paris proximity is as important as relationship in promoting close
intercourse. Moreover, the boys went to the same school.
Thenceforth, as they grew up to manhood, they were inseparable. Mutual
adaptation overcame the great differences which originally marked their
characters, until at last their idiosyncrasies fitted into each other
like the artfully-carved pieces of wood which compose the
picture-puzzles of our childhood.
The relation between them was really a beautiful one, such as does not
often arise between two young men; for they did not understand
friendship as binding the one to bear everything at the hands of the
other, but seemed rather to vie with each other in mutual
considerateness.
If, however, Alphonse in his relation to Charles showed any high degree
of considerateness, he himself was ignorant of it; and if any one had
told him of it he would doubtless have laughed loudly at such a
mistaken compliment.
For as life on the whole appeared to him very simple and
straightforward, the idea that his friendship should in any way fetter
him was the last thing that could enter his head. That Charles was his
best friend seemed to him as entirely natural as that he himself danced
best, rode best, was the best shot, and that the whole world was
ordered entirely to his mind.
Alphonse was in the highest degree a spoilt child of fortune; he
acquired everything without effort; existence fitted him like an
elegant dress, and he wore it with such unconstrained amiability that
people forgot to envy him.
And then he was so handsome. He was tall and slim, with brown hair and
big open eyes; his complexion was clear and smooth, and his teeth shone
when he laughed. He was quite conscious of his beauty, but, as
everybody had petted him from his earliest days, his vanity was of a
cheerful, good-natured sort, which, after all, was not so offensive. He
was exceedingly fond of his friend. He amused himself and sometimes
others by teasing him and making fun of him; but he knew Charles's face
so thoroughly that he saw at once when the jest was going too far. Then
he would resume his natural, kindly tone, until he made the serious and
somewhat melancholy Charles laugh till he was ill.
From his boyhood Charles had admired Alphonse beyond measure. He
himself was small and insignificant, quiet and shy. His friend's
brilliant qualities cast a lustre over him as well, and gave a certain
impetus to his life.
His mother often said: "This friendship between the boys is a real
blessing for my poor Charles, for without it he would certainly have
been a melancholy creature."
When Alphonse was on all occasions preferred to him, Charles rejoiced;
he was proud of his friend. He wrote his exercises, prompted him at
examination, pleaded his cause with the masters, and fought for him
with the boys.
At the commercial academy it was the same story. Charles worked for
Alphonse, and Alphonse rewarded him with his inexhaustible amiability
and unfailing good-humor.
When subsequently, as quite young men, they were placed in the same
banker's office, it happened one day that the principal said to
Charles: "From the first of May I will raise your salary."
"I thank you," answered Charles, "both on my own and on my friend's
behalf."
"Monsieur Alphonse's salary remains unaltered," replied the chief, and
went on writing.
Charles never forgot that morning. It was the first time he had been
preferred or distinguished before his friend. And it was his commercial
capacity, the quality which, as a young man of business, he valued
most, that had procured him this preference; and it was the head of the
firm, the great financier, who had himself accorded him such
recognition.
The experience was so strange to him that it seemed like an injustice
to his friend. He told Alphonse nothing of the occurrence; on the
contrary, he proposed that they should apply for two vacant places in
the Credit Lyonnais.
Alphonse was quite willing, for he loved change, and the splendid new
banking establishment on the Boulevard seemed to him far more
attractive than the dark offices in the Rue Bergere. So they removed to
the Credit Lyonnais on the first of May. But as they were in the
chief's office taking their leave, the old banker said to Charles, when
Alphonse had gone out (Alphonse always took precedence of Charles),
"Sentiment won't do for a business man."
From that day forward a change went on in Charles. He not only worked
as industriously and conscientiously as before, but developed such
energy and such an amazing faculty for labor as soon attracted to him
the attention of his superiors. That he was far ahead of his friend in
business capacity was soon manifest; but every time he received a new
mark of recognition he had a struggle with himself. For a long time,
every advancement brought with it a certain qualm of conscience; and
yet he worked on with restless ardor.
One day Alphonse said, in his light, frank way: "You are really a smart
fellow, Charlie! You're getting ahead of everybody, young and old--not
to mention me. I'm quite proud of you."
Charles felt ashamed. He had been thinking that Alphonse must feel
wounded at being left on one side, and now he learned that his friend
not only did not grudge him his advancement, but was even proud of him.
By degrees his conscience was lulled to rest, and his solid worth was
more and more appreciated.
But if he was in reality the more capable, how came it that he was so
entirely ignored in society, while Alphonse remained everybody's
darling? The very promotions and marks of appreciation which he had won
for himself by hard work were accorded him in a dry, business manner;
while every one, from the directors to the messengers, had a friendly
word or a merry greeting for Alphonse.
In the different offices and departments of the bank they intrigued to
obtain possession of Monsieur Alphonse; for a breath of life and
freshness followed ever in the wake of his handsome person and joyous
nature. Charles, on the other hand, had often remarked that his
colleagues regarded him as a dry person, who thought only of business
and of himself.
The truth was that he had a heart of rare sensitiveness, with no
faculty for giving it expression.
Charles was one of those small, black Frenchmen whose beard begins
right under the eyes; his complexion was yellowish and his hair stiff
and splintery. His eyes did not dilate when he was pleased and
animated, but they flashed around and glittered. When he laughed the
corners of his mouth turned upward, and many a time, when his heart was
full of joy and good-will, he had seen people draw back,
half-frightened by his forbidding exterior. Alphonse alone knew him so
well that he never seemed to see his ugliness; every one else
misunderstood him. He became suspicious, and retired more and more
within himself.
In an insensible crescendo the thought grew in him: Why should he never
attain anything of that which he most longed for--intimate and cordial
intercourse and friendliness which should answer to the warmth pent up
within him? Why should every one smile to Alphonse with out-stretched
hands, while he must content himself with stiff bows and cold glances?
Alphonse knew nothing of all this. He was joyous and healthy, charmed
with life and content with his daily work. He had been placed in the
easiest and most interesting branch of the business, and, with his
quick brain and his knack of making himself agreeable, he filled his
place satisfactorily.
His social circle was very large--every one set store by his
acquaintance, and he was at least as popular among women as among men.
For a time Charles accompanied Alphonse into society, until he was
seized by a misgiving that he was invited for his friend's sake alone,
when he at once drew back.
When Charles proposed that they should set up in business together,
Alphonse had answered: "It is too good of you to choose me. You could
easily find a much better partner."
Charles had imagined that their altered relations and closer
association in work would draw Alphonse out of the circles which
Charles could not now endure, and unite them more closely. For he had
conceived a vague dread of losing his friend.
He did not himself know, nor would it have been easy to decide, whether
he was jealous of all the people who flocked around Alphonse and drew
him to them, or whether he envied his friend's popularity.
They began their business prudently and energetically, and got on well.
It was generally held that each formed an admirable complement to the
other. Charles represented the solid, confidence-inspiring element,
while the handsome and elegant Alphonse imparted to the firm a certain
lustre which was far from being without value.
Every one who came into the counting-house at once remarked his
handsome figure, and thus it seemed quite natural that all should
address themselves to him.
Charles meanwhile bent over his work and let Alphonse be spokesman.
When Alphonse asked him about anything, he answered shortly and quietly
without looking up.
Thus most people thought that Charles was a confidential clerk, while
Alphonse was the real head of the house.
As Frenchmen, they thought little about marrying, but as young
Parisians they led a life into which erotics entered largely.
Alphonse was never really in his element except when in female society.
Then all his exhilarating amiability came into play, and when he leaned
back at supper and held out his shallow champagne-glass to be refilled,
he was as beautiful as a happy god.
He had a neck of the kind which women long to caress, and his soft,
half-curling hair looked as if it were negligently arranged, or
carefully disarranged, by a woman's coquettish hand.
Indeed, many slim white fingers had passed through those locks; for
Alphonse had not only the gift of being loved by women, but also the
yet rarer gift of being forgiven by them.
When the friends were together at gay supper-parties, Alphonse paid no
particular heed to Charles. He kept no account of his own love-affairs,
far less of those of his friend. So it might easily happen that a
beauty on whom Charles had cast a longing eye fell into the hands of
Alphonse.
Charles was used to seeing his friend preferred in life; but there are
certain things to which men can scarcely accustom themselves. He seldom
went with Alphonse to his suppers, and it was always long before the
wine and the general exhilaration could bring him into a convivial
humor.
But then, when the champagne and the bright eyes had gone to his head,
he would often be the wildest of all; he would sing loudly with his
harsh voice, laugh and gesticulate so that his stiff black hair fell
over his forehead; and then the merry ladies shrank from him, and
called him the "chimney-sweep."
--As the sentry paces up and down in the beleaguered fortress, he
sometimes hears a strange sound in the silent night, as if something
were rustling under his feet. It is the enemy, who has undermined the
outworks, and to-night or to-morrow night there will be a hollow
explosion, and armed men will storm in through the breach.
If Charles had kept close watch over himself he would have heard
strange thoughts rustling within him. But he would not hear--he had
only a dim foreboding that sometime there must come an explosion.
--And one day it came.
It was already after business hours; the clerks had all left the outer
office, and only the principals remained behind.
Charles was busily writing a letter which he wished to finish before he
left.
Alphonse had drawn on both his gloves and buttoned them. Then he had
brushed his hat until it shone, and now he was walking up and down and
peeping into Charles's letter every time he passed the desk.
They used to spend an hour every day before dinner in a cafe on the
great Boulevard, and Alphonse was getting impatient for his newspapers.
"Will you never have finished that letter?" he said, rather irritably.
Charles was silent a second or two, then he sprang up so that his chair
fell over: "Perhaps Alphonse imagined that he could do it better? Did
he not know which of them was really the man of business?" And now the
words streamed out with that incredible rapidity of which the French
language is capable when it is used in fiery passion.
But it was a turbid stream, carrying with it many ugly expressions,
upbraidings, and recriminations; and through the whole there sounded
something like a suppressed sob.
As he strode up and down the room, with clenched hands and dishevelled
hair, Charles looked like a little wiry-haired terrier barking at an
elegant Italian grayhound. At last he seized his hat and rushed out.
Alphonse had stood looking at him with great wondering eyes. When he
was gone, and there was once more silence in the room, it seemed as
though the air was still quivering with the hot words. Alphonse
recalled them one by one, as he stood motionless beside the desk.
"Did he not know which was the abler of the two?" Yes, assuredly! he
had never denied that Charles was by far his superior.
"He must not think that he would succeed in winning everything to
himself with his smooth face." Alphonse was not conscious of ever
having deprived his friend of anything.
"I don't care for your cocottes" Charles had said.
Could he really have been interested in the little Spanish dancer? If
Alphonse had only had the faintest suspicion of such a thing he would
never have looked at her. But that was nothing to get so wild about;
there were plenty of women in Paris.
And at last: "As sure as to-morrow comes, I will dissolve partnership!"
Alphonse did not understand it at all. He left the counting-house and
walked moodily through the streets until he met an acquaintance. That
put other thoughts into his head; but all day he had a feeling as if
something gloomy and uncomfortable lay in wait, ready to seize him so
soon as he was alone.
When he reached home, late at night, he found a letter from Charles. He
opened it hastily; but it contained, instead of the apology he had
expected, only a coldly-worded request to M. Alphonse to attend at the
counting-house early the next morning "in order that the contemplated
dissolution of partnership might be effected as quickly as possible."
Now, for the first time, did Alphonse begin to understand that the
scene in the counting-house had been more than a passing outburst of
passion; but this only made the affair more inexplicable.
And the longer he thought it over, the more clearly did he feel that
Charles had been unjust to him. He had never been angry with his
friend, nor was he precisely angry even now. But as he repeated to
himself all the insults Charles had heaped upon him, his good-natured
heart hardened; and the next morning he took his place in silence,
after a cold "Good morning."
Although he arrived a whole hour earlier than usual, he could see that
Charles had been working long and industriously. There they sat, each
on his side of the desk; they spoke only the most indispensable words;
now and then a paper passed from hand to hand, but they never looked
each other in the face.
In this way they both worked--each more busily than the other--until
twelve o'clock, their usual luncheon-time.
This hour of dejeuner was the favorite time of both. Their custom was
to have it served in their office, and when the old housekeeper
announced that lunch was ready, they would both rise at once, even if
they were in the midst of a sentence or of an account.
They used to eat standing by the fireplace, or walking up and down in
the warm, comfortable office. Alphonse had always some piquant stories
to tell, and Charles laughed at them. These were his pleasantest hours.
But that day, when madame said her friendly "Messieurs, on a servi"
they both remained sitting. She opened her eyes wide, and repeated the
words as she went out, but neither moved.
At last Alphonse felt hungry, went to the table, poured out a glass of
wine and began to eat his cutlet. But as he stood there eating, with
his glass in his hand, and looked round the dear old office where they
had spent so many pleasant hours, and then thought that they were to
lose all this and imbitter their lives for a whim, a sudden burst of
passion, the whole situation appeared to him so preposterous that he
almost burst out laughing.
"Look here, Charles," he said, in the half-earnest, half-joking tone
which always used to make Charles laugh, "it will really be too absurd
to advertise: 'According to an amicable agreement, from such and such a
date the firm of--'"
"I have been thinking," interrupted Charles, quietly, "that we will
put: 'According to MUTUAL agreement.'"
Alphonse laughed no more; he put down his glass, and the cutlet tasted
bitter in his mouth.
He understood that friendship was dead between them, why or wherefore
he could not tell; but he thought that Charles was hard and unjust to
him. He was now stiffer and colder than the other.
They worked together until the business of dissolution was finished;
then they parted.
A considerable time passed, and the two quondam friends worked each in
his own quarter in the great Paris. They met at the Bourse, but never
did business with each other. Charles never worked against Alphonse; he
did not wish to ruin him; he wished Alphonse to ruin himself.
And Alphonse seemed likely enough to meet his friend's wishes in this
respect. It is true that now and then he did a good stroke of business,
but the steady industry he had learned from Charles he soon forgot. He
began to neglect his office, and lost many good connections.
He had always had a taste for dainty and luxurious living, but his
association with the frugal Charles had hitherto held his extravagances
in check. Now, on the contrary, his life became more and more
dissipated. He made fresh acquaintances on every hand, and was more
than ever the brilliant and popular Monsieur Alphonse; but Charles kept
an eye on his growing debts.
He had Alphonse watched as closely as possible, and, as their business
was of the same kind, could form a pretty good estimate of the other's
earnings. His expenses were even easier to ascertain, and he soon
assured himself of the fact that Alphonse was beginning to run into
debt in several quarters.
He cultivated some acquaintances about whom he otherwise cared nothing,
merely because through them he got an insight into Alphonse's expensive
mode of life and rash prodigality. He sought the same cafes and
restaurants as Alphonse, but at different times; he even had his
clothes made by the same tailor, because the talkative little man
entertained him with complaints that Monsieur Alphonse never paid his
bills.
Charles often thought how easy it would be to buy up a part of
Alphonse's liabilities and let them fall into the hands of a grasping
usurer. But it would be a great injustice to suppose that Charles for a
moment contemplated doing such a thing himself. It was only an idea he
was fond of dwelling upon; he was, as it were, in love with Alphonse's
debts.
But things went slowly, and Charles became pale and sallow while he
watched and waited.