A few moments later she laughed and said:
"I was not afraid of the other tunnels; only this one frightens me."
She glanced at my face to see how I might answer, and I said:
"This is the longest, too; it is exceedingly long."
Her confusion was now at its highest.
"But we are not near any tunnel," she cried. "You are deceiving me;
there is no tunnel!"
"Yes, there is, the last one--look!"
And I pointed to my map. But she would see nothing and listen to
nothing.
"No, no,--there is no tunnel, I tell you there is none! But speak to
me if there be one!" she added.
She leaned back against the cushions, and smiled through half-closed
lids.
The engine whistled; I looked out; we were approaching the black
opening. I remembered that I had promised to speak to her; I bent
towards her, and in the darkness I felt her arms around my neck.
"Speak to me, please do! I am so frightened!" she whispered with
beating heart. "Why don't you speak to me?"
I felt plainly how her heart was beating, and I placed my lips close
to her ears and whispered:
"But now you are forgetting your friend!"
She heard me, she trembled and let me go quickly; she pushed me away
with both hands, and threw herself down in the seat. I sat there
alone. I heard her sobs through the darkness.
"This was The Power of Love," Ojen said.
Everybody listened attentively; Milde sat with open mouth.
"Well--what more?" he asked, evidently thinking there must be a climax yet
to come. "Is that all? But Heaven preserve us, man, what is it all about?
No; the so-called poetry you young writers are dishing out nowadays--I
call it arrant rot!"
They all laughed loudly. The effect was spoiled; the poet with the compass
in his fob arose, pointed straight at Milde, and said furiously:
"This gentleman evidently lacks all understanding of modern poetry."
"Modern poetry! This sniffing at the moon and the sun, these filigree
phrases and unintelligible fancies--There must, at least, be a point, a
climax, to everything!"
Ojen was pale and furious.
"You have then not the slightest understanding of my new intentions," said
the poor fellow, trembling with excitement. "But, then, you are a brute,
Milde; one could not expect intelligent appreciation from you."
Only now did the fat painter realise how much he had offended; he had
hardly expected this when he spoke.
"A brute?" he answered good-naturedly. "It seems we are beginning to
express ourselves very plainly. I did not mean to insult you, anyway.
Don't you think I enjoyed the poem? I did, I tell you; enjoyed it
immensely. I only thought it a little disembodied, so to speak, somewhat
ethereal. Understand me correctly: it is very beautiful, exceedingly
artistic, one of the best things you have produced yet. Can't you take a
joke any more?"
But it was of no avail that Milde tried to smooth things over; the
seriousness of the moment had gone, they laughed and shouted more than
ever, and cut loose in earnest. Norem opened one of the windows and sang
to the street below.
To mend matters a little and make Ojen feel better, Mrs. Hanka placed her
hand on his shoulder and promised to come and see him off when he started
on his trip. Not she alone--they would all come. When was he going?
She turned to Ole Henriksen: "You'll come, won't you, and see Ojen off
when he goes?"
Ole Henriksen then gave an unexpected reply which surprised even Mrs.
Hanka: He would not only go with Ojen to the station, he would go with him
all the way to Torahus. Yes, he had suddenly made up his mind, he would
make this little trip; he had, in fact, a sort of reason for going--And
he was so much in earnest that he buttonholed Ojen at once and arranged
the day for the departure.
The Journalist drank with Mrs. Paulsberg, who held her glass in a peculiar
masculine fashion. They moved over to the sofa on account of the draught,
and told each other amusing anecdotes. Mrs. Paulsberg knew a story
concerning Grande and one of Pastor B.'s daughters. She had reached the
climax when she paused.
"Well--go on!" the Journalist exclaimed eagerly.
"Wait a moment!" answered Mrs. Paulsberg smilingly, "you must at least
give me time to blush a little!"
And she recounted merrily the climax.
Norem had retired to a corner and was fast asleep.
"Does anybody know the time?" asked Mrs. Paulsberg.
"Don't ask me," said Gregersen, and fumbled at his vest pocket. "It is
many a day since I carried a watch!"
It turned out that it was one o'clock.
About half-past one Mrs. Hanka and Irgens had disappeared. Irgens had
asked Milde for roasted coffee, and since then had not been seen. Nobody
seemed to think it strange that the two had sneaked away, and no questions
were asked; Tidemand was talking to Ole Henriksen about his trip to
Torahus.
"But have you time to run off like this?" he asked.
"I'll take time," answered Ole. "By the way, I want to tell you something
by and by."
Around Paulsberg's table the political situation was being discussed.
Milde once more threatened to banish himself to Australia. But, thank
Heaven, it now looked as if Parliament would do something before it was
dissolved, would refuse to yield.
"It is a matter of indifference to me what it does," said Gregersen of the
_Gazette_. "As things have been going, Norway has assumed the
character of a beaten country. We are decidedly poverty-stricken, in every
respect; we lack power, both in politics and in our civic life. How sad to
contemplate the general decline! What miserable remnants are left of the
intellectual life that once flamed up so brightly, that called loudly to
Heaven in the seventies! The aged go the way of the flesh; who is there to
take their places? I am sick of this decadence; I cannot thrive in low
intellectual altitudes!"
Everybody looked at the Journalist; what was the matter with the
ever-merry chap? He was not so very drunk now; he spoke passably clearly,
and did not twist any words. What did he mean? But when the witty dog
reached the declaration that he could only thrive in a high spiritual
altitude, then the guests broke into peals of merriment and understood
that it was a capital hoax. The merry blade--hadn't he almost fooled them
all! "Poor remnants of the intellectual life of the seventies!" Didn't we
have Paulsberg and Irgens, and Ojen and Milde, and the two close-cropped
poets, and an entire army of first-class, sprouting talents besides!
The Journalist himself laughed and wiped his forehead and laughed again.
It was generally believed that this fellow was possessed of a literary
talent which had not entirely stagnated in his newspaper. A book might be
expected from him some day, a remarkable work.
Paulsberg forced a smile. In reality he was offended because nobody had
alluded to his novels or to his work on the Atonement during the entire
evening. When therefore the Journalist asked him his opinion concerning
the intellectual life of the nation, his reply was brief:
"It seems to me I have had occasion to express an opinion somewhere in my
works."
Of course, of course; when they came to think of it they certainly
remembered it. It was true; a speech somewhere or other. Mrs. Paulsberg
quoted from book and page.
But Paulsberg made up his mind to leave now.
"I'll come and sit for you to-morrow," he said to Milde, with a glance at
the easel. He got up, emptied his glass, and found his overcoat. His wife
pressed everybody's hand vigorously. They met Mrs. Hanka and Irgens in the
door.
From now on the merriment knew no bounds; they drank like sponges; even
the two young poets kept up as well as they could, and talked with
bloodshot eyes about Baudelaire. Milde demanded to know why Irgens had
asked him for coffee. Why did he need coffee? He hoped he had not been
making preparations to kiss Mrs. Hanka? Damn him, he would hate to trust
him.... Tidemand hears this and he laughs with the others, louder than the
others, and he says: "You are right, he is not to be trusted, the sly
dog!" Tidemand was sober as always.
They did not restrain themselves; the conversation was free and they swore
liberally. When all was said and done, it was prudery that was Norway's
curse and Norway's bane; people preferred to let their young girls go to
the dogs in ignorance rather than enlighten them while there was time.
Prudery was the nourishing vice of the moment. So help me, there ought to
be public men appointed for the sole purpose of shouting obscenity on the
streets just to make young girls acquainted with certain things while
there was still time. What, do you object, Tidemand?
No, Tidemand did not object, and Ole Henriksen did not object. The idea
was original, to say the least. Ha, ha!
Milde got Tidemand over in a corner.
"It is like this," he said, "I wonder if you have got a couple of crowns?"
Yes; Tidemand was not entirely stripped. How much? A ten-spot?
"Thanks, old man, I'll give it back to you shortly," said Milde in all
seriousness. "Very soon, now. You are a brick! It is not more than a
couple of days since I said that you hucksters were great fellows. That is
exactly what I said. Here is my hand!"
Mrs. Hanka got up at last; she wanted to leave. It was beginning to grow
light outside.
Her husband kept close by her.
"Yes, Hanka, that is right--let us be going," he said. He was on the point
of offering her his arm.
"Thank you, my friend, but I have an escort," she said with an indifferent
glance.
It took him a moment to recover himself.
"Oh, I see," he said with a forced smile. "It is all right; I only
thought--"
He walked over to the window and remained standing there.
Mrs. Hanka said good night to everybody. When she came to Irgens she
whispered eagerly, breathlessly: "To-morrow, then, at three." She kept
Ojen's hand in hers and asked him when he was going. Had he remembered to
make reservations at Torahus? No; she might have known it; these poets
were always forgetting the most essential. He would have to telegraph at
once. Good-bye! And get well soon.... She was maternal to the last.
The Journalist accompanied her.