MASTER AND DOGS
Two or three days had passed. Mrs. Charles Nicholas Falk, a lady of
twenty-two years of age, had just finished her breakfast in bed, the
colossal mahogany bed in the large bedroom. It was only ten o'clock.
Her husband had been away since seven, taking up flax on the shore. But
the young wife had not stayed in bed--a thing she knew to be contrary
to the rules of the house--because she counted on his absence. She had
only been married for two years, but during that period she had found
abundant time to introduce sweeping reforms in the old, conservative,
middle-class household, where everything was old, even the servants. He
had invested her with the necessary power on the day on which he had
confessed his love to her, and she had graciously consented to become
his wife, that is to say, permitted him to deliver her from the hated
bondage of her parental roof, where she had been compelled to get up
every morning at six o'clock and work all day long. She had made good
use of the period of her engagement, for it was then that she had
collected a number of guarantees, promising her a free and independent
life, unmolested by any interference on the part of her husband. Of
course these guarantees consisted merely of verbal assurances made by a
love-sick man, but she, who had never allowed her emotion to get the
better of her, had carefully noted them down on the tablets of her
memory. After two years of matrimony, unredeemed by the promise of a
child, the husband showed a decided inclination to set aside all these
guarantees, and question her right to sleep as long as she liked, for
instance, to have breakfast in bed, etcetera, etcetera; he had even
been so indelicate as to remind her that he had pulled her out of the
mire; had delivered her from a hell, thereby sacrificing himself. The
marriage had been a misalliance, her father being one of the crew of
the flagship.
As she lay there she was concocting replies to these and similar
reproaches; and as her common sense during the long period of their
mutual acquaintance had never been clouded by any intoxication of the
senses, she had it well in hand and knew how to use it. The sounds of
her husband's return filled her with unalloyed pleasure. Presently the
dining-room door was slammed; a tremendous bellowing became audible;
she pushed her head underneath the bed-clothes to smother her laughter.
Heavy footsteps crossed the adjacent room and the angry husband
appeared on the threshold, hat on head. His wife, who was turning her
back to him, called out in her most dulcet tones:
"Is that you, little lubber? Come in, come in!"
The little lubber--this was a pet name, and husband and wife frequently
used others, even more original ones--showed no inclination to accept
her invitation, but remained standing in the doorway and shouted:
"Why isn't the table laid for lunch?"
"Ask the girls; it isn't my business to lay the table! But it's
customary to take off one's hat on coming into a room, sir!"
"What have you done with my cap?"
"Burnt it! It was so greasy, you ought to have been ashamed to wear
it."
"You burnt it? We'll talk about that later on! Why are you lying in bed
until all hours of the morning, instead of supervising the girls?"
"Because I like it."
"Do you think I married a wife to have her refusing to look after her
house? What?"
"You did! But why do you think I married you? I've told you a thousand
times--so that I shouldn't have to work--and you promised me I
shouldn't. Didn't you? Can you swear, on your word of honour, that you
did _not_ promise? That's the kind of man you are! You are just like
all the rest!"
"It was long ago!"
"Long ago? When was long ago? Is a promise not binding for all times?
Or must it be made in any particular season?"
The husband knew this unanswerable logic only too well, and his wife's
good temper had the same effect as her tears--he gave in.
"I'm going to have visitors to-night," he stated.
"Oh, indeed! Gentlemen?"
"Of course! I detest women."
"Well, I suppose you've ordered what you want?"
"No, I want you to do that."
"I? I've no money for entertaining. I shall certainly not spend my
housekeeping money on your visitors."
"No, you prefer spending it on dress and other useless things."
"Do you call the things I make for you useless? Is a smoking-cap
useless? Are slippers useless? Tell me! Tell me candidly!"
She was an adept in formulating her questions in such a way that the
reply was bound to be crushing for the person who had to answer them.
She was merely copying her husband's method. If he wanted to avoid
being crushed, he was compelled to keep changing the subject of
conversation.
"But I really have a very good reason for entertaining a few guests
to-night," he said with a show of emotion; "my old friend, Fritz Levin,
of the Post Office, has been promoted after nineteen years' service--I
read it in the Postal Gazette last night. But as you disapprove, and as
I always give way to you, I shall let the matter drop, and shall merely
ask Levin and schoolmaster Nystroem to a little supper in the
counting-house."
"So that loafer Levin has been promoted? I never! Perhaps now he'll pay
you back all the money he owes you?"
"I hope so!"
"I can't understand how on earth you can have anything to do with that
man! And the schoolmaster! Beggars, both of them, who hardly own the
clothes they wear."
"I say, old girl, I never interfere in your affairs; leave my business
alone."
"If you have guests downstairs, I don't see why I shouldn't have
friends up here!"
"Well, why don't you?"
"All right, little lubber, give me some money then."
The little lubber, in every respect pleased with the turn matters had
taken, obeyed with pleasure.
"How much? I've very little cash to-day."
"Oh! Fifty'll do."
"Are you mad?"
"Mad? Give me what I ask for. Why should I starve when you feast?"
Peace was established and the parties separated with mutual
satisfaction. There was no need for him to lunch badly at home; he was
compelled to go out; no necessity to eat a poor dinner and be made
uncomfortable by the presence of ladies; he was embarrassed in the
company of women, for he had been a bachelor too long; no reason to be
troubled by his conscience, for his wife would not be alone at home; as
it happened she wanted to invite her own friends and be rid of him--it
was worth fifty crowns.
As soon as her husband had gone, Mrs. Falk rang the bell; she had
stayed in bed all the morning to punish the housemaid, for the girl had
remarked that in the old days everybody used to be up at seven. She
asked for paper and ink and scribbled a note to Mrs. Homan, the
controller's wife, who lived in the house opposite.
DEAR EVELYN--the letter ran:
Come in this evening and have a cup of tea with me; we can then
discuss the statutes of the "Association for the Rights of Women."
Possibly a bazaar or amateur theatricals would help us on. I am
longing to set the association going; it is an urgent need, as you
so often said; I feel it very deeply when I think about it. Do you
think that her Ladyship would honour my house at the same time?
Perhaps I ought to call on her first. Come and fetch me at twelve
and we'll have a cup of chocolate at a confectioner's. My husband
is away.
Yours affectionately,
EUGENIA.
P.S. My husband is away.
When she had despatched the letter, she got up and dressed, so as to be
ready at twelve.
* * * * *
It was evening.
The eastern end of Long Street was already plunged in twilight, when
the clock of the German church struck seven; only a faint ray of light
from Pig Street fell into Falk's flax-shop, as Andersson made ready to
close it for the night. The shutters in the counting-house had already
been fastened and the gas was lighted. The place had been swept and
straightened; two hampers with protruding necks of bottles, sealed red
and yellow, some covered with tinfoil and others wrapped in pink tissue
paper, were standing close to the door. The centre of the room was
taken up by a table covered with a white cloth; on it stood an Indian
bowl and a heavy silver candelabrum.
Nicholas Falk paced up and down. He was wearing a black frock-coat, and
had a respectable as well as a festive air. He had a right to look
forward to a pleasant evening: he had arranged it; he had paid for it;
he was in his own house and at his ease, for there were no ladies
present, and his invited guests were of a calibre which justified him
in expecting from them not only attention and civility, but a little
more.
They were only two, but he did not like many people; they were his
friends, reliable, devoted as dogs; submissive, agreeable, always
flattering and never contradicting him.
Being a man of means, he could have moved in better circles; he might
have associated with his father's friends, and he did so, twice a year;
but he was of too despotic a nature to get on with them.
It was three minutes past seven and still the guests had not arrived.
Falk began to show signs of impatience. When he invited his henchmen,
he expected them to be punctual to the minute. The thought of the
unusually sumptuous arrangement, however, and the paralysing impression
it was bound to make, helped him to control his temper a little longer;
at the lapse of a few more moments Fritz Levin, the post-office
official put in an appearance.
"Good-evening, brother--oh! I say!" He paused in the action of
divesting himself of his overcoat, and feigned surprise at the
magnificent preparations; he almost seemed in danger of falling on his
back with sheer amazement. "The seven-armed candle-stick, and the
tabernacle! Good Lord!" he ejaculated, catching sight of the hampers.
The individual who delivered these well-rehearsed witticisms while
taking off his overcoat, was a middle-aged man of the type of the
government official of twenty years ago; his whiskers joined his
moustache, his hair was parted at the side and arranged in a _coup de
vent_. He was extremely pale and as thin as a shroud. In spite of being
well dressed, he was shivering with cold and seemed to have secret
traffic with poverty.
Falk's manner in welcoming him was both rude and patronizing; it was
partly intended to express his scorn of flattery, more particularly
from an individual like the newcomer, and partly to intimate that the
newcomer enjoyed the privilege of his friendship.
By way of congratulation he began to draw a parallel between Levin's
promotion and his own father's receiving a commission in the militia.
"Well, it's a grand thing to have the royal mandate in one's pocket,
isn't it? My father, too, received a royal mandate...."
"Pardon me, dear brother, but I've only been appointed."
"Appointed or royal mandate, it comes to the same thing. Don't teach
me! My father, too, had a royal mandate...."
"I assure you...."
"Assure me--what d'you mean by that? D'you mean to imply that I'm
standing here telling lies? Tell me, do you mean to say that I'm
lying?"
"Of course I don't! There's no need to lose your temper like that!"
"Very well! You're admitting that I'm not telling lies, consequently
you have a royal mandate. Why do you talk such nonsense? My father...."
The pale man, in whose wake a drove of furies seemed to have entered
the counting-house--for he trembled in every limb--now rushed at his
patron, firmly resolved to get over with his business before the feast
began, so that nothing should afterwards disturb the general enjoyment.
"Help me," he groaned, with the despair of a drowning man, taking a
bill out of his pocket.
Falk sat down on the sofa, shouted for Andersson, ordered him to open
the bottles and began to mix the bowl.
"Help you? Haven't I helped you before?" he replied. "Haven't you
borrowed from me again and again without paying me back? Answer me!
What have you got to say?"
"I know, brother, that you have always been kindness itself to me."
"And now you've been promoted, haven't you? Everything was to be all
right now; all debts were to be paid and a new life was to begin. I've
listened to this kind of talk for eighteen years. What salary do you
draw now?"
"Twelve hundred crowns instead of eight hundred as before. But now,
think of this: the cost of the mandate was one hundred and twenty-five;
the pension fund deducts fifty; that makes one hundred and
seventy-five. Where I am to take it from? But the worst of it all is
this: my creditors have seized half my salary; consequently I have now
only six hundred crowns to live on instead of eight hundred--and I've
waited nineteen years for that. Promotion is a splendid thing!"
"Why did you get into debt? One ought never to get into debt.
Never--get--into debt."
"With a salary of eight hundred crowns all these years! How was it
possible to keep out of it?"
"In that case you had no business to be in the employ of the
Government. But this is a matter which doesn't concern me;
doesn't--concern--me."
"Won't you sign once more? For the last time?"
"You know my principles; I never sign bills. Please let the matter
drop."
Levin, who was evidently used to these refusals, calmed down. At the
same moment schoolmaster Nystroem entered, and, to the relief of both
parties, interrupted the conversation. He was a dried-up individual of
mysterious appearance and age. His occupation, too, was mysterious; he
was supposed to be a master at a school in one of the southern
suburbs--nobody ever asked which school and he did not care to talk
about it. His mission, so far as Falk was concerned, was first to be
addressed as schoolmaster when there were other people present;
secondly, to be polite and submissive; thirdly, to borrow a little
every now and then; never exceeding a fiver; it was one of Falk's
fundamental needs that people should borrow money from him
occasionally, only a little, of course; and, fourthly, to write verses
on festive occasions; and the latter was not the least of the component
parts of his mission.
Charles Nicholas Falk sat enthroned on his leather sofa, very conscious
of the fact that it was _his_ leather sofa, surrounded by his staff; or
his dogs, as one might have said. Levin found everything splendid; the
bowl, the glasses, the ladle, the cigars--the whole box had been taken
from the mantelpiece--the matches, the ash-trays, the bottles, the
corks, the wire--everything. The schoolmaster looked content; he was
not called upon to talk, the other two did that; he was merely required
to be present as a witness in case of need.
Falk was the first to raise his glass and drink--nobody knew to
whom--but the schoolmaster, believing it to be to the hero of the day,
produced his verses and began to read "To Fritz Levin on the Day of his
Promotion."
Falk was attacked by a violent cough which disturbed the reading and
spoiled the effect of the wittiest points; but Nystroem, who was a
shrewd man and had foreseen this, had introduced into his poem the
finely felt and finely expressed reflection: "What would have become of
Fritz Levin if Charles Nicholas hadn't befriended him?" This subtle
hint at the numerous loans made by Falk to his friend, soothed the
cough; it subsided and ensured a better reception to the last verse
which was quite impudently dedicated to Levin, a tactlessness which
again threatened to disturb the harmony. Falk emptied his glass as if
he were draining a cup filled to the brim with ingratitude.
"You're not up to the mark, Nystroem," he said.
"No, he was far wittier on your thirty-eighth birthday," agreed Levin,
guessing what Falk was driving at.
Falk's glance penetrated into the most hidden recesses of Levin's soul,
trying to discover whether any lie or fraud lay hidden there--and as
his eyes were blinded by pride, he saw nothing.
"Quite true," he acquiesced: "I never heard anything more witty in all
my life; it was good enough to be printed; you really ought to get your
things printed. I say, Nystroem, surely you know it by heart, don't
you?"
Nystroem had a shocking memory, or, to tell the truth, he had not yet
had enough wine to commit the suggested outrage against decency and
good form; he asked for time. But Falk, irritated by his quiet
resistance, had gone too far to turn back, and insisted on his request.
He was almost sure that he had a copy of the verses with him; he
searched his pocket-book and behold! There they lay. Modesty did not
forbid him to read them aloud himself; it would not have been for the
first time; but it sounded better for another to read them. The poor
dog bit his chain, but it held. He was a sensitive man, this
schoolmaster, but he had to be brutal if he did not want to relinquish
the precious gift of life, and he had been very brutal. The most
private affairs were fully and openly discussed, everything in
connexion with the birth of the hero, his reception into the community,
his education and up-bringing were made fun of; the verses would have
disgusted even Falk himself if they had treated of any other person,
but the fact of their celebrating him and his doings made them
excellent. When the recitation was over, his health was drunk
uproariously, in many glasses, for each member of the little party felt
that he was too sober to keep his real feelings under control.
The table was now cleared and an excellent supper consisting of
oysters, birds, and other good things, was served. Falk went sniffing
from dish to dish, sent one or two of them back, took care that the
chill was taken off the stout, and that the wines were the right
temperature. Now his dogs were called upon to do their work and offer
him a pleasant spectacle. When everybody was ready, he pulled out his
gold watch and held it in his hand while he jestingly asked a question
which his convives had heard many times--so very many times:
"What is the time by the silver watches of the gentlemen?"
The anticipated reply came as in duty bound, accompanied by gay
laughter: the watches were at the watch-maker's. This put Falk into the
best of tempers, which found expression in the not at all unexpected
joke:
"The animals will be fed at eight."
He sat down, poured out three liqueurs, took one and invited his
friends to follow his example.
"I must make a beginning myself, as you both seem to be holding back.
Don't let's stand on ceremony! Tuck in boys!"
The feeding began. Charles Nicholas who was not particularly hungry,
had plenty of time to enjoy the appetite of his guests, and he
continually urged them to eat. An unspeakably benevolent smile radiated
from his bright, sunny countenance as he watched their zeal, and it was
difficult to say what he enjoyed more, the fact of their having a good
meal, or the fact of their being so hungry. He sat there like a
coachman on his box, clicking his tongue and cracking his whip at them.
"Eat, Nystroem! You don't know when you'll get a meal next. Help
yourself, Levin; you look as if you could do with a little flesh on
your bones. Are you grinning at the oysters? Aren't they good enough
for a fellow like you? What do you say? Take another! Don't be shy!
What do you say? You've had enough? Nonsense! Have a drink now! Take
some stout, boys! Now a little more salmon! You _shall_ take another
piece, by the Lord Harry, you shall! Go on eating! Why the devil don't
you? It costs you nothing!"
When the birds had been carved, Charles Nicholas poured out the claret
with a certain solemnity. The guests paused, anticipating a speech.
The host raised his glass, smelt the bouquet of the wine and said with
profound gravity:
"Your health, you hogs!"
Nystroem responded by raising his glass and drinking; but Levin left his
untouched, looking as if he were secretly sharpening a knife.
When supper was over Levin, strengthened by food and drink, his senses
befogged by the fumes of the wine, began to nurse a feeling of
independence; a strong yearning for freedom stirred in his heart. His
voice grew more resonant; he pronounced his words with increasing
assurance, and his movements betrayed greater ease.
"Give me a cigar!" he said in a commanding tone; "no, not a weed like
these, a good one."
Charles Nicholas, regarding his words as a good joke, obeyed.
"Your brother isn't here to-night," remarked Levin casually. There was
something ominous and threatening in his voice; Falk felt it and became
uneasy.
"No!" he said shortly, but his voice was unsteady.
Levin waited for a few moments before striking a second blow. One of
his most lucrative occupations was his interference in other people's
business; he carried gossip from family to family; sowed a grain of
discord here and another there, merely to play the grateful part of the
mediator afterwards. In this way he had obtained a great deal of
influence, was feared by his acquaintances, and managed them as if they
were marionettes.
Falk felt this disagreeable influence and attempted to shake it off;
but in vain. Levin knew how to whet his curiosity; and by hinting at
more than he knew, he succeeded in bluffing people into betraying their
secrets.
At the present moment Levin held the whip and he promised himself to
make his oppressor feel it. He was still merely playing with it, but
Falk was waiting for the blow. He tried to change the subject of
conversation. He urged his friends to drink and they drank. Levin grew
whiter and colder as his intoxication increased, and went on playing
with his victim.
"Your wife has visitors this evening," he suddenly remarked.
"How do you know?" asked Falk, taken aback.
"I know everything," answered Levin, showing his teeth. It was almost
true; his widely extending business connexions compelled him to visit
as many public places as possible, and there he heard much; not only
the things which were spoken of in his society, but also those which
were discussed by others.
Falk was beginning to feel afraid without knowing why, and he thought
it best to divert the threatening danger. He became civil, humble even,
but Levin's boldness still increased. There was no alternative, he must
make a speech, remind his companions of the cause of the gathering,
acknowledge the hero of the day. There was no other escape. He was a
poor speaker, but the thing had to be done. He tapped against the bowl,
filled the glasses, and recollecting an old speech, made by his father
when Falk became his own master, he rose and began, very slowly:
"Gentlemen! I have been my own master these eight years; I was only
thirty years old...."
The change from a sitting position to a standing one caused a rush of
blood to his head; he became confused; Levin's mocking glances added to
his embarrassment. His confusion grew; the figure thirty seemed
something so colossal that it completely disconcerted him.
"Did I say thirty? I didn't--mean it. I was in my father's employ--for
many years. It would take too long to recount everything--I suffered
during those years; it's the common lot. Perhaps you think me
selfish...."
"Hear! hear!" groaned Nystroem who was resting his heavy head on the
table.
Levin puffed the smoke of his cigar in the direction of the speaker, as
if he were spitting in his face.
Falk, really intoxicated now, continued his speech; his eyes seemed to
seek a distant goal without being able to find it.
"Everybody is selfish, we all know that. Ye-es! My father, who made a
speech when I became my own master, as I was just saying----"
He pulled out his gold watch and took it off the chain. The two
listeners opened their eyes wide. Was he going to make a present of it
to Levin?
"Handed me on that occasion this gold watch which he, in his turn, had
received from his father in the year...."
Again those dreadful figures--he must refer back.
"This gold watch, gentlemen, was presented to me, and I cannot think
without emotion of the moment--when I received it. Perhaps you think
I'm selfish gentlemen? I'm not. I know it's not good form to speak of
oneself, but on such an occasion as this it seems very natural to
glance at--the past. I only want to mention one little incident."
He had forgotten Levin and the significance of the day and was under
the impression that he was celebrating the close of his bachelor-life.
All of a sudden he remembered the scene between himself and his
brother, and his triumph. He felt a pressing need to talk of this
triumph, but he could not remember the details. He merely remembered
having proved that his brother was a blackguard; he had forgotten the
chain of evidence with the exception of only two facts: his brother and
a blackguard: he tried to link them together, but they always fell
apart. His brain worked incessantly and picture followed on picture. He
must tell them of a generous action he had done; he recollected that he
had given his wife some money in the morning, and had allowed her to
sleep as long as she liked and have breakfast in bed; but that wasn't
a suitable subject. He was in an unpleasant position, but fear of a
silence and the two pairs of sharp eyes which followed his every
movement, helped him to pull himself together. He realized that he was
still standing, watch in hand. The watch? How had it got into his hand?
Why were his friends sitting down, almost blotted out by the smoke,
while he was on his legs? Oh! of course! He had been telling them about
the watch, and they were waiting for the continuation of the story.
"This watch, gentlemen, is nothing special at all. It's only French
gold."
The two whilom owners of silver watches opened their eyes wide. This
information was new to them.
"And I believe it has only seven rubies--it's not a good watch at
all--on the contrary--I should rather call it a cheap one...."
Some secret cause of which his brain was hardly conscious, made him
angry; he must vent his wrath on something; tapping the table with his
watch, he shouted:
"It's a damned bad watch, I say! Listen to me when I'm speaking! Don't
you believe what I say, Fritz? Answer me! Why do you look so vicious?
You don't believe me. I can read it in your eyes. Fritz, you don't
believe what I'm saying. Believe me, I know human nature. And I might
stand security for you once more! Either you are a liar, or I am! Shall
I prove to you that you are a scoundrel? Shall I? Listen, Nystroem,
if--I--forge a bill--am I a scoundrel?"
"Of course you are a scoundrel, the devil take you!" answered Nystroem,
without a moment's hesitation.
"Yes--Yes!"
His efforts to remember whether Levin had forged a bill, or was in any
way connected with a bill, were in vain. Therefore he was obliged to
let the matter drop. Levin was tired; he was also afraid that his
victim might lose consciousness, and that he and Nystroem would be
robbed of the pleasure of enjoying his intended discomfiture. He
therefore interrupted Falk with a jest in his host's own style.
"Your health, old rascal!"
And down came the whip. He produced a newspaper.
"Have you seen the _People's Flag_?" he asked Falk in cold murderous
accents.
Falk stared at the scandalous paper but said nothing. The inevitable
was bound to happen.
"It contains a splendid article on the Board of Payment of Employes'
Salaries."
Falk's cheeks grew white.
"Rumour has it that your brother wrote it."
"It's a lie! My brother's no scandal-monger! He isn't! D'you hear?"
"But unfortunately he had to suffer for it. I'm told he's been sacked."
"It's a lie!"
"I'm afraid it's true. Moreover, I saw him dining to-day at the
'Brass-Button' with a rascally looking chap. I'm sorry for the lad."
It was the worst blow that could have befallen Charles Nicholas. He was
disgraced. His name, his father's name, was dishonoured; all that the
old burgesses had achieved had been in vain. If he had been told that
his wife had died, he could have borne up under it; a financial loss,
too, might have been repaired. If he had been told that his friend
Levin, or Nystroem, had been arrested for forgery, he would have
disowned them, for he had never shown himself in public in their
company. But he could not deny his relationship to his brother. And his
brother had disgraced him. There was no getting away from the fact.
Levin had found a certain pleasure in retailing his information. Falk,
although he had never given his brother the smallest encouragement, was
in the habit of boasting of him and his achievements to his friends.
"My brother, the assessor, is a man of brains, and he'll go far, mark
my words!" These continual indirect reproaches had long been a source
of irritation to Levin, more particularly as Charles Nicholas drew a
definite, unsurpassable, although indefinable, line between assessors
and secretaries.
Levin, without moving a finger in the matter, had had his revenge at so
little cost to himself that he could afford to be generous, and play
the part of the comforter.
"There's no reason why you should take it so much to heart. Even a
journalist can be a decent specimen of humanity, and you exaggerate the
scandal. There can be no scandal where no definite individuals have
been attacked. Moreover, the whole thing's very witty, and everybody's
reading it."
This last pill of comfort made Falk furious.
"He's robbed me of my good name! My name! How can I show myself
to-morrow at the Exchange? What will people say?"
By people he meant his wife. She would enjoy the situation because it
would make the misalliance less marked. Henceforth they would be on the
same social level. The thought was intolerable. A bitter hatred for all
mankind took possession of his soul. If only he had been the bastard's
father! Then he could have made use of his parental privilege, washed
his hands of him, cursed him, and so have put an end to the matter; but
there was no such thing as a brotherly privilege. Was it possible that
he himself, was partly to blame for the disgrace? Had he not forced his
brother into his profession? Maybe the scene of the morning or his
brother's financial difficulties--caused by him--were to blame? No! he
had never committed a base action; he was blameless; he was respected
and looked up to; he was no scandal-monger; he had never been sacked by
anybody. Did he not carry a paper in his pocket-book, testifying that
he was the kindest friend with the kindest heart? Had not the
schoolmaster read it aloud a little while ago? Yes, certainly--and he
sat down to drink, drink immoderately--not to stupefy his conscience,
there was no necessity for that, he had done no wrong, but merely to
drown his anger. But it was no use; it boiled over--and scalded those
who sat nearest to him.
"Drink, you rascals! That brute there's asleep! And you call yourselves
friends! Waken him up, Levin!"
"Whom are you shouting at?" asked the offended Levin peevishly.
"At you, of course!"
Two glances were exchanged across the table which promised no good.
Falk, whose temper improved directly he saw another man in a rage,
poured a ladleful of the contents of the bowl on the schoolmaster's
head, so that it trickled down his neck behind his collar.
"Don't dare to do that again!" threatened Levin.
"Who's to prevent me?"
"I! Yes, I! I shan't let you ruin his clothes. It's a beastly shame!"
"His clothes," laughed Falk. "Isn't it my coat? Didn't I give it to
him?"
"You're going too far!" said Levin, rising to go.
"So you're going now! You've had enough to eat, you can't drink any
more, you don't want me any longer to-night. Didn't you want to borrow
a fiver? What? Am I to be deprived of the honour of lending you some
money? Didn't you want me to sign something? Sign, eh?"
At the word sign, Levin pricked up his ears. Supposing he tried to get
the better of him in his excited condition? The thought softened him.
"Don't be unjust, brother," he re-commenced. "I'm not ungrateful; I
fully appreciate your kindness; but I'm poor, poorer than you've ever
been, or ever can be; I've suffered humiliations which you can't even
conceive; but I've always looked upon you as a friend. I mean a friend
in the highest sense of the word. You've had too much to drink to-night
and so you're cross; this makes you unjust, but I assure you,
gentlemen, in the whole world there beats no kinder heart than that of
Charles Nicholas. And I don't say this for the first time. I thank you
for your courtesy to-night, that is to say, if the excellent supper we
have eaten, the magnificent wines we have drunk, have been eaten and
drunk in my honour. I thank you, brother, and drink your health. Here's
to you, brother Charles Nicholas! Thank you, thank you a thousand
times! You've not done it in vain! Mark my words!"
Strange to say, these words, spoken in a tremulous voice--tremulous
with emotion--produced good results. Falk felt good. Hadn't he again
been assured that he had a kind heart? He firmly believed it.
The intoxication had reached the sentimental stage; they moved nearer
together; they talked of their good qualities, of the wickedness of the
world, the warmth of their feelings, the strength of their good
intentions; they grasped each other's hands. Falk spoke of his wife; of
his kindness to her; he regretted the lack of spirituality in his
calling; he mentioned how painfully aware he was of his want of
culture; he said that his life was a failure; and after the consumption
of his tenth liqueur, he confided to Levin that it had been his
ambition to go into the church, become a missionary, even. They grew
more and more spiritual. Levin spoke of his dead mother, her death and
funeral, of an unhappy love-affair, and finally of his religious
convictions, as a rule jealously guarded as a secret. And soon they
were launched on an eager discussion of religion.
It struck one--it struck two--and they were still talking while Nystroem
slept soundly, his arms on the table, and his head resting on his arms.
A dense cloud of tobacco smoke filled the counting-house and robbed
the gas flames of their brilliancy. The seven candles of the
seven-armed candelabrum had burnt down to the sockets and the table
presented a dismal sight. One or two glasses had lost their stems, the
stained tablecloth was covered with cigar ash, the floor was strewn
with matches. The daylight was breaking through the chinks of the
shutters; its shafts pierced the cloud of smoke and drew cabbalistic
figures on the tablecloth between the two champions of their faith,
busily engaged in re-editing the Augsburg Confession. They were now
talking with hissing voices; their brains were numbed; their words
sounded dry, the tension was relaxing in spite of their diligent
recourse to the bottle. They tried to whip up their souls into an
ecstasy, but their efforts grew weaker and weaker; the spirit had died
out of their conversation; they only exchanged meaningless words; the
stupefied brains which had been whirling round like teetotums,
slackened in their speed and finally stopped; one thought alone filled
their minds--they must go to bed, if they did not want to loathe the
sight of each other; they must be alone.
Nystroem was shaken into consciousness; Levin embraced Charles Nicholas
and took the opportunity to pocket three of his cigars. The heights
which they had scaled were too sublime to allow them to talk of the
bill just yet. They parted--the host let his guests out--he was alone!
He opened the shutters--daylight poured into the room; he opened the
window; the cool sea-breeze swept through the narrow street, one side
of which was already illuminated by the rising sun. It struck four, he
listened to that wonderful striking only heard by the poor wretch who
yearns for the day on a bed of sickness or sorrow. Even Long Street
East, that street of vice, of filth and brawls, lay in the early
morning sun, still, desolate and pure. Falk felt deeply unhappy. He was
disgraced--he was lonely! He closed window and shutters, and as he
turned round and beheld the state of the room, he at once began
setting it straight. He picked up the cigar ends and threw them into
the grate; he cleared the table, swept the room, dusted it and put
everything in its place. He washed his face and hands, and brushed his
hair; a policeman might have thought him a murderer, intent on effacing
all traces of his crime. But all the while he thought, clearly, firmly
and logically. When he had straightened the room and himself, he formed
a resolution, long brooded over, but now to be carried into effect. He
would wipe away the disgrace which had fallen on his family; he would
rise in the world and become a well-known and influential man; he would
begin a new life; he would keep his reputation unstained and he would
make his name respected. He felt that only a great ambition could help
him to keep his head erect after the blow he had received to-night.
Ambition had been latent in his heart; it had been awakened and
henceforth it should rule his life.
Quite sober now, he lighted a cigar, drank a brandy, and went upstairs,
quietly, gently, so as not to disturb his sleeping wife.