POOR MOTHER COUNTRY
The clock on the Riddarholms Church struck ten as Falk arrived, a few
days later, at the Parliamentary buildings to assist the representative
of the Red Cap in reporting the proceedings of the Second Chamber.
He hastened his footsteps, convinced that here, where the pay was good,
strict punctuality would be looked upon as a matter of course. He
climbed the Committee stairs and was shown to the reporters' gallery on
the left. A feeling of awe overcame him as he walked across the few
boards, hung up under the roof like a pigeon house, where the men of
"free speech listen to the discussion of the country's most sacred
interests by the country's most worthy representatives."
It was a new sensation to Falk; but he was far from being impressed as
he looked down from his scaffolding into the empty hall which resembled
a Lancastrian school. It was five minutes past ten, but with the
exception of himself, not a soul was present. All of a sudden the
silence was broken by a scraping noise. A rat! he thought, but almost
immediately he discovered, on the opposite gallery, across the huge,
empty hall, a short, abject figure sharpening a pencil on the rail. He
watched the chips fluttering down and settling on the tables below.
His eyes scanned the empty walls without finding a resting-place, until
finally they fell on the old clock, dating from the time of Napoleon I,
with its imperial newly lit emblems, symbolical of the old story, and
its hands, now pointing to ten minutes past ten, symbolical in the
spirit of irony--of something else. At the same moment the doors in the
background opened and a man entered. He was old; his shoulders stooped
under the burden of public offices; his back had shrunk under the
weight of communal commissions; the long continuance in damp offices,
committee-rooms and safe deposits had warped his neck; there was a
suggestion of the pensioner in his calm footsteps, as he walked up the
cocoa-nut matting towards the chair. When he had reached the middle of
the long passage and had come into line with the imperial clock, he
stopped; he seemed accustomed to stopping half-way and looking round
and backwards; but now he stopped to compare his watch with the clock;
he shook his old, worn out head with a look of discontent: "Fast!
Fast!" he murmured. His features expressed a supernatural calm and the
assurance that his watch could not be slow. He continued his way with
the same deliberate footsteps; he might be walking towards the goal of
his life; and it was very much a question whether he had not attained
it when he arrived at the venerable chair on the platform. When he was
standing close by it he pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose;
his eyes roamed over the brilliant audience of chairs and tables,
announcing an important event: "Gentlemen, I have blown my nose." Then
he sat down and sank into a presidential calm which might have been
sleep, if it had not been waking; and, alone in the large room, as he
imagined, alone with his God, he prepared to summon strength for the
business of the day, when a loud scraping on the left, high up,
underneath the roof, pierced the stillness; he started and turned his
head to kill with a three-quarter look the rat which dared to gnaw in
his presence. Falk who had omitted to take into account the resonant
capacity of the pigeon house, received the deadly thrust of the
murderous glance; but the glance softened as it slid down from the
eaves-mouldings, whispering--"Only a reporter; I was afraid it might
be a rat." And deep regret stole over the murderer, contrition at the
sin committed by his eye; he buried his face in his hands and--wept?
Oh, no! he rubbed off the spot which the appearance of a repulsive
object had thrown on his retina.
Presently the doors were flung wide open; the delegates were beginning
to arrive, while the hands on the clock crept forward--forward. The
president rewarded the good with friendly nods and pressures of the
hand, and punished the evil-doers by turning away his head; he was
bound to be just as the Most High.
The reporter of the Red Cap arrived, an unprepossessing individual, not
quite sober and only half awake. In spite of this he seemed to find
pleasure in answering truthfully the questions put by the newcomer.
Once more the doors were flung open and in stalked a man with as much
self-assurance as if he were in his own home: he was the treasurer of
the Inland Revenue Office and actuary of the Board of Payment of
Employes' Salaries; he approached the chair, greeted the president like
an old acquaintance and began to rummage in the papers as if they were
his own.
"Who's this?" asked Falk.
"The chief clerk," answered his friend from the Red Cap.
"What? Do they write here, too, then?"
"Too? You'll soon see! They keep a story full of clerks; the attics are
full of clerks and they'll soon have clerks in the cellars."
The room below was now presenting the aspect of an ant-heap. A rap of
the hammer and there was silence. The head clerk read the minutes of
the last meeting, and they were signed without comment. Then the same
man read a petition for a fortnight's leave, sent in by Jon Jonson from
Lerbak. It was granted.
"Do they have holidays here?" asked the novice, surprised.
"Certainly, Jon Jonson wants to go home and plant his potatoes."
The platform down below was now beginning to fill with young men armed
with pen and paper. All of them were old acquaintances from the time
when Falk was a Government official. They took their seats at little
tables as if they were going to play "Preference."
"Those are the clerks," explained the Red Cap; "they appear to
recognize you."
And they really did; they put on their eye-glasses and stared at the
pigeon house with the condescension vouchsafed in a theatre by the
occupants of the stalls to the occupants of the galleries. They
whispered among themselves, evidently discussing an absent acquaintance
who, from unmistakable evidence, must have been sitting on the chair
occupied by Falk. The latter was so deeply touched by the general
interest that he looked with anything but a friendly eye on Struve, who
was entering the pigeon house, reserved, unembarrassed, dirty and a
conservative.
The chief clerk read a petition, or a resolution, to grant the
necessary money for the provision of new door mats and new brass
numbers on the lockers destined for the reception of overshoes.
Granted!
"Where is the opposition?" asked the tyro.
"The devil knows!"
"But they say Yes to everything!"
"Wait a little and you'll see!"
"Haven't they come yet?"
"Here every one comes and goes as he pleases."
"But this is the Government Offices all over again!"
The conservative Struve, who had heard the frivolous words, thought it
incumbent on him to take up the cudgels for the Government.
"What is this, little Falk is saying?" he asked. "He mustn't growl
here."
It took Falk so long to find a suitable reply that the discussions down
below had started in the meantime.
"Don't mind him," said the Red Cap, soothingly; "he's invariably a
conservative when he has the price of a dinner in his pocket, and he's
just borrowed a fiver from me."
The chief clerk was reading: 54. Report of the Committee on Ola
Hipsson's motion to remove the fences.
Timber merchant Larsson from Norrland demanded acceptance as it stood.
"What is to become of our forests?" he burst out. "I ask you, what _is_
to become of our forests?" And he threw himself on his bench, puffing.
This racy eloquence had gone out of fashion during the last few years,
and the words were received with hisses, after which the puffing on the
Norrland bench ceased.
The representative for Oeland suggested sandstone walls; Scania's
delegate preferred box; Norbotten's opined that fences were unnecessary
where there were no fields, and a member on the Stockholm bench
proposed that the matter should be referred to a Committee of experts:
he laid stress on "experts." A violent scene followed. Death rather
than a committee! The question was put to the vote. The motion was
rejected; the fences would remain standing until they decayed.
The chief clerk was reading: 66. Report of the Committee on Carl
Joensson's proposition to intercept the moneys for the Bible Commission.
At the sound of the venerable name of an institution a hundred years
old, even the smiles died away and a respectful silence ensued. Who
would dare to attack religion in its very foundation, who would dare to
face universal contempt? The Bishop of Ystad asked permission to speak.
"Shall I write?" asked Falk.
"No, what he says doesn't concern us."
But the conservative Struve took down the following notes: Sacred. Int.
Mother country. United names religion humanity 829, 1632. Unbelief.
Mania for innovations. God's word. Man's word. Centen. Ansgar. Zeal.
Honesty. Fairplay. Capac. Doctrine. Exist. Swed. Chch. Immemorial Swed.
Honour. Gustavus I. Gustavus Adolphus. Hill Lutzen. Eyes Europe.
Verdict posterity. Mourning. Shame. Green fields. Wash my hands. They
would not hear.
Carl Joensson held the floor.
"Now it's our turn!" said the Red Cap.
And they wrote while Struve embroidered the Bishop's velvet.
Twaddle. Big words. Commission sat for a hundred years. Costs 100.000
Crowns. 9 archbishops. 30 Prof. Upsala. Together 500 years. Dietaries.
Secretaries. Amanuenses. Done nothing. Proof sheet. Bad work. Money
money money. Everything by its right name. Humbug. Official
sucking-system.
No one else spoke but when the question was put to the vote, the motion
was accepted.
While the Red Cap with practised hand smoothed Joensson's stumbling
speech, and provided it with a strong title, Falk took a rest.
Accidentally scanning the strangers' gallery, his gaze fell on a
well-known head, resting on the rail and belonging to Olle Montanus. At
the moment he had the appearance of a dog, carefully watching a bone;
and he was not there without a very definite reason, but Falk was in
the dark. Olle was very secretive.
From the end of the bench, just below the right gallery, on the very
spot where the abject individual's pencil chips had fluttered down, a
man now arose. He wore a blue uniform, had a three-cornered hat tucked
under his arm and held a roll of paper in his hand.
The hammer fell and an ironical, malicious silence followed.
"Write," said the Red Cap; "take down the figures, I'll do the rest."
"Who is it?"
"These are Royal propositions."
The man in blue was reading from the paper roll: "H.M. most gracious
proposition; to increase the funds of the department assisting young
men of birth in the study of foreign languages, under the heading of
stationery and sundry expenses, from 50.000 crowns to 56.000 crowns 37
oere."
"What are sundry expenses?" asked Falk.
"Water bottles, umbrella stands, spittoons, Venetian blinds, dinners,
tips and so on. Be quiet, there's more to come!"
The paper roll went on: "H.M. most gracious proposition to create sixty
new commissions in the West-Gotic cavalry."
"Did he say sixty?" asked Falk, who was unfamiliar with public affairs.
"Sixty, yes; write it down."
The paper roll opened out and grew bigger and bigger. "H.M. most
gracious proposition to create five new regular clerkships in the Board
of Payment of Employes' Salaries."
Great excitement at the Preference tables; great excitement on Falk's
chair.
Now the paper roll rolled itself up; the chairman rose and thanked the
reader with a bow which plainly said: "Is there nothing else we can
do?" The owner of the paper roll sat down on the bench and blew away
the chips the man above him had allowed to fall down. His stiff,
embroidered collar prevented him from committing the same offence which
the president had perpetrated earlier in the morning.
The proceedings continued. The peasant Sven Svensson asked for
permission to say a few words on the Poor Law. With one accord all the
reporters arose, yawned and stretched themselves.
"We'll go to lunch now," explained the Red Cap. "We have an hour and
ten minutes."
But Sven Svensson was speaking.
The delegates began to get up from their places; two or three of them
went out. The president spoke to some of the good members and by doing
so expressed in the name of the Government his disapproval of all Sven
Svensson might be going to say. Two older members pointed him out to a
newcomer as if he were a strange beast; they watched him for a few
moments, found him ridiculous and turned their backs on him.
The Red Cap was under the impression that politeness required him to
explain that the speaker was the "scourge" of the Chamber. He was
neither hot nor cold, could be used by no party, be won for no
interests, but he spoke--spoke. What he spoke about no one could tell,
for no paper reported him, and nobody took the trouble to look up the
records; but the clerks at the tables had sworn that if they ever came
into power, they would amend the laws for his sake.
Falk, however, who had a certain weakness for all those who were
overlooked remained behind and heard what he had not heard for many a
day: a man of honour, who lived an irreproachable life, espousing the
cause of the oppressed and the down-trodden while nobody listened to
him.
Struve, at the sight of the peasant, had taken his own departure, and
had gone to a restaurant; he was quickly followed by all the reporters
and half the deputies.
After luncheon they returned and sat down on the narrow stairs; for a
little longer they heard Sven Svensson speaking, or rather, saw him
speaking, for now the conversation had become so lively that not a
single word of the speech could be understood.
But the speaker was bound to come to an end; nobody had any objections
to make; his speech had no result whatever; it was exactly as if it had
never been made.
The chief clerk, who during this interval had had time to go to his
offices, look at the official papers, and poke his fires, was again in
his place, reading: "72. Memorial of the Royal Commission on Per
Ilsson's motion to grant ten thousand crowns for the restoration of the
old sculptures in the church of Traeskola."
The dog's head on the rail of the strangers' gallery assumed a
threatening aspect; he looked as if he were going to fight for his
bone.
"Do you know the freak up there in the gallery?" asked the Red Cap.
"Olle Montanus, yes, I know him."
"Do you know that he and the church of Traeskola are countrymen? He's a
shrewd fellow! Look at the expression on his face now that Traeskola's
turn has come."
Per Ilsson was speaking.
Struve contemptuously turned his back on the speaker and cut himself a
piece of tobacco. But Falk and the Red Cap trimmed their pencils for
action.
"You take the flourishes, I'll take the facts," said the Red Cap.
After the lapse of a quarter of an hour Falk's paper was covered with
the following notes.
Native Culture. Social Interests. Charge of materialism. Accord. Fichte
material, Native Culture not mater. Ergo charge rejected. Venerable
temple. In the radiance morning sun pointing heavenwards. From heath.
times Philos. never dreamt. Sacred rights. Nation. Sacred Int. Native
Cult. Literature. Academy. History. Antiquity.
The speech which had repeatedly called forth universal amusement
especially at the exhumation of the deceased Fichte, provoked replies
from the Metropolitan Bench and the bench of Upsala.
The delegate on the Metropolitan bench said that although he knew
neither the church of Traeskola nor Fichte and doubted whether the old
plaster-boys were worth ten thousand crowns, yet he thought himself
justified in urging the Chamber to encourage this beautiful undertaking
as it was the first time the majority had asked for money for a purpose
other than the building of bridges, fences, national schools, etc.
The delegate on the bench of Upsala held--according to Struve's
notes--that the mover of the proposition was _a priori_ right; that his
premise, that native culture should be encouraged, was correct; that
the conclusion that ten thousand crowns should be voted was binding;
that the purpose, the aim, the tendency, was beautiful, praiseworthy,
patriotic; but an error had certainly been committed. By whom? By the
Mother country? The State? The church? No! By the proponent? The
proponent was right according to common sense, and therefore the
speaker--he begged the Chamber to pardon the repetition--could only
praise the purpose, the aim, the tendency. The proposition had its
warmest sympathies; he was calling on the Chamber in the name of the
Mother country, in the name of art and civilization, to vote for it.
But he himself felt bound to vote against it, because he was of the
opinion that, conformable to the idea, it was erroneous, motiveless and
figurative, as it subsumed the conception of the place under that of
the State.
The head in the strangers' gallery rolled its eyes and moved its lips
convulsively while the motion was put to the vote; but when the
proceeding was over and the proposition had been accepted, the head
disappeared in the discontented and jostling audience.
Falk did not fail to understand the connexion between Per Ilsson's
proposition and Olle's presence and disappearance. Struve, who had
become even more loud and conservative after lunch, talked unreservedly
of many things. The Red Cap was calm and indifferent; he had ceased to
be astonished at anything.
From the dark cloud of humanity which had been rent by Olle's exit,
suddenly broke a face, clear, bright and radiant as the sun, and Arvid
Falk, whose glances had strayed to the gallery, felt compelled to cast
down his eyes and turn away his head--he had recognized his brother,
the head of the family, the pride of the name, which he intended to
make great and honourable. Behind Nicholas Falk's shoulder half of a
black face could be seen, gentle and deceitful, which seemed to whisper
secrets into the ear of the fair man. Falk had only time to be
surprised at his brother's presence--he knew his resentment at the new
form of administration--for the president had given Anders Andersson
permission to state a proposition. Andersson availed himself of the
permission with the greatest calm. "In view of certain events," he
read, "move that a Bill should be passed making his Majesty jointly and
severally liable for all joint-stock companies whose statutes he has
sanctioned."
The sun on the strangers' gallery lost its brilliancy and a storm burst
out in the Chamber.
Like a flash Count Splint was on his legs:
"_Quosque tandem, Catilina!_ It has come to that! Members are
forgetting themselves so far as to dare to criticize Government! Yes,
gentlemen, criticize Government, or, what is even worse, make a joke of
it; for this motion cannot be anything but a vulgar joke. Did I say
joke? It is treason! Oh! My poor country! Your unworthy sons have
forgotten the debt they owe you! But what else can we expect, now, that
you have lost your knightly guard, your shield and your arms! I request
the blackguard Per Andersson, or whatever his name may be, to withdraw
his motion or, by Gad! he shall see that King and country still have
loyal servants, able to pick up a stone and fling it at the head of the
many-headed hydra of treason."
Applause from the strangers' gallery; indignation in the Chamber.
"Ha! Do you think I'm afraid?"
The speaker made a gesture as if he were throwing a stone, but on every
one of the hydra's hundred faces lay a smile. Glaring round, in search
of a hydra which did not smile, the speaker discovered it in the
reporters' gallery.
"There! There!"
He pointed to the pigeon house and in his eyes lay an expression as if
he saw all hell open.
"That's the crows' nest! I hear their croaking, but it doesn't frighten
me! Arise, men of Sweden! Cut off the tree, saw through the boards,
pull down the beams, kick the chairs to pieces, break the desks into
fragments, small as my little finger--he held it up--and then burn the
blackguards until nothing of them is left. Then the kingdom will
flourish in peace and its institutions will thrive. Thus speaks a
Swedish nobleman! Peasants, remember his words!"
This speech which three years ago would have been welcomed with
acclamations, taken down verbatim and printed and circulated in
national schools and other charitable institutions, was received with
universal laughter. An amended version was placed on the record and,
strange to say, it was only reported by the opposition papers which do
not, as a rule, care to publish outbursts of this description.
The Upsala bench again craved permission to speak. The speaker quite
agreed with the last speaker; his acute ear had caught something of the
old rattling of swords. He would like to say a few words. He would like
to speak of the _idea_ of a joint-stock company as an idea, but begged
to be allowed to explain to the Chamber that a joint-stock company was
not an accumulation of funds, not a combination of people, but a moral
personality, and as such not responsible....
Shouts of laughter and loud conversation prevented the reporters from
hearing the remainder of the argument, which closed with the remark
that the interests of the country were at stake, conformable to the
idea, and that, if the motion were rejected the interests of the
country would be neglected and the State in danger.
Six speakers filled up the interval until dinner-time by giving
extracts from the official statistics of Sweden, Nauman's Fundamental
Statutes, the Legal Textbook and the Goeteberg Commercial Gazette: the
conclusion invariably arrived at was that the country was in danger if
his Majesty were to be jointly and severally liable for all joint-stock
companies the statutes of which he had sanctioned; and that the
interests of the whole country were at stake. One of the speakers was
bold enough to say that the interests of the country stood on a throw
of the dice; others were of the opinion that they stood on a card,
others again that they hung on a thread; the last speaker said they
hung on a hair.
At noon the proposition to go into Committee on the motion was
rejected; that was to say, there was no need for the country to go
through the Committee-mill, the office-sieve, the Imperial
chaff-cutter, the club-winnower and the newspaper-hubbub. The country
was saved. Poor country!