HAPPY PEOPLE
It was seven o'clock in the evening. The band at Berns' was playing the
Wedding March from "A Midsummer Night's Dream," when to the
accompaniment of its inspiriting strains Olle Montanus made his entry
into the Red Room. None of the members had yet arrived. Olle looked
imposing. For the first time since his confirmation he was wearing a
high hat. He was dressed in a new suit, and his boots were without
holes; he had had a bath, had been newly shaved, and his hair was waved
as if he were going to a wedding. A heavy brass chain ornamented his
waistcoat, and his left waistcoat pocket bulged visibly. A sunny smile
lit up his features; he radiated kindness; one might have thought that
he wanted to help all the world with little loans. Taking off his
overcoat, no longer cautiously buttoned up, he took the centre of the
sofa in the background, opened his coat and tugged at his white shirt
front so that it rose with a crackle and stood out like an arch; at
every movement the lining of his waistcoat and trousers creaked. This
seemed to give him as much pleasure as the knocking of his boot against
the leg of the sofa. He pulled out his watch, his dear old turnip,
which for a year and a month's grace had been in the pawnbroker's
hands, and the two old friends both seemed to enjoy its liberty.
What had happened that this poor fellow should be so inexpressibly
happy? We know that he had not drawn the winner in a lottery, that he
had not inherited a fortune, that he had not been "honourably
mentioned," that he had not won the sweet happiness which baffles
description. What had happened then? Something very commonplace: he had
found work.
Sellen was the next to arrive. He wore a velvet jacket and
patent-leather boots; he carried a rug, a field-glass on a strap, and a
cane; a yellow silk handkerchief was knotted round his throat; his
hands were covered by flesh-coloured gloves and a flower blossomed in
his buttonhole. He was, as usual, cheerful and calm; his lean,
intelligent face betrayed no trace of the emotions undergone during the
last few days.
Sellen was accompanied by Rehnhjelm; the lad was unusually subdued; he
knew that his friend and patron was leaving him.
"Hallo! Sellen," said Olle, "you are happy at last, aren't you, old
chap?"
"Happy? What nonsense you are talking! I've sold a piece of work! The
first in five years! Is that so overwhelming?"
"But you must have read the papers! Your name's made!"
"Oh! I don't care the toss of a button for that! Don't imagine that I
care for such trifles. I know exactly how much I still have to learn
before I shall be anybody. Let's talk of it again in ten years' time,
Olle."
Olle believed half of what Sellen said and doubted the rest; his shirt
front crackled and the lining creaked so that Sellen's attention was
aroused.
"By the Lord Harry!" he burst out, "you are magnificent!"
"Think so? You look like a lion."
Sellen rapped his patent-leather boots with his cane, shyly smelt the
flower in his buttonhole, and looked indifferent. Olle pulled out his
watch to see whether it was not yet time for Lundell to arrive, which
gave Sellen an opportunity of sweeping the galleries with his
field-glass. Olle was permitted to feel the soft texture of the velvet
coat, while Sellen assured him that it was an exceptionally good
quality at the price; Olle could not resist asking the cost. Sellen
told him, and admired Olle's studs, which were made of shells.
Presently Lundell appeared; he, too, had been given a bone at the great
banquet; he was commissioned to paint the altar-piece for the church of
Traeskola for a small sum; but this had not visibly affected his outward
appearance, unless, indeed, his fat cheeks and beaming face hinted at a
more generous diet.
Falk was with Lundell. He was grave, but he rejoiced, in the name of
the whole world sincerely rejoiced, that merit had found its just
reward.
"Congratulations, Sellen!" he said, "but it's no more than your due."
Sellen agreed.
"I have been painting just as well these last five years and all the
world has jeered; they were still jeering the day before yesterday, but
now! It's disgusting! Look at this letter which I received from the
idiot, the professor of Charles IX!"
All eyes opened wide and became keen, for it is gratifying to examine
the oppressor closely, have him--on paper at least--in one's hands, at
one's mercy.
"'My dear Mr. Sellen,'--Fancy that!--'Let me welcome you among
us'--he's afraid of me, the blackguard--'I have always appreciated your
talent'--the liar!--let's tear up the rag and forget all about him."
Sellen invited his friends to drink; he drank to Falk, and hoped that
his pen would soon bring him to the front. Falk became self-conscious,
blushed and promised to do his best when his time came; but he was
afraid that his apprenticeship would be a long one, and he begged his
friends not to lose patience with him if he tarried; he thanked Sellen
for his friendship, which had taught him endurance and renunciation.
Sellen begged him not to talk nonsense; where was the merit of
endurance when there was no other alternative? And where was the virtue
in renouncing what one had no chance of obtaining?
But Olle smiled a kindly smile, and his shirt front swelled with
pleasure, so that the red braces could be plainly seen; he drank to
Lundell and implored him to take an example from Sellen, and not forget
the Land of Promise in lingering over the fleshpots of Egypt. He
assured him that his friend, Olle, believed in his talent, that was to
say, when he was himself and painted according to his own light; but
whenever he humbugged and painted to please others he was worse than
the rest; therefore he should look upon the altar-piece as a pot boiler
which would put him into a position to follow his own inspiration in
art.
Falk tried to seize the opportunity of finding out what Olle thought of
himself and his own art, a puzzle which he had long vainly attempted to
solve, when Ygberg walked into the Red Room. Everybody eagerly invited
him to be his guest, for he had been forgotten during the last hot
days, and everyone was anxious to show him that it had not been out of
selfishness. But Olle searched in his right waistcoat pocket, and with
a movement which he was anxious to hide from all eyes he slipped a
rolled-up banknote into Ygberg's coat pocket; the latter understood and
acknowledged it by a grateful look.
Ygberg drank to Sellen; he said that one might consider, in one way,
that Sellen's fortune was made; but, on the other hand, one might
consider, with equal justification, that it was not so. Sellen was not
sufficiently developed; he still wanted many years' study, for art was
long, as he, Ygberg, had himself experienced. He had had nothing but
ill-luck, therefore nobody could suspect him of envying a man of
Sellen's reputation.
The envy which peered through Ygberg's words slightly clouded the sunny
sky; but it was only for a moment, for everybody realized that the
bitterness of a long, wasted life, must be held responsible for it.
All the more gladly Ygberg handed Falk a small newly printed essay, on
the cover of which he beheld with consternation the black portrait of
Ulrica Eleonora. Ygberg stated that he had delivered the manuscript on
the day stipulated. Smith had taken Falk's refusal with the greatest
calm, and was now printing Falk's poems.
To Falk's eyes the gas-jets lost their brilliancy; he sat plunged in
deep thought; his heart was too full to find vent in words. His poems
were to be printed at Smith's expense. This was proof that they were
not without merit! The thought was sufficient food for the whole
evening.
The evening passed quickly for the happy circle; the band ceased
playing and the light was turned out; they were obliged to leave, but,
finding the night far too young for breaking up, they strolled along
the quays, amid endless conversation and philosophical discussions,
until they were tired and thirsty. Lundell offered to take his friends
to see Marie, where they could have some beer.
They turned towards the north and came to a street which gave on a
fence; the fence enclosed a tobacco field, bordering on the open
country. They stopped before a two-storied brick-house with a gable
facing the street. From above the door grinned two sandstone faces
whose ears and shins were lost in fantastic scrolls. Between the heads
hung a sword and an axe. It was formerly the house of the executioner.
Lundell, apparently quite familiar with the neighbourhood, gave a
signal before one of the windows on the ground floor; the blind was
drawn up; the window opened, and a woman's head looked out; a voice
asked whether the caller was Albert? No sooner had Lundell owned to
this, his _nom de guerre_, than a girl opened the door and, on the
promise of silence, admitted the party. As the promise was readily
given, the Red Room was soon in her apartment, and introduced to her
under fictitious names.
The room was not a large one; it had once been the kitchen, and the
range was still standing in its place. The furniture consisted of a
chest of drawers, of a pattern usually found in servants' rooms; on the
drawers stood a looking-glass, swathed in a piece of white muslin;
above the glass hung a coloured lithograph, representing the Saviour on
the Cross. The chest was littered with small china figures, scent
bottles, a prayer book, and an ash tray, and with its looking-glass and
two lighted tallow candles seemed to form a little house altar. Charles
XV, surrounded by newspaper cuttings, mostly representing police
constables, those enemies of the Magdalenes, was riding on horseback on
the wall above the folding sofa, which had not yet been converted into
a bed. On the window-sill stood a stunted fuchsia, a geranium and a
myrtle--the proud tree of Aphrodite in the poor dwelling. A photograph
album lay on the work-table. On the first leaf was a picture of the
King, on the second and third papa and mamma--poor country folk; on the
fourth a student, the seducer; on the fifth, a baby; and on the sixth
the fiance, a journeyman. This was her history, so like the history of
most of them. On a nail, close to the range, hung an elegant dress, a
velvet cloak, and a hat with feathers--the fairy disguise in which she
went out to catch young men. The fairy herself was a tall, ordinary
looking young woman of twenty-four. Recklessness and vigils had given
her face that white transparency which as a rule distinguishes the
untoiling rich, but her hands still showed traces of hard work. In her
pretty dressing-gown, with her flowing hair down her back, she was the
picture of a Magdalene; her manner was comparatively shy, but she was
merry and courteous and on her best behaviour.
The party split up into groups, continued the interrupted discussions
and started fresh ones. Falk, who now looked upon himself as a poet and
was determined to be interested in everything--be it ever so
banal--began a sentimental conversation with Marie, which she greatly
enjoyed, for she appreciated the honour of being treated like a human
being. As usual the talk drifted to her story and the motives which had
shaped her career. She did not lay stress on her first slip, "that was
hardly worth speaking about"; but all the blacker was her account of
the time she had spent as a servant, leading the life of a slave, made
miserable by the whims and scoldings of an indolent mistress, a life of
never-ending toil. No, the free life she was leading now was far
preferable.
"But when you are tired of it?"
"Then I shall marry Vestergren."
"Does he want you?"
"He's looking forward to the day; moreover, I am going to open a little
shop with the money I have saved. But so many have asked me that
question: 'Have you got any cigars?'"
"Oh, yes; here you are! But do you mind my talking about it?"
He took the album and pointed out the student--it is always a student,
with a white handkerchief round his neck, a white student's hat on his
knees, and a gauche manner, who plays Mephisto.
"Who is this?"
"He was a nice fellow."
"The seducer? What?"
"Oh! let it alone! I was every bit as much to blame, and it is always
so, my dear; both are to blame! Look, this is my baby. The Lord took
it, and I dare say it was for the best. But now let's talk about
something else. Who is that gay dog whom Albert has brought here
to-night? The one closest to the stove, by the side of the tall one,
whose head reaches up to the chimney?"
Olle, very much flattered by her attention, patted his wavy hair which,
after the many libations, was beginning to stand up again.
"That is assistant preacher Monsson," said Lundell.
"Ugh! A clergyman! I might have known it from the cunning look in his
eyes. Do you know that a clergyman came here last week? Come here,
Monsson, and let me look at you!"
Olle descended from his seat where he and Ygberg had been criticizing
Kant's Categorical Imperative. He was so accustomed to exciting the
curiosity of the sex that he immediately felt younger; he lurched
towards the lady whom he had already ogled and found charming. Twirling
his moustache, he asked in an affected voice, with a bow which he had
not learned at a dancing class:
"Do you really think, miss, that I look like a clergyman?"
"No, I see now that you have a moustache; your clothes are too clean
for an artisan--may I see your hand--oh! you are a smith!"
Olle was deeply hurt.
"Am I so very ugly, miss?" he asked pathetically.
Marie examined him for a moment.
"You are very plain," she said, "but you look nice."
"Oh, dear lady, if you only knew how you are hurting me! I have never
yet found a woman ready to love me, and yet I have met so many who
found happiness although they were plainer than I am. But woman is a
cursed riddle, which nobody can solve; I detest her."
"That's right, Olle," came a voice from the chimney, where Ygberg's
head was; "that's all right."
Olle was going back to the stove, but he had touched on a topic which
interested Marie too much to allow it to drop; he had played on a
string the sound of which she knew. She sat down by his side and soon
they were deep in a long-winded and grave discussion--on love and
women.
Rehnhjelm, who during the whole evening had been more quiet and
restrained than usual, and of whom nobody could make anything, suddenly
revived and was now sitting in the corner of the sofa near Falk.
Obviously something was troubling him, something which he could not
make up his mind to mention. He seized his beer-glass, rapped on the
table as if he wanted to make a speech, and when those nearest to him
looked up ready to listen to him, he said in a tremulous and
indifferent voice:
"Gentlemen, you think I am a beast, I know; Falk, I know you think me a
fool, but you shall see, friends--the devil take me, you shall see!"
He raised his voice and put his beer-glass down with such determination
that it broke in pieces, after which he sank back on the sofa and fell
asleep.
This scene, although not an uncommon one, had attracted Marie's
attention. She dropped the conversation with Olle, who, moreover, had
begun to stray from the purely abstract point of the question and rose.
"Oh! what a pretty boy!" she exclaimed. "How does he come to be with
you? Poor little chap! How sleepy he is! I hadn't seen him before."
She pushed a cushion under his head and covered him with a shawl.
"How small his hands are! Far smaller than yours, you country louts!
And what a face! How innocent he looks! Albert, did you make him drink
so much?"
Whether it had been Lundell or another was a matter of no importance
now; the man was drunk. But it also was a fact that he did not need any
urging to drink. He was consumed by a constant longing to still an
inner restlessness which seemed to drive him away from his work.
The remarks made by his pretty friend had not perturbed Lundell; but
now his increasing intoxication excited his religious feelings, which
had been blunted by a luxurious supper. And as the intoxication began
to be general, he felt it incumbent on him to remind his companions of
the significance of the day and the impending leave-taking. He rose,
filled his glass, steadied himself against the chest of drawers and
claimed the attention of the party.
"Gentlemen,"--he remembered Magdalene's presence--"and ladies! We have
eaten and drunk to-night with--to come to the point--an intent which,
if we set aside the material which is nothing but the low, sensual
animal component of our nature--that in a moment like this when the
hour of parting is imminent--we have here a distressing example of the
vice which we call drunkenness! Doubtless, it arouses all one's
religious emotion if, after an evening spent in a circle of friends,
one feels moved to propose a glass to him who has shown more than
ordinary talent--I am speaking of Sellen--one should think that
self-respect should to a certain extent prevail. Such an example, I
maintain, has been manifested here, in higher potency, and therefore I
am reminded of the beautiful words which will never cease ringing in my
ears as long as I am able to think, and I am convinced they are now in
the mind of each one of us, although this spot is anything but
suitable. This young man, who has fallen a victim to the vice which we
will call drunkenness, has unfortunately crept into our circle and--to
cut my speech short--matured a sadder result than anybody could have
expected. Your health, noble friend Sellen! I wish you all the
happiness which your noble heart deserves! Your health, Olle Montanus!
Falk, too, has a noble heart, and will come to the front when his
religious sense has acquired the vigour which his character
foreshadows. I won't mention Ygberg, for he has at last come to a
decision, and we wish him luck in the career upon which he has so
splendidly entered--the philosophical career. It is a difficult one,
and I repeat the words of the psalmist: Who can tell? At the same time
we have every reason to hope for the best in the future, and I believe
that we can count on it as long as our sentiments are noble and our
hearts are not striving for worldly gain; for, gentlemen, a man without
religion is a beast. I therefore ask every gentleman here present to
raise his glass and empty it to all that is noble, beautiful, and
splendid, and for which we are striving. Your health, gentlemen!"
Religious emotion now overwhelmed Lundell to such a degree that it was
thought best to break up the party.
Daylight had been shining through the window-blind for some time and
the landscape with the castle and the maiden stood out brilliantly in
the first radiance of the morning sun. When the blind was drawn up, day
rushed in and illuminated the faces of those nearest the window; they
were deadly pale. The red light of the tallow candles fell with
magnificent effect on the face of Ygberg, who was sitting on the stove,
clutching his glass. Olle was proposing toasts to women, the spring,
the sun, the universe, throwing open the window, to give vent to his
feelings. The sleepers were roused, the party took their leave of
Marie, and filed through the front door.
When they had reached the street, Falk turned round. Magdalene was
leaning out of the window; the rays of the sun fell on her pale face;
her long, black hair, which shone deep red in the sunlight, seemed to
trickle down her throat and over her shoulders and to be falling on the
street in little streams. Above her head hung the sword and the axe and
the two grinning faces; but in an apple tree on the other side of the
road perched a black and white fly-catcher, and sang its frenzied song
of joy that the night was over.