HARD TIMES
To Sellen also the autumn had brought great changes. His powerful
patron had died, and all memory of him was to be blotted out; even the
memories of his kind actions were not to survive him. That Sellen's
stipend was stopped went without saying, especially as the artist could
not bring himself to petition for its continuance. He did not believe
that he required further assistance, after having been given a helping
hand once, and, moreover, there were so many younger members of his
profession in greater need of it.
But he was made to realize that not only was the sun extinguished but
that the smaller planets, too, suffered from total eclipse. He had
worked strenuously during the summer and had made great progress in his
art, but nevertheless the president declared that it had deteriorated,
and that his success in the spring had been nothing more than a stroke
of luck; the professor of landscape-painting had told him as a friend
that he would never be a great artist, and the academician had seized
the opportunity to rehabilitate himself, and clung to his first
opinion. In addition to this the public taste in pictures had changed;
the ignorant wealthy handful of people who were in the habit of buying
pictures and therefore set the fashion, did not want landscapes, but
portraits of the watering-places and summer resorts they knew; and it
was difficult to sell even these; the only demand was for sentimental
genre-pictures and half-nude figures.
Therefore Sellen had fallen on evil days, for he could not bring
himself to paint against his better judgment. He was now renting a
former photographic studio on the top of a house in Government Street.
The accommodation consisted of the studio itself, with its rotten floor
and leaking roof--the latter defect was not felt at present, for it was
winter and the roof was covered with snow--and the old dark-room which
smelt of collodium, and for this reason could only be used as a wood- or
coal-shed, when circumstances permitted the purchase of fuel. The only
piece of furniture was a wooden garden seat, studded with protruding
nails. It was so short that a man using it as a bed--and it was always
used as a bed when the owner, or rather the borrower, spent the night
at home--had either to draw his knees up to his chin, or allow his legs
to dangle over the side. The bedding consisted of half a rug--the other
half was at the pawnbroker's--and a leather case, stuffed to
bursting-point with studies and sketches.
In the dark-room was a water tap and a basin with a waste pipe--the
only substitute for a dressing-table.
On a cold afternoon, a short time before Christmas, Sellen was standing
before his easel, painting for the third time a new picture on an old
canvas. He had just risen from his hard bed; no servant had come in to
light his fire--partly because he had no servant, and partly because he
had nothing with which to make a fire--no servant had brushed his
clothes or brought his coffee. And yet he was standing before his easel
whistling merrily, engaged in painting a brilliant sunset, when there
came four knocks at the door. Sellen opened without hesitation and
admitted Olle Montanus, very plainly and very lightly clad, without an
overcoat.
"Good morning, Olle! How are you? Did you sleep well?"
"Thanks."
"How's the cash-box?"
"Oh! Bad!"
"And the notes?"
"There are so few in circulation."
"I see! They won't issue any more? And the valuables?"
"There aren't any."
"Do you think it's going to be a hard winter?"
"I saw a great many chatterers this morning; that means a hard winter."
"You took a morning stroll?"
"I've walked about all night, after leaving the Red Room at midnight."
"You were at the Red Room last night?"
"Yes; and I made two new acquaintances: Dr. Borg and a man called
Levin."
"Oh! Those rascals! I know them! Why didn't you spend the night with
them?"
"They turned up their noses at me because I had no overcoat, and I felt
ashamed. But I am worn out; I'll rest for a few moments on your sofa!
I've walked through the whole town and round half of it; I must try and
get work to-day at a stone-mason's or I shall starve."
"Is it true that you are a member of the Workmen's Union 'Star of the
North'?"
"Quite true; I'm going to lecture there on Sunday next, on Sweden."
"A good subject! Plenty to say!"
"If I should fall asleep on your sofa, don't waken me; I'm dead-beat."
"All right, old chap! Go to sleep!"
A few moments later Olle was fast asleep and snoring loudly. His head
was hanging over one of the side-railings which supported his thick
neck, and his legs over the other.
"Poor devil!" muttered Sellen, covering him up with his rug.
There was another knock, but as it was unfamiliar Sellen judged it wise
to take no notice of it; thereupon the clamour became so furious that
it dissipated his apprehensions and he opened the door to Dr. Borg and
Levin. Borg was the first to speak.
"Is Falk here?"
"No!"
"Who is that sack of wood over there?" continued Borg, pointing at Olle
with his snow-boot.
"Olle Montanus."
"Oh! That extraordinary fellow who was with Falk last night! Is he
asleep?"
"Yes."
"Did he spend the night here?"
"Yes."
"Why haven't you a fire? It's beastly cold."
"Because I have no wood."
"Send for some then! Where's the servant? I'll make her trot."
"Gone to early service."
"Wake up that sleeping ox over there and send him!"
"No, let him sleep," objected Sellen, covering up Olle, who was still
snoring loudly.
"Then I must show you another way. What's the floor-packing? Earth or
rubbish?"
"I don't understand these matters," replied Sellen, carefully stepping
on some sheets of cardboard which were lying on the floor.
"Have you got another piece of cardboard?"
"What are you driving at?" asked Sellen, colouring up to the roots of
his hair.
"I want it, and a pair of fire-tongs."
Sellen gave him the required articles, took his sketching stool and sat
down on the pieces of cardboard as if he were guarding a treasure.
Borg took off his coat, and with the help of the fire-tongs loosened a
board in the floor, rotted by rain and acids.
"Confound you! What are you doing?" exclaimed Sellen.
"I used to do this in my college days at Upsala," said Borg.
"But you can't do that sort of thing at Stockholm!"
"Hang it all, I'm cold! I must have a fire."
"But there's no necessity to break up the floor in the middle of the
room! It shows too much!"
"What does that matter to me! I don't live here. But this is too hard."
Meanwhile he had approached Sellen, and all of a sudden he pushed him
and the stool over; in falling the artist dragged the pieces of
cardboard with him, exposing the bare floor-packing underneath.
"Miscreant! To have a perfect timber-yard and not to say a word about
it!"
"The rain's done it!"
"I don't care who's done it! Let's light a fire!"
He wrenched off a few pieces of wood with his strong hands and soon a
fire was blazing in the grate.
Levin had watched the scene, quiet, neutral, and polite. Borg sat down
before the fire and made the tongs red-hot.
Again there was a knock: three short raps and a longer one.
"That's Falk," said Sellen, opening the door.
Falk entered, looking a little hectic.
"Do you want money?" said Borg to the newcomer, laying his hand on his
breast-pocket.
"What a question to ask," said Falk, looking at him doubtfully.
"How much do you want? I can let you have it."
"Are you serious?" asked Falk, and his face cleared.
"Serious? Hm! How much? The figure! The amount!"
"I could do with, say, sixty crowns."
"Good Lord, how modest you are," remarked Borg, and turned to Levin.
"Yes, it _is_ very little," said the latter. "Take as much as you can
get Falk while the purse is open."
"I'd rather not! Sixty crowns is all I want, and I can't afford to take
up a bigger loan. But how is it to be paid back?"
"Twelve crowns every sixth month, twenty-four crowns per annum, in two
instalments," said Levin promptly and firmly.
"Those are easy terms," replied Falk. "Where do you get money on those
terms?"
"From the Wheelwrights' Bank. Give me paper and a pen, Levin!"
Quick as lightning Levin produced a promissory note, a pen, and a
pocket inkstand. The note had already been filled up by the others.
When Falk saw the figure eight hundred he hesitated for a moment.
"Eight hundred crowns?" he asked.
"You can have more if you are not satisfied."
"No, I won't; it's all the same who takes the money as long as it is
paid up all right. But can you raise money on a bill of this sort,
without security?"
"Without security? You are forgetting that we are guaranteeing it,"
replied Levin, with contemptuous familiarity.
"I don't want to depreciate it," observed Falk. "I'm grateful for your
guarantees, but I don't believe that the bill will be accepted."
"Oh, won't it! It's accepted already," said Borg, bringing out a _bill
of acceptance_, as he called it. "Go on, Falk, sign!"
Falk signed his name.
Borg and Levin were watching him, looking over his shoulders like
policemen.
"Assessor," dictated Borg.
"No, I'm a journalist," objected Falk.
"That's no good; you are registered as assessor, and as such you still
figure in the directory."
"Did you look it up?"
"One should be correct in matters of form," said Borg gravely.
Falk signed.
"Come here, Sellen, and witness," commanded Borg.
"I don't know whether I ought to," replied Sellen, "I've seen at home,
in the country, so much misery arising from such signatures...."
"You are not in the country now, and you are not dealing with peasants.
There's no reason why you shouldn't witness that Falk's signature is
genuine."
Sellen signed, shaking his head.
"And now rouse that draught-ox over there and make him, too, witness
the signature."
When all shaking was in vain Borg took the tongs, which were now
red-hot, and held them under the sleeper's nostrils.
"Wake up, you dog, and you shall have something to eat!"
Olle jumped up and rubbed his eyes.
"You are to witness Falk's signature. Do you understand?"
Olle took the pen and wrote his name in obedience to the two
guarantors' dictation. When he had done so, he turned to the bench to
lie down again but Borg prevented him.
"Wait a minute," he said, "Falk must first sign a counter-guarantee."
"Don't do it, Falk," said Olle; "it'll end badly, there'll be trouble."
"Silence, you dog," bellowed Borg. "Come here, Falk! We've just
guaranteed your bill, as you know; all we want now from you is a
counter-guarantee in place of Struve's, against whom an action has been
brought."
"What do you mean by a counter-guarantee?"
"It's only a matter of form; the loan was for eight hundred crowns on
the Painters' Bank; the first payment has been made, but now that
Struve has been proceeded against, we must find a substitute. It's a
safe old loan and there are no risks; the money was due a year ago."
Falk signed and the other two witnessed.
Borg carefully folded the bills and gave them to Levin who immediately
turned to go.
"I'll give you an hour," said Borg. "If you are not back with the money
by then, I'll set the police on your track."
And satisfied with his morning's work, he stretched himself out on the
seat on which Olle had been lying.
The latter staggered to the fire, lay down on the floor and curled
himself up like a dog.
For a little while nobody spoke.
"I say, Olle," said Sellen presently, breaking the silence, "supposing
we signed a bill of this sort...."
"You would be sent to Rindoe," said Borg.
"What is Rindoe?" asked Sellen.
"A convict prison in the Skerries; but in case the gentlemen should
prefer the Lake of Maelar, there's a prison there called Longholm."
"But seriously," said Falk, "what happens if one can't pay on the day
when the money falls due?"
"One takes up a fresh loan at the Tailors' Bank, for instance," replied
Borg.
"Why don't you go to the Imperial Bank?" questioned Falk.
"Because it's rotten!" answered Borg.
"Can you make head or tail out of all this?" said Sellen to Olle.
"I don't understand a word of it," answered the latter.
"You will, when you are members of the Academy, and your names appear
in the Directory."