REVUE
LICENTIATE BORG at STOCKHOLM _to the_ LANDSCAPE PAINTER SELLEN at PARIS
DEAR SELLEN,--You have waited a whole year for a letter from me; now I
have news to tell you. If I were acting on my principles, I should
begin with myself; but as I had better conform to the rules of
politeness laid down by civilized society--seeing that I am about to go
out into the world to earn my own living--I will begin with you.
I heartily congratulate you on the success of your recently exhibited
picture. Isaac took the notice to the _Grey Bonnet_, and it was printed
without the knowledge of the editor, who was furious when he read it;
he had firmly made up his mind that you should be a failure. But now
that your genius has been acknowledged abroad, you are famous at home
too, and I need no longer be ashamed of you.
In order to forget nothing, and to be as brief as possible--for I am
lazy as well as tired after a day's work at the hospital--I will write
my letter in the shape of a report and the style of the GREY BONNET;
this will have the additional advantage that you can more easily skip
those parts which do not interest you.
The political situation is becoming more and more interesting; all
parties have corrupted one another by presents and counter-presents,
and now all of them are grey. This reaction will probably end in
Socialism. There is a talk of increasing the number of the districts to
forty-eight, and the Ministerial career is the one which offers the
best chances of promotion, more especially as a man need not even have
passed the examination of an elementary school-teacher. I met a
school-friend the other day who is already a pensioned Cabinet
Minister; he told me that it was far easier to become a Minister than a
secretary of one of the departments; they say the work is very much
like the work of a man who signs guarantees--it is only a matter of a
signature now and then! It doesn't matter so much about the payment,
there is always a second guarantor.
The Press--well, you know the Press. Roughly speaking it is just
business, that is to say, it always adopts the opinion of the majority,
and the majority, or, in other words, the greater number of
subscribers, is reactionary. One day I asked a Liberal journalist how
it was that he wrote in such laudatory terms about you, of whom he knew
nothing. He said it was because public opinion, i.e. the largest number
of subscribers, was on your side.
"But supposing public opinion turned against him?" I asked.
"Then, of course," he said, "I shall turn against him too."
You will understand that under these circumstances the whole generation
which grew up after 1865, and which is not represented in Parliament,
is in despair; and therefore they are either Nihilists--in other words,
they don't care a d---- for anything--or they find their advantage in
turning Conservative. To be a Liberal in these days is the devil's own
job.
The financial position is depressed. The supply of bills, mine at
least, reduced; no bank will look at the safest bills, even if they are
signed by two doctors.
The "Triton" went into liquidation, as you know. Directors and
liquidators took over the printed shares, but the shareholders and
depositors received a number of lithographed ones from the well-known
society at Norrkoeping, which alone managed to weather this period of
frauds and swindles. I met a widow who had a handful of papers
connected with a marble quarry; they were large, beautiful sheets,
printed in red and blue, on which 1000 Cr., 1000 Cr., was engraved; and
below the figures, just as if they were standing security, appeared the
names of well-known persons; three of them, at least, are knights of
the Order of the Seraphim.
Nicholas Falk, the friend and brother, sick of his private
money-lending business, because it detracted from the full value of his
civic authority, which is far from being the case when the business is
a public one, decided to combine with a few experts(?) and found a
bank. The novel feature of the undertaking was expressed as follows:
"As experience--truly a melancholy experience" (Levin is the author, as
you may guess) "has proved that deposit receipts are not in themselves
a sufficient guarantee for the return of deposits--that is deposited
money--we, the undersigned, actuated by unselfish zeal for the welfare
of home industry, and desirous of giving greater security to the
well-to-do public, have founded a bank, under the title of 'Deposit
Guarantee Society Limited.' The novel and safe feature of the
enterprise--and not everything new is safe--consists in the fact that
the depositors instead of receiving deposit receipts, are given
securities to the full value of the deposited sums, etc. etc."
They do a brisk business, and you may imagine what sort of securities
they issue instead of deposit receipts.
Levin. Falk, with his keen eye for business, recognized at once the
great advantage to be reaped from the services of a man with Levin's
experience and colossal knowledge of people, acquired through his
money-lending business. But to train him for all eventualities, and
make him familiar with all the by-ways of the business, he felled him
to the ground with his promissory note, and forced him into bankruptcy.
Having done so, he appeared in the role of his saviour and made him his
confidential clerk with the title of secretary. And now Levin is
installed in a little private office; but on no account is he permitted
to show his face in the bank.
Isaac Levi is employed in the same bank as cashier. He passed his
examinations (with Latin, Greek and Hebrew) first class in all
subjects. The _Grey Bonnet_, of course, reported his achievements. Now
he is reading for the law, and doing a little business on his own
account. He is like the eel; he has nine lives and lives on nothing. He
takes no alcohol; he does not smoke; I don't know whether he has any
vices, but he is formidable. He has an ironmongers shop at Hernoesand, a
tobacconists at Helsingfoers, and a fancy goods shop at Soedertelje; in
addition he owns a few cottages at Stockholm, S. People say he is the
coming man; I say the man has come.
After the winding-up of the "Triton," his brother retired with a
considerable fortune, I am told, and is now doing business privately. I
heard that he proposed buying the forest monastery near Upsala, and
rebuilding it in a new style invented by his uncle of the Academy of
Arts. But his offer was refused. Levi, very much offended, sent a
notice to the _Grey Bonnet_ under the heading: "Persecution of the Jews
in the Nineteenth Century." It won him the lively sympathy of the whole
cultured public; the affair would win him a seat in Parliament if he
cared for that distinction. A vote of thanks was presented to him by
his co-religionists--(as if Levi had any religion) which was printed in
the _Grey Bonnet_. They thanked him for standing up for the rights of
the Jews (to buy the forest monastery). The address was handed to him
at a banquet, to which also a great many Swedes (I always refer the
Jewish question to its rightful domain, the ethnographical one) had
been bidden, to feast on bad salmon and uncorked wine. The deeply moved
hero of the day (vide _Grey Bonnet_) received on the same occasion a
present of 20,000 crowns (in shares) for the foundation of a Home for
Fallen Boys of the Evangelical Denomination.
I was present at the banquet, and saw a sight I had never seen
before--I saw Isaac the worse for drink! He shouted that he hated me,
and you, and Falk, and all "Whites"; he alternately called us "whites,"
and "natives," and _roche_; I had never heard the last word before, but
no sooner had he uttered it than a large number of "blacks" crowded
round us, looking so ominous that Isaac thought it better to take me
into an adjoining room. There he poured out all his soul to me; he
spoke of his sufferings as a schoolboy; of the ill-treatment to which
master and school-fellows had subjected him, the daily knocks and cuffs
from the street arabs. But what roused my indignation more than
anything else was an incident which had happened to him during his
military service; he was called up to the front at vespers and ordered
to recite the Lord's Prayer. As he did not know it, he was scoffed and
jeered at. His account made me change my opinion of him and his race.
Religious swindle and charitable fraud are more rampant than ever, and
make life in our country very unpleasant. You will remember two imps of
Satan, Mrs. Falk and Mrs. Homan, the two pettiest, vainest and most
malicious creatures who ever idled away their days. You know the creche
they had founded and its end. Their latest achievement is a Home for
Fallen Women, and the first inmate--received on my recommendation--was
Marie! The poor girl had lent all her savings to a fellow who absconded
with them. She was only too happy to find a home where she would be
kept free of charge, and be able to retrieve her character. She told me
that she did not mind all the religious palaver, which is,
unfortunately, inseparable from an enterprise of this sort, as long as
she could count on her cup of coffee in the morning.
The Rev. Skore, whom you will no doubt remember, has not been made
_pastor primarius_, and from sheer annoyance he is begging for funds to
build a new church. Printed begging-letters, signed by all the
wealthiest magnates of Sweden, are sent out to appeal to the charitable
public. The church, which is to be three times the size of the church
on the Blasieholm and connected with a sky-high tower, is to be built
on the old site of St. Catherine's. The latter is supposed to be too
small to satisfy the great spiritual needs from which the Swedish
nation is suffering at the moment, and is, therefore, to be pulled
down. The sum collected has already reached such dimensions that a
treasurer had to be appointed (with free lodging and fuel). Who do you
think is the treasurer? You would never guess! Struve!
Struve has become somewhat religious these days--I say _somewhat_,
because it is not much--only just enough for his position, for he is
patronized by the faithful. This does, however, not interfere with his
journalism and his drinking. But his heart is not soft, on the
contrary, he is most bitter against all those who have not come down;
between you and me, he has very much deteriorated; therefore he hates
you and Falk, and he has sworn to slate you next time you are heard of.
He had to submit to the marriage ceremony for the sake of the free
lodging and fuel. He was married to his wife in the White Mountains. I
was one of the witnesses. His wife, too, has been converted, for she is
under the impression that religion is good form.
Lundell has left the religious sphere, and is painting nothing but
portraits of directors; he has been made assistant at the Academy of
Arts. He has also become immortal, for he has managed to smuggle a
painting of his into the National Museum. It was accomplished by a very
simple trick and ought to encourage imitators. Smith made a present to
the National Museum of one of Lundell's genre pictures, a service which
Lundell repaid by painting his portrait gratis! Splendid! Isn't it?
The end of a romance. One Sunday morning, at the hour when the Sabbath
peace is not disturbed by the terrible church bells, I was sitting in
my room, smoking. There was a knock at the door, and a tall, well-made
man, whose face seemed familiar to me, entered--it was Rehnhjelm. We
cross-examined each other. He is manager of a large factory and quite
satisfied with his lot.
Presently there was another knock. It was Falk. (More of him later on.)
We revived old memories and discussed mutual friends. But by and by
there was a pause, that strange silence which so frequently occurs
after a lively conversation. Rehnhjelm took up a book, turned over the
leaves and read out:
"A Caesarean Operation: An academic treatise which, with the permission
of the illustrious medical faculty, will be publicly discussed in the
little lecture room of the University." What horrible diagrams! "Who in
the world is the unfortunate being cursed thus to haunt the living
after his death?"
"You will find it on page 2," I said.
He went on reading.
"The pelvis which, as No. 38, is preserved in the pathological
collection of the Academy...." No--that can't be it. "Agnes Rundgren,
spinster...."
The man's face turned as white as chalk. He got up and drank some
water.
"Did you know the woman?" I asked, in order to distract his thoughts.
"Did I know her? She was on the stage, and I knew her at X-koeping;
after leaving X-koeping, she was engaged in a Stockholm cafe, under the
name of Beda Petterson."
Then you should have seen Falk! It came to a scene which ended in
Rehnhjelm's cursing all women, and Falk, greatly excited, replying,
that there were two kinds of women, which differed from each other as
much as angels and devils. He was so moved that Rehnhjelm's eyes filled
with tears.
And now to Falk! I purposely left him to the last. He is engaged to be
married! How did it happen? He himself says: "We just met one
another!"
As you know, I have no rigid opinions, but cultivate an open mind; but
from what I have seen up to now, it is undeniable that love is
something of which we bachelors know nothing--what we call love is
nothing but frivolity. You may laugh if you like, you old scoffer!
Only in very bad plays have I seen such a rapid development of
character, as I had occasion to watch in Falk. You won't be surprised
to hear that his engagement was not all plain sailing. The girl's
father, an old widower, a selfish army pensioner, looked upon his
daughter as an investment, hoping that she would marry well and thereby
secure him a comfortable old age. (Nothing at all unusual!) He
therefore bluntly refused his consent. You should have seen Falk! He
called on the old man again and again; he was kicked out, and yet he
called again and told the old egoist to the face that he would marry
his daughter without his consent, if he continued to object. I am not
sure, but I believe it actually came to fisticuffs.
One evening Falk had accompanied his sweetheart home. They had both
spent the evening at the house of one of the girl's relatives to whom
Falk had introduced himself. When they turned the corner of the street
in which the girl lives, they saw by the light of the street lamp that
her father was leaning out of the window--he lives in a small house
which belongs to him. Falk knocked at the garden gate; but nobody came
to open it. At last he climbed over and was on the other side attacked
by a large dog; he got the better of the brute and shut it up in the
dust-bin. (Imagine the nervous Falk.) Then he compelled the porter to
get up and open the gate. Now they had gained the yard and stood before
the front door. He hammered it with a large stone, but no reply came
from within; he searched the garden and found a ladder, by means of
which he reached the old man's window. Open the door, he shouted, or
I'll smash the window!
"If you smash the window, you rascal," yelled the old man, "I'll shoot
you!"
Falk immediately smashed the window.
For a few moments there was silence. Finally a voice came from within
the fortress:
"You are my man! I consent."
"I'm not fond of smashing windows," explained Falk, "but there's
nothing I would not do to win your daughter."
The matter was settled, and they became engaged.
I don't know whether you know that Parliament has carried through its
reorganization of the public offices, doubling the salaries and the
number of posts, so that a young man in the first division is now in a
position to marry. Falk is going to be married in the autumn.
His wife will keep her post at the school. I know next to nothing of
the Woman's Question--it doesn't interest me--but I believe that our
generation will get rid of the last remnant of the Eastern conception
which still clings to marriage. In the days to come, husband and wife
will enter into a partnership where both will retain their
independence; they will not try to convert each other, but will
mutually respect their weaknesses, and live together in a life-long
friendship which will never be strained by the demands of one of the
partners for amorous demonstrations.
I look upon Mrs. Nicholas Falk, the charitable she-devil, as nothing
more than a _femme entretenue_, and I am sure she does so herself. Most
women marry for a home where they need not work--be their own mistress,
as it is called. The fact that marriage is on the decline is as much
the woman's fault as the man's.
But I cannot make Falk out. He is studying numismatics with an almost
unnatural zeal; he told me the other day that he was engaged in writing
a text-book on numismatics, which he would endeavour to introduce into
the schools where this science is to be taught.
He never reads a paper; he does not know what is going on in the world,
and he seems to have abandoned the idea of writing. He lives only for
his work and his fiancee, whom he worships.
But I don't trust his calm. Falk is a political fanatic, well aware
that he would be consumed if he allowed the fire to burn freely;
therefore he tries to stifle it with hard, monotonous work; but I don't
think that he will succeed; in spite of all his restraint the day is
bound to come when he will cast aside all self-control and burst out
into fresh flames.
Between you and me--I believe he belongs to one of those secret
societies which are responsible for the reaction and militarism on the
Continent. Not very long ago, at the reading of the King's Speech in
Parliament, I saw him, dressed in a purple cloak, with a feather in his
hat, sitting at the foot of the throne (at the foot of the throne!) and
I thought--no, it would be a sin to say what I thought. But when the
Prime Minister read his Majesty's gracious propositions respecting the
state of the country and its needs, I saw a look in Falk's eyes which
plainly said: What on earth does his Majesty know of the condition and
needs of the country?
That man, oh! that man!
I conclude my review without having forgotten anybody. Enough for
to-day. You shall soon hear from me again.
H. B. 1879.