AFTER the sweets came coffee, and the conversation was soon being
carried on through clouds of tobacco-smoke.
"Do you know who Norby is like?" said Fru Thora to her neighbour, who
was the magistrate.
The magistrate looked up with his cigar in his mouth, and answered:
"No--at least, yes----"
"Don't you see he's like Garibaldi?"
"Well, now you say it," said the magistrate.
All down the table the talk was exclusively of Norby. It came
naturally. Two farmers told of the King's last journey through the
district, when Norby quietly went up and took him by the hand, and
bade him welcome to the district. Einar had to tell the bailiff's wife
about his grandfather, Ingeborg was questioned about her mother; the
magistrate praised the old man for his skill in the game of boston; an
estate administrator told about a probate case in which Norby was
arbitrator, and how clever he was in bringing people to reason; the
doctor sat and talked about the shape of the old man's head, and
especially the sign of race in the forehead. There was a buzz of
homage in the form of little sympathetic touches unearthed from the
memories of all present and held up to view; and at last the old man
was raised higher and higher, borne as it were by all that was wept,
said, sung, and felt there this evening--elevated upon a golden cloud
of sympathy and admiration.
Einar alone had grown coldly serious at the pastor's speech, and
various questions thronged in upon him. Through all the rosy clouds
that enveloped this table he seemed to get a glimpse into--something
different.
The best feelings and ideals of every one seemed to have met this
evening to pay homage to his father; and he no longer dared to think
whether his father were the guilty one or not. But if-- Could it be
that the most sacred human feelings and ideals were completely blind,
so that they could just as easily lend themselves to glorify a crime,
a black lie? Could it be? Surely not! Was it no guarantee when
people's words were glowing with the whole warmth of their heart, when
their eyes were wet and their voice trembled with emotion? Was that
so? Surely not! But if-- Was it no excuse to have done a thing in all
good faith? For the fact remained that if people crowned the criminal,
and threw the innocent into prison, good faith was the most terrible
thing of all; for it committed its bad actions with divine good
conscience, and every one laid down their arms before it. Was it so?
And did all such forces as God, one's country, philanthropy,
Christianity, lend themselves as garments to adorn the wrong-doer and
honour the lie? No, no! it must not, could not, be so. But that was
why there was so much wrong done in the world. The wet eyes, the warm
tones, the glowing hearts, always formed a defensive covering for that
which was bad. Was it so?
And what about himself? Had not his best feelings for his parents made
him a-- He dared not think the word.
It must not, it could not, be so! He involuntarily wished there were
strong drink in his glass, and that he could drink himself into a
happy mood with wine as the others did with their speeches.
He raised his glass, and tried to smile at Ingeborg. She raised hers
in return, while she thought, "Thank God that Einar was undeceived!"
Suddenly some one said: "Oh, look out there!" Several rose from the
table and went to the windows. Against the dark fjord, that reflected
the starry sky, a gleaming rocket rose into the air, while another was
already raining down in fiery sparks of many colours. A new one rose,
and in its first brilliant blaze Laura could be seen bare-headed and
in her silk dress, and by her side the bailiff's son.
There were several exclamations, and Ingeborg said: "Oh indeed! That
was why Laura had a headache and had to go out!"
A fresh rocket blazed up and illuminated the two standing in the dark,
just as Laura took hold of the young man's arm to draw him a little
way from the rocket. It was her first tender care for him. Then it was
dark once more about them, while the fiery sparks rained down from the
sky, reflected all the time in the dark, still fjord, into which they
finally fell.
"Look!" cried those at the windows. "Oh, look!" "Oh, that was lovely!"
"Both blue and red!" And all the time momentary flashes of light
gleamed upon the two young people, who stood there and sent up bright
messengers into the sky in the still evening.
When at last this was over the lamps in the hall were suddenly
extinguished. A tittering was heard, and a few indignant ladies'
voices; but suddenly a curtain was drawn aside, and revealed a
Norwegian mountain landscape illuminated by paraffin lamps.
"Goodness me!" thought Einar. "Are we going to have that old play that
everybody knows?"
But all at once a young girl in Norwegian costume came forward and
began to talk to an old man. It was--Einar gazed in perplexity--it was
she! It was the doctor's young daughter. That was why she had not been
at the dinner, then. She had perhaps been rehearsing up to the last
moment.
Sore and despondent and disturbed as Einar was already, this surprise
threw him into the greatest agitation. His heart beat, and something
warm began to run through his limbs. There she was! And how lovely she
was in that dress! And gradually the oil-lamps turned into sunshine,
and the ridiculous decorations into actual wood and mountain; and the
good patriotic moral of the play acted upon him with a wonderful
power.
But when the young girl went off the stage the piece seemed to lose
its interest, and he turned to Fru Thora with the question whether
there was to be dancing afterwards. "Yes," she said. Good! He would
ask the doctor whether his daughter might stay, if he promised to see
her home. Perhaps it might turn out a wonderful evening for him yet.