“Hei, Merle; We’re going to have distinguished visitors--where in the
world have you got to!” Peer hurried through the rooms with an open
telegram in his hand, and at last came upon his wife in the nursery.
“Oh, is it here you are?”
“Yes--but you shout so, I could hear you all through the house. Who is
it that’s coming?”
“Ferdinand Holm and Klaus Brock. Coming to the christening after all.
Great Caesar!--what do you say to that, Merle?”
Merle was pale, and her cheeks a little sunken. Two years more had
passed, and she had her second child now on her knee--a little boy with
big wondering eyes.
“How fine for you, Peer!” she said, and went on undressing the child.
“Yes; but isn’t it splendid of them to set off and come all that way,
just because I asked them? By Jove, we must look sharp and get the place
smartened up a bit.”
And sure enough the whole place was soon turned upside-down--cartloads
of sand coming in for the garden walks and the courtyard, and painters
hard at work repainting the houses. And poor Merle knew very well that
there would be serious trouble if anything should be amiss with the
entertainment indoors.
At last came the hot August day when the flags were hoisted in honour of
the expected guests. Once more the hum of mowing machines and hay-rakes
came from the hill-slopes, and the air was so still that the columns of
smoke from the chimneys of the town rose straight into the air. Peer
had risen early, to have a last look round, inspecting everything
critically, from the summer dress Merle was to wear down to the horses
in the stable, groomed till their coats shone again. Merle understood.
He had been a fisher-boy beside the well-dressed son of the doctor, and
something meaner yet in relation to the distinguished Holm family. And
there was still so much of the boy in him that he wanted to show now at
his very best.
A crowd of inquisitive idlers had gathered down on the steamboat landing
when the boat swung in and lay by the pier. The pair of bays in the
Loreng carriage stood tossing their heads and twitching and stamping as
the flies tormented them; but at last they got their passengers and were
given their heads, setting off with a wild bound or two that scattered
those who had pressed too near. But in the carriage they could see the
two strangers and the engineer, all three laughing and gesticulating,
and talking all at once. And in a few moments they vanished in a cloud
of dust, whirling away beside the calm waters of the fjord.
Some way behind them a cart followed, driven by one of the stable-boys
from Loreng, and loaded with big brass-bound leather trunks and a
huge chest, apparently of wood, but evidently containing something
frightfully heavy.
Merle had finished dressing, and stood looking at herself in the glass.
The light summer dress was pretty, she thought, and the red bows at neck
and waist sat to her satisfaction. Then came the roll of wheels outside,
and she went out to receive her guests.
“Here they are,” cried Peer, jumping down. “This is Ferdinand Pasha,
Governor-General of the new Kingdom of Sahara--and this is His Highness
the Khedive’s chief pipe-cleaner and body-eunuch.”
A tall, stooping man with white hair and a clean-shaven, dried-up face
advanced towards Merle. It was Ferdinand Holm. “How do you do, Madam?”
he said, giving her a dry, bony hand.
“Why, this is quite a baronial seat you have here,” he added, looking
round and settling his pince-nez.
His companion was a round, plump gentleman, with a little black goatee
beard and dark eyes that blinked continually. But his smile was full of
mirth, and the grip of his hand felt true. So this was Klaus Brock.
Peer led his two friends in through the rooms, showing them the view
from the various windows. Klaus broke into a laugh at last, and turned
to Merle: “He’s just the same as ever,” he said--“a little stouter, to
be sure--it’s clear you’ve been treating him well, madam.” And he bowed
and kissed her hand.
There was hock and seltzer ready for them--this was Merle’s idea, as
suitable for a hot day--and when the two visitors had each drunk off
a couple of glasses, with an: “Ah! delicious!”, Peer came behind her,
stroked her hand lightly and whispered, “Thanks, Merle--first-rate idea
of yours.”
“By the way,” exclaimed Ferdinand Holm suddenly, “I must send off a
telegram. May I use the telephone a moment?”
“There he goes--can’t contain himself any longer!” burst out Klaus
Brock with a laugh. “He’s had the telegraph wires going hard all the way
across Europe--but you might let us get inside and sit down before you
begin again here.”
“Come along,” said Peer. “Here’s the telephone.”
When the two had left the room, Klaus turned to Merle with a smile.
“Well, well--so I’m really in the presence of Peer’s wife--his wife in
flesh and blood. And this is what she looks like! That fellow always had
all the luck.” And he took her hand again and kissed it. Merle drew it
away and blushed.
“You are not married, then, Mr. Brock?”
“I? Well, yes and no. I did marry a Greek girl once, but she ran away.
Just my luck.” And he blinked his eyes and sighed with an expression so
comically sad that Merle burst out laughing.
“And your friend, Ferdinand Holm?” she asked.
“He, dear lady--he--why, saving your presence, I have an idea there’s a
select little harem attached to that palace of his.”
Merle turned towards the window and shook her head with a smile.
An hour later the visitors came down from their rooms after a wash and
a change of clothes, and after a light luncheon Peer carried them off to
show them round the place. He had added a number of new buildings, and
had broken new land. The farm had forty cows when he came, now he had
over sixty. “Of course, all this is a mere nothing for fellows like you,
who bring your harvest home in railway trains,” he said. “But, you see,
I have my home here.” And he waved his hand towards the house and the
farmstead round.
Later they drove over in the light trap to look at the workshop, and
here he made no excuses for its being small. He showed off the
little foundry as if it had been a world-famous seat of industry, and
maintained his serious air while his companions glanced sideways at him,
trying hard not to smile.
The workmen touched their caps respectfully, and sent curious glances at
the strangers.
“Quite a treat to see things on the Norwegian scale again,” Ferdinand
Holm couldn’t resist saying at last.
“Yes, isn’t it charming!” cried Peer, putting on an air of ingenuous
delight. “This is just the size a foundry should be, if its owner is to
have a good time and possess his soul in peace.”
Ferdinand Holm and Brock exchanged glances. But next moment Peer led
them through into a side-room, with tools and machinery evidently having
no connection with the rest.
“Now look out,” said Klaus. “This is the holy of holies, you’ll see.
He’s hard at it working out some new devilry here, or I’m a Dutchman.”
Peer drew aside a couple of tarpaulins, and showed them a mowing machine
of the ordinary type, and beside it another, the model of a new type he
had himself devised.
“It’s not quite finished yet,” he said. “But I’ve solved the main
problem. The old single knife-blade principle was clumsy; dragged, you
know. But with two blades--a pair of shears, so to speak--it’ll work
much quicker.” And he gave them a little lecture, showing how much
simpler his mechanism was, and how much lighter the machine would be.
“And there you are,” said Klaus. “It’s Columbus’s egg over again.”
“The patent ought to be worth a million,” said Ferdinand Holm, slowly,
looking out of the window.
“Of course the main thing is, to make the work easier and cheaper for
the farmers,” said Peer, with a rather sly glance at Ferdinand.
Dinner that evening was a festive meal. When the liqueur brandy went
round, Klaus greeted it with enthusiasm. “Why, here’s an old friend, as
I live! Real Lysholmer!--well, well; and so you’re still in the land of
the living? You remember the days when we were boys together?” He lifted
the little glass and watched the light play in the pale spirit. And the
three old friends drank together, singing “The first full glass,” and
then “The second little nip,” with the proper ceremonial observances,
just as they had done in the old days, at their student wine-parties.
The talk went merrily, one good story calling up another. But Merle
could not help noticing the steely gleam of Ferdinand Holm’s eyes, even
when he laughed.
The talk fell on new doings in Egypt, and as Peer heard more and more of
these, it seemed to her that his look changed. His glance, too, seemed
to have that glint of steel, there was something strange and absent in
his face; was he feeling, perhaps, that wife and children were but
a drag on a man, after all? He seemed like an old war-horse waking
suddenly at the sound of trumpets.
“There’s a nice little job waiting for you, by the way,” said Ferdinand
Holm, lifting his glass to Peer.
“Very kind of you, I’m sure. A sub-directorship under you?”
“You’re no good under any one. You belong on top.” Ferdinand illustrated
his words with a downward and an upward pointing of the finger. “The
harnessing of the Tigris and Euphrates will have to be taken in hand.
It’s only a question of time.”
“Thanks very much!” said Peer, his eyes wide open now.
“The plan’s simply lying waiting for the right man. It will be carried
out, it may be next year, it may be in ten years--whenever the man comes
along. I would think about it, if I were you.”
All looked at Peer; Merle fastened her eyes on him, too. But he laughed.
“Now, what on earth would be the satisfaction to me of binding in bands
those two ancient and honourable rivers?”
“Well, in the first place, it would mean an increase of many millions
of bushels in the corn production of the world. Wouldn’t you have any
satisfaction in that?”
“No,” said Peer, with a touch of scorn.
“Or regular lines of communication over hundreds of thousands of square
miles of the most fertile country on the globe?”
“Don’t interest me,” said Peer.
“Ah!” Ferdinand Holm lifted his glass to Merle. “Tell me, dear lady, how
does it feel to be married to an anachronism?”
“To--to what?” stammered Merle.
“Yes, your husband’s an anachronism. He might, if he chose, be one of
the kings, the prophets, who lead the van in the fight for civilisation.
But he will not; he despises his own powers, and one day he will start a
revolution against himself. Mark my words. Your health, dear lady!”
Merle laughed, and lifted her glass, but hesitatingly, and with a
side-glance towards Peer.
“Yes, your husband is no better now than an egoist, a collector of happy
days.”
“Well, and is that so very wicked?”
“He sits ravelling out his life into a multitude of golden threads,”
went on Ferdinand with a bow, his steely eyes trying to look gentle.
“But what is wrong in that?” said the young wife stoutly.
“It is wrong. It is wasting his immortal soul. A man has no right to
ravel out his life, even though the threads are of gold. A man’s days of
personal happiness are forgotten--his work endures. And your husband
in particular--why the deuce should HE be so happy? The world-evolution
uses us inexorably, either for light or for fuel. And Peer--your
husband, dear lady--is too good for fuel.”
Merle glanced again at her husband. Peer laughed, but then suddenly
compressed his lips and looked down at his plate.
Then the nurse came in with little Louise, to say good-night, and
the child was handed round from one to the other. But when the little
fair-haired girl came to Ferdinand Holm, he seemed loth to touch her,
and Merle read his glance at Peer as meaning: “Here is another of the
bonds you’ve tied yourself up with.”
“Excuse me,” he said suddenly, looking at his watch, “I’m afraid I must
ask for the use of the telephone again. Pardon me, Fru Holm.” And he
rose and left the room. Klaus looked at the others and shook his head.
“That man would simply expire if he couldn’t send a telegram once an
hour,” he said with a laugh.
Coffee was served out on the balcony, and the men sat and smoked. It
was a dusky twilight of early autumn; the hills were dark blue now and
distant; there was a scent of hay and garden flowers. After a while
Merle rose and said good-night. And in her thoughts, when she found
herself alone in her bedroom, she hardly knew whether to be displeased
or not. These strange men were drawing Peer far away from all that had
been his chief delight since she had known him. But it was interesting
to see how different his manner was towards the two friends. Klaus Brock
he could jest and laugh with, but with Ferdinand Holm he seemed always
on his guard, ready to assert himself, and whenever he contradicted him
it was always with a certain deference.
The great yellow disc of the moon came up over the hills in the east,
drawing a broad pillar of gold across the dark water. And the three
comrades on the balcony sat watching it for a while in silence.
“So you’re really going to go on idling here?” asked Ferdinand at last,
sipping his liqueur.
“Is it me you mean?” asked Peer, bending slightly forward.
“Well, I gather you’re going round here simply being happy from morning
to night. I call that idling.”
“Thanks.”
“Of course, you’re very unhappy in reality. Everyone is, as long as he’s
neglecting his powers and aptitudes.”
“Very many thanks,” said Peer, with a laugh. Klaus sat up in his chair,
a little anxious as to what was coming.
Ferdinand was still looking out over the lake. “You seem to despise your
own trade--as engineer?”
“Yes,” said Peer.
“And why?”
“Why, I feel the lack of some touch of beauty in our ceaseless craving
to create something new, something new, always something new. More gold,
more speed, more food--are these things not all we are driving at?”
“My dear fellow, gold means freedom. And food means life. And speed
carries us over the dead moments. Double the possibilities of life for
men, and you double their numbers.”
“And what good will it do to double their numbers? Two thousand million
machine-made souls--is that what you want?”
“But hang it all, man,” put in Klaus Brock eagerly, “think of our dear
Norway at least. Surely you don’t think it would be a misfortune if
our population increased so far that the world could recognise our
existence.”
“I do,” said Peer, looking away over the lake.
“Ah, you’re a fanatic for the small in size and in numbers.”
“I am loth to see all Norway polluted with factories and proletariat
armies. Why the devil can’t we be left in peace?”
“The steel will not have it,” said Ferdinand Holm, as if speaking to the
pillar of moonlight on the water.
“What? Who did you say?” Peer looked at him with wide eyes.
Ferdinand went on undisturbed: “The steel will not have peace. And the
fire will not. And Prometheus will not. The human spirit has still
too many steps to climb before it reaches the top. Peace? No, my
friend--there are powers outside you and me that determine these
things.”
Peer smiled, and lit a new cigar. Ferdinand Holm leaned back in his
chair and went on, addressing himself apparently to the moon.
“Tigris and Euphrates--Indus and Ganges--and all the rest of this
planet--regulate and cultivate the whole, and what is it after all?
It’s only a question of a few years. It is only a humble beginning. In
a couple of centuries or so there will be nothing left to occupy us
any more on this little globe of ours. And then we’ll have to set about
colonising other worlds.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Peer spoke.
“And what do we gain by it all?” he asked.
“Gain? Do you imagine there will ever be any ‘thus far and no farther’
for the spirit of man? Half a million years hence, all the solar systems
we know of now will be regulated and ordered by the human spirit.
There will be difficulties, of course. Interplanetary wars will arise,
planetary patriotism, groups of planetary powers in alliances and
coalitions against other groups. Little worlds will be subjugated by
the bigger ones, and so on. Is there anything in all this to grow dizzy
over? Great heavens--can anyone doubt that man must go on conquering and
to conquer for millions of years to come? The world-will goes its way.
We cannot resist. Nobody asks whether we are happy. The will that works
towards the infinite asks only whom it can use for its ends, and who is
useless. Viola tout.”
“And when I die,” asked Peer--“what then?”
“You! Are you still going about feeling your own pulse and wanting to
live for ever? My dear fellow, YOU don’t exist. There is just one person
on our side--the world-will. And that includes us all. That’s what I
mean by ‘we.’ And we are working towards the day when we can make
God respect us in good earnest. The spirit of man will hold a Day
of Judgment, and settle accounts with Olympus--with the riddle, the
almighty power beyond. It will be a great reckoning. And mark my
words--that is the one single religious idea that lives and works in
each and every one of us--the thing that makes us hold up our heads and
walk upright, forgetting that we are slaves and things that die.”
Suddenly he looked at his watch. “Excuse me a moment. If the telegraph
office is open . . .” and he rose and went in.
When he returned, Klaus and Peer were talking of the home of their
boyhood and their early days together.
“Remember that time we went shark-fishing?” asked Klaus.
“Oh yes--that shark. Let me see--you were a hero, weren’t you, and beat
it to death with your bare fists--wasn’t that it?” And then “Cut the
line, cut the line, and row for your lives,” he mimicked, and burst out
laughing.
“Oh, shut up now and don’t be so witty,” said Klaus. “But tell me, have
you ever been back there since you came home?”
Peer told him that he had been to the village last year. His old
foster-parents were dead, and Peter Ronningen too; but Martin Bruvold
was there still, living in a tiny cottage with eight children.
“Poor devil!” said Klaus.
Ferdinand Holm had sat down again, and now he nodded towards the moon.
“An old chum of yours? Well, why don’t we send him a thousand crowns?”
There was a little pause. “I hope you’ll let me join you,” went on
Ferdinand, taking a note for five hundred crowns from his waistcoat
pocket. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Peer glanced at him and took the note. “I’m delighted for poor old
Martin’s sake,” he said, putting the note in his waistcoat pocket.
“That’ll make fifteen hundred for him.”
Klaus Brock looked from one to the other and smiled a little. The talk
turned on other things for a while, and then he asked:
“By the way, Peer, have you seen that advertisement of the British
Carbide Company’s?”
“No, what about?”
“They want tenders for the damming and harnessing of the Besna River,
with its lake system and falls. That should be something in your line.”
“No,” said Ferdinand sharply. “I told you before--that job’s too small
for him. Peer’s going to the Euphrates.”
“What would it amount to, roughly?” said Peer, addressing no one in
particular.
“As far as I could make out, it should be a matter of a couple of
million crowns or thereabout,” said Klaus.
“That’s not a thing for Peer,” said Ferdinand, rising and lifting his
hand to hide a yawn. “Leave trifles like that to the trifling souls.
Good-night, gentlemen.”
A couple of hours later, when all was silent throughout the house, Peer
was still up, wandering to and fro in soft felt slippers in the great
hall. Now and again he would stop, and look out of the window. Why could
he not sleep? The moon was paling, the day beginning to dawn.