STENSGÅRD.
You still less! I abolish the Committee! Freedom on the day of freedom,
boys!
THE YOUNG MEN.
Hurrah for freedom!
STENSGÅRD.
They deny you the right of speech! You hear it—they want to gag you!
Away with this tyranny! I won’t stand here declaiming to a flock of dumb
animals. I will talk; but you shall talk too. We will talk to each
other, from the heart!
THE CROWD.
[_With growing enthusiasm._] Hurrah!
STENSGÅRD.
We will have no more of these barren, white-chokered festivities! A
golden harvest of deeds shall hereafter shoot up from each Seventeenth
of May. May! Is it not the season of bud and blossom, the blushing
maiden-month of the year? On the first of June I shall have been just
two months among you; and in that time what greatness and littleness,
what beauty and deformity, have I not seen?
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
What on earth is he talking about, Doctor?
FIELDBO.
Aslaksen says it’s the local situation.
STENSGÅRD.
I have seen great and brilliant possibilities among the masses; but I
have seen, too, a spirit of corruption brooding over the germs of
promise and bringing them to nought. I have seen ardent and trustful
youth rush yearning forth—and I have seen the door shut in its face.
THORA.
Oh, Heaven!
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
What does he mean by that?
STENSGÅRD.
Yes, my brothers and sisters in rejoicing! There hovers in the air an
Influence, a Spectre from the dead and rotten past, which spreads
darkness and oppression where there should be nothing but buoyancy and
light. We must lay that Spectre; down with it!
THE CROWD.
Hurrah! Hurrah for the Seventeenth of May!
THORA.
Come away, father——!
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
What the deuce does he mean by a spectre? Who is he talking about,
Doctor?
FIELDBO.
[_Quickly._] Oh, it’s about——
[_Whispers a word or two._
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Aha! So that’s it!
THORA.
[_Softly to_ FIELDBO.] Thanks!
STENSGÅRD.
If no one else will crush the dragon, I will! But we must hold together,
boys!
MANY VOICES.
Yes! yes!
STENSGÅRD.
We are young! The time belongs to us; but we also belong to the time.
Our right is our duty! Elbow-room for faculty, for will, for power!
Listen to me! We must form a League. The money-bag has ceased to rule
among us!
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Bravo! [_To the_ DOCTOR.] He said the money-bag; so no doubt you’re
right——
STENSGÅRD.
Yes, boys; we, we are the wealth of the country, if only there’s metal
in us. Our will is the ringing gold that shall pass from man to man. War
to the knife against whoever shall deny its currency!
THE CROWD.
Hurrah!
STENSGÅRD.
A scornful “bravo” has been flung in my teeth——
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
No, no!
STENSGÅRD.
What care I! Thanks and threats alike are powerless over the perfect
will. And now, God be with us! For we are going about His work, with
youth and faith to help us. Come, then, into the refreshment-tent—our
League shall be baptized this very hour.
THE CROWD.
Hurrah! Carry him! Shoulder high with him!
[_He is lifted shoulder high._
VOICES.
Speak on! More! More!
STENSGÅRD.
Let us hold together, I say! Providence is on the side of the League of
Youth. It lies with us to rule the world—here in the district!
[_He is carried into the tent amid wild enthusiasm._
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
[_Wiping her eyes._] Oh, Lord, how beautifully he does speak! Don’t you
feel as if you could kiss him, Mr. Heire?
HEIRE.
Thank you, I’d rather not.
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
Oh, you! I daresay not.
HEIRE.
Perhaps you would like to kiss him, Madam Rundholmen.
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
Ugh, how horrid you are!
[_She goes into the tent; HEIRE follows her._
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Spectre—and dragon—and money-bag! It was horribly rude—but well
deserved!
LUNDESTAD.
[_Approaching._] I’m heartily sorry, Chamberlain——
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Yes, where was your knowledge of character, Lundestad? Well, well; we
are none of us infallible. Good-night, and thanks for a pleasant
evening. [_Turns to_ THORA _and the_ DOCTOR.] But bless me, I’ve been
positively rude to that fine young fellow!
FIELDBO.
How so?
THORA.
His call, you mean——?
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
He called twice. It’s really Lundestad’s fault. He told me he was an
adventurer and—and I forget what else. Fortunately I can make up for it.
THORA.
How?
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Come, Thora; let us see to it at once——
FIELDBO.
Oh, do you think it’s worth while, Chamberlain——?
THORA.
[_Softly._] Hush!
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
When one has done an injustice one should lose no time in undoing it;
that’s a plain matter of duty. Good-night, Doctor. After all, I’ve spent
an amusing hour; and that’s more than I have to thank _you_ for to-day.
FIELDBO.
Me, Chamberlain?
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Yes, yes, yes—you and others.
FIELDBO.
May I ask what I——?
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Don’t be curious, Doctor. I am never curious. Come, come—-no
offence—good-night!
[THE CHAMBERLAIN _and_ THORA _go out to the left;_ FIELDBO
_gazes thoughtfully after them._
ASLAKSEN.
[_From the tent._] Hei, waiter! Pen and ink! Things are getting lively,
Doctor!
FIELDBO.
What things?
ASLAKSEN.
He’s founding the League. It’s nearly founded.
LUNDESTAD.
[_Who has quietly drawn near._] Are many putting down their names?
ASLAKSEN.
We’ve enrolled about seven-and-thirty, not counting widows and so forth.
Pen and ink, I say! No waiters to be found!—that’s the fault of the
local situation.
[_Goes off behind the tent._
LUNDESTAD.
Puh! It has been hot to-day.
FIELDBO.
I’m afraid we have hotter days to come.
LUNDESTAD.
Do you think the Chamberlain was very angry?
FIELDBO.
Oh, not in the least; you could see that, couldn’t you? But what do you
say to the new League?
LUNDESTAD.
H’m; I say nothing. What is there to be said?
FIELDBO.
It’s the beginning of a struggle for power here in the district.
LUNDESTAD.
Well, well; no harm in a fight. He has great gifts, that Stensgård.
FIELDBO.
He is determined to make his way.
LUNDESTAD.
Youth is always determined to make its way. I was, when I was young; no
one can object to that. But mightn’t we look in and see——
HEIRE.
[_From the tent._] Well, Mr. Lundestad, are you going to move the
previous question, eh? To head the opposition? Hee-hee! You must make
haste!
LUNDESTAD.
Oh, I daresay I shall be in time.
HEIRE.
Too late, sir! Unless you want to stand godfather. [_Cheering from the
tent._] There, they’re chanting Amen; the baptism is over.
LUNDESTAD.
I suppose one may be permitted to listen; I shall keep quiet.
[_Enters the tent._
HEIRE.
There goes one of the falling trees! There will be a rare uprooting, I
can tell you! The place will soon look like a wood after a tornado.
Won’t I chuckle over it!
FIELDBO.
Tell me, Mr. Heire, what interest have you in the matter?
HEIRE.
Interest? I am entirely disinterested, Doctor! If I chuckle, it is on
behalf of my fellow citizens. There will be life, spirit, go, in things.
For my own part—good Lord, it’s all the same to me; I say, as the Grand
Turk said of the Emperor of Austria and the King of France—I don’t care
whether the pig eats the dog or the dog the pig.
[_Goes out towards the back on the right._
THE CROWD.
[_In the tent._] Long live Stensgård! Hurrah! Hurrah for the League of
Youth! Wine! Punch! Hei, hei! Beer! Hurrah!
BASTIAN.
[_Comes from the tent._] God bless you and every one! [_With tears in
his voice._] Oh, Doctor, I feel so strong this evening; I must do
something.
FIELDBO.
Don’t mind me. What would you like to do?
BASTIAN.
I think I’ll go down to the dancing-room and fight one or two fellows.
[_Goes out behind the tent._
STENSGÅRD.
[_Comes from the tent without his hat, and greatly excited._] My dear
Fieldbo, is that you?
FIELDBO.
At your service, Tribune of the People! For I suppose you’ve been
elected——?
STENSGÅRD.
Of course; but——
FIELDBO.
And what is to come of it all? What nice little post are you to have?
The management of the Bank? Or perhaps——
STENSGÅRD.
Oh, don’t talk to me like that! I know you don’t mean it. You are not so
empty and wooden as you like to appear.
FIELDBO.
Empty and wooden, eh?
STENSGÅRD.
Fieldbo! Be my friend as you used to be! We have not understood each
other of late. You have wounded and repelled me with your ridicule and
irony. Believe me, it was wrong of you. [_Embraces him._] Oh, my great
God! how happy I am!
FIELDBO.
You too? So am I, so am I!
STENSGÅRD.
Yes, I should be the meanest hound on earth if all heaven’s bounty
didn’t make me good and true. How have I deserved it, Fieldbo? What have
I, sinner that I am, done to be so richly blessed?
FIELDBO.
There is my hand! This evening I am your friend indeed!
STENSGÅRD.
Thanks! Be faithful and true, as I shall be!—Oh, isn’t it an unspeakable
joy to carry all that multitude away and along with you? How can you
help becoming good from mere thankfulness? And how it makes you love all
your fellow creatures! I feel as if I could clasp them all in one
embrace, and weep, and beg their forgiveness because God has been so
partial as to give me more than them.
FIELDBO.
[_Quietly._] Yes, treasures without price may fall to one man’s lot.
This evening I would not crush an insect, not a green leaf upon my path.
STENSGÅRD.
You?
FIELDBO.
Never mind. That’s apart from the question. I only mean that I
understand you.
STENSGÅRD.
What a lovely night! Listen to the music and merriment floating out over
the meadows. And how still it is in the valley! I tell you the man whose
life is not reconsecrated in such an hour, does not deserve to live on
God’s earth!
FIELDBO.
Yes; but tell me now: what do you mean to build up out of it—to-morrow,
and through the working-days to come?
STENSGÅRD.
To build up? We have to tear down first.— Fieldbo, I had once a dream—or
did I see it? No; it was a dream, but such a vivid one! I thought the
Day of Judgment was come upon the world. I could see the whole curve of
the hemisphere. There was no sun, only a livid storm-light. A tempest
arose; it came rushing from the west and swept everything before it:
first withered leaves, then men; but they kept on their feet all the
time, and their garments clung fast to them, so that they seemed to be
hurried along sitting. At first they looked like townspeople running
after their hats in a wind; but when they came nearer they were emperors
and kings; and it was their crowns and orbs they were chasing and
catching at, and seemed always on the point of grasping, but never
grasped. Oh, there were hundreds and hundreds of them, and none of them
understood in the least what was happening; but many bewailed
themselves, and asked: “Whence can it come, this terrible storm?” Then
there came the answer: “One Voice spoke, and the storm is the echo of
that one Voice.”
FIELDBO.
When did you dream that?
STENSGÅRD.
Oh, I don’t remember when; several years ago.
FIELDBO.
There were probably disturbances somewhere in Europe, and you had been
reading the newspapers after a heavy supper.
STENSGÅRD.
The same shiver, the same thrill, that then ran down my back, I felt
again to-night. Yes, I _will_ give my whole soul utterance. I will be
the Voice——
FIELDBO.
Come, my dear Stensgård, pause and reflect. You will be the Voice, you
say. Good! But where will you be the Voice? Here in the parish? Or at
most here in the county! And who will echo you and raise the storm? Why,
people like Monsen and Aslaksen, and that fat-headed genius, Mr.
Bastian. And instead of the flying emperors and kings, we shall see old
Lundestad rushing about after his lost seat in Parliament. Then what
will it all amount to? Just what you at first saw in your
dreamf—townsfolk in a wind.
STENSGÅRD.
In the beginning, yes. But who knows how far the storm may sweep?
FIELDBO.
Fiddlesticks with you and your storm: And the first thing you go and do,
hoodwinked and blinded and gulled as you are, is to turn your weapons
precisely against all that is worthy and capable among us——
STENSGÅRD.
That is not true.
FIELDBO.
It _is_ true! Monsen and the Stonelee gang got hold of you the moment
you came here; and if you don’t shake him off it will be your ruin.
Chamberlain Bratsberg is a man of honour; that you may rely on. Do you
know why the great Monsen hates him? Why, because——
STENSGÅRD.
Not a word more! I won’t hear a word against my friends!
FIELDBO.
Look into yourself, Stensgård! Is Mr. Mons Monsen really your friend?
STENSGÅRD.
Mr. Monsen has most kindly opened his doors to me——
FIELDBO.
To people of the better sort he opens his doors in vain.
STENSGÅRD.
Oh, whom do you call the better sort? A few stuck-up officials! I know
all about it. As for me, I have been received at Stonelee with so much
cordiality and appreciation——
FIELDBO.
Appreciation? Yes, unfortunately—there we are at the root of the matter.
STENSGÅRD.
Not at all! I can see with unprejudiced eyes. Mr. Monsen has abilities,
he has reading, he has a keen sense for public affairs.
FIELDBO.
Abilities? Oh, yes, in a way. Reading too: he takes in the papers, and
has read your speeches and articles. And his sense for public affairs he
has of course proved by applauding the said articles and speeches.
STENSGÅRD.
Now, Fieldbo, up come the dregs of your nature again. Can you never
shake off that polluting habit of thought? Why must you always assume
mean or ridiculous motives for everything? Oh, you are not serious! Now
you look good and true again. I’ll tell you the real root of the matter.
Do you know Ragna?
FIELDBO.
Ragna Monsen? Oh, after a fashion—at second hand.
STENSGÅRD.
Yes, I know she is sometimes at the Chamberlain’s.
FIELDBO.
In a quiet way, yes. She and Miss Bratsberg are old schoolfellows.
STENSGÅRD.
And what do you think of her?
FIELDBO.
Why, from all I have heard she seems to be a very good girl.
STENSGÅRD.
Oh, you should see her in her home! She thinks of nothing but her two
little sisters. And how devotedly she must have nursed her mother! You
know the mother was out of her mind for some years before she died.
FIELDBO.
Yes; I was their doctor at one time. But surely, my dear fellow, you
don’t mean that——
STENSGÅRD.
Yes, Fieldbo, I love her truly; to you I can confess it. Oh, I know what
you are surprised at. You think it strange that so soon after—of course
you know that I was engaged in Christiania?
FIELDBO.
Yes, so I was told.
STENSGÅRD.
The whole thing was a disappointment. I _had_ to break it off; it was
best for all parties. Oh, how I suffered in that affair! The torture,
the sense of oppression I endured——! Now, thank heaven, I am out of it
all. That was my reason for leaving town.
FIELDBO.
And with regard to Ragna Monsen, are you quite sure of yourself?
STENSGÅRD.
Yes, I am indeed. There’s no mistake possible in this case.
FIELDBO.
Well, then, in heaven’s name, go in and win! It means your life’s
happiness! Oh, there’s so much I could say to you——
STENSGÅRD.
Really? Has she said anything? Has she confided in Miss Bratsberg?
FIELDBO.
No; that’s not what I mean. But how can you, in the midst of your
happiness, go and fuddle yourself in these political orgies? _How_ can
town tattle take any hold upon a mind that is——
STENSGÅRD.
Why not? Man is a complex machine—I am, at any rate. Besides, my way to
her lies through these very party turmoils.
FIELDBO.
A terribly prosaic way.
STENSGÅRD.
Fieldbo, I am ambitious; you know I am. I must make my way in the world.
When I remember that I’m thirty, and am still on the first round of the
ladder, I feel my conscience gnawing at me.
FIELDBO.
Not with its wisdom teeth.
STENSGÅRD.
It’s of no use talking to you. You have never felt the spur of ambition.
You have dawdled and drifted all your days—first at college, then
abroad, now here.
FIELDBO.
Perhaps; but at least it has been delightful. And no reaction follows,
like what you feel when you get down from the table after——
STENSGÅRD.
Stop that! I can bear anything but that. You are doing a bad action—you
are damping my ardour.
FIELDBO.
Oh, come! If your ardour is so easily damped——
STENSGÅRD.
Stop, I say! What right have you to break in upon my happiness? Do you
think I am not sincere?
FIELDBO.
Yes, I am sure you are.
STENSGÅRD.
Well, then, why go and make me feel empty, and disgusted, and suspicious
of myself? [_Shouts and cheers from the tent._] There—listen! They are
drinking my health. An idea that can take such hold upon people—by God,
it _must_ have truth in it!
THORA BRATSBERG, RAGNA MONSEN, _and_ MR. HELLE _enter from the left and
cross, half-way back._
HELLE.
Look, Miss Bratsberg; there is Mr. Stensgård.
THORA.
Then I won’t go any further. Good-night, Ragna dear.
HELLE AND MISS MONSEN.
Good-night, good-night.
[_They go out to the right._
THORA.
[_Advancing._] I am Miss Bratsberg. I have a letter for you, from my
father.
STENSGÅRD.
For me?
THORA.
Yes; here it is. [_Going._
FIELDBO.
May I not see you home?
THORA.
No, thank you. I can go alone. Good-night.
[_Goes out to the left._
STENSGÅRD.
[_Reading the letter by a Chinese lantern._] What is this!
FIELDBO.
Well—what has the Chamberlain to say to you?
STENSGÅRD.
[_Bursts into loud laughter._] I must say I didn’t expect this!
FIELDBO.
Tell me——?
STENSGÅRD.
Chamberlain Bratsberg is a pitiful creature.
FIELDBO.
You dare to——
STENSGÅRD.
Pitiful! Pitiful. Tell any one you please that I said so. Or rather, say
nothing about it——[_Puts the letter in his pocket._] Don’t mention this
to any one!
[_The_ COMPANY _come out from the tent._
MONSEN.
Mr. President! Where is Mr. Stensgård?
THE CROWD.
There he is! Hurrah!
LUNDESTAD.
Mr. President has forgotten his hat.
[_Hands it to him._
ASLAKSEN.
Here; have some punch! Here’s a whole bowlful!
STENSGÅRD.
Thanks, no more.
MONSEN.
And the members of the League will recollect that we meet to-morrow at
Stonelee——
STENSGÅRD.
To-morrow? It wasn’t to-morrow, was it——?
MONSEN.
Yes, certainly; to draw up the manifesto——
STENSGÅRD.
No, I really can’t to-morrow—I shall see about it the day after
to-morrow, or the day after that. Well, good-night, gentlemen; hearty
thanks all round, and hurrah for the future!
THE CROWD.
Hurrah! Let’s take him home in triumph!
STENSGÅRD.
Thanks, thanks! But you really mustn’t——
ASLAKSEN.
We’ll all go with you.
STENSGÅRD.
Very well, come along. Good-night, Fieldbo; you’re not coming with us?
FIELDBO.
No; but let me tell you, what you said about Chamberlain Bratsberg——
STENSGÅRD.
Hush, hush! It was an exaggeration—I withdraw it! Well, my friends, if
you’re coming, come; I’ll take the lead.
MONSEN.
Your arm, Stensgård!
BASTIAN.
A song! Strike up! Something thoroughly patriotic!
THE CROWD.
A song! A song! Music!
[_A popular air is played and sung. The procession marches out
by the back to the right._
FIELDBO.
[_To_ LUNDESTAD, _who remains behind._] A gallant procession.
LUNDESTAD.
Yes—and with a gallant leader.
FIELDBO.
And where are you going, Mr. Lundestad?
LUNDESTAD.
I? I’m going home to bed.
[_He nods and goes off._ DOCTOR FIELDBO _remains behind alone._
-----
Footnote 1:
Letter to Lucie Wolf, May 1883. _Correspondence_, Letter 171.
Footnote 2:
See _Correspondence_, Letters 44 and 45.
Footnote 3:
“Chamberlain” (Kammerherre) is a title conferred by the King of Norway
upon men of wealth and position. Hereditary nobility was abolished in
1821.
Footnote 4:
Pronounce _Staynsgore_.
Footnote 5:
In the original “Storli.”
Footnote 6:
Pronounce _Hellë_.
Footnote 7:
Heire (pronounce _Heirë_) = Heron.
Footnote 8:
Married women and widows of the lower middle-class are addressed as
Madam in Norway.
Footnote 9:
The Norwegian “Independence Day.”
Footnote 10:
“Local situation” is a very ineffectual rendering of Aslaksen’s
phrase, “lokale forholde”—German, _Verhältnisse_—but there seems to be
no other which will fit into all the different contexts in which it
occurs. It reappears in _An Enemy of the People_, Act V
Footnote 11:
The system of indirect election obtains in Norway. The constituencies
choose a College of Electors, who, in turn, choose the Members of the
Storthing or Parliament. It is the preliminary “Election of Electors”
to which Monsen refers.
Footnote 12:
In this untranslatable passage Daniel Heire seems to be making a sort
of pun on _suffragium_ and _naufragium_.
Footnote 13:
In Norway, before an action comes into Court, the parties are bound to
appear in person before a Commission of Arbitration or Conciliation.
If the Commission can suggest an arrangement acceptable to both sides,
this arrangement has the validity of a judgment, and the case goes no
further. Counsel are not allowed to appear before the Commission.
ACT SECOND.
_A garden-room at the Chamberlains, elegantly furnished, with a piano,
flowers, and rare plants. Entrance door at the back. On the left,
a door leading to the dining-room; on the right, several glass
doors lead out to the garden._
ASLAKSEN _stands at the entrance door. A_ MAIDSERVANT _is carrying some
dishes of fruit into the dining-room._
THE MAID.
Yes, but I tell you they’re still at table; you must call again.
ASLAKSEN.
I’d rather wait, if I may.
THE MAID.
Oh yes, if you like. You can sit there for the present.
[_She goes into the dining-room._ ASLAKSEN _takes a seat near
the door. Pause._ DR. FIELDBO _enters from the back._
FIELDBO.
Ah, good evening, Aslaksen: are you here?
THE MAID.
[_Returning._] You’re late this evening, sir.
FIELDBO.
I was called to see a patient.
THE MAID.
The Chamberlain and Miss Bratsberg have both been inquiring about you.
FIELDBO.
Indeed?
THE MAID.
Yes. Won’t you go in at once, sir; or shall I say that——?
FIELDBO.
No, no; never mind. I can have a snack afterwards; I shall wait here in
the meantime.
THE MAID.
Dinner will soon be over.
[_She goes out by the back._
ASLAKSEN.
[_After a pause._] How can you resist such a dinner, Doctor—with
dessert, and fine wines, and all sorts of good things?
FIELDBO.
Why, man, it seems to me we get too many good things hereabouts, rather
than too few.
ASLAKSEN.
There I can’t agree with you.
FIELDBO.
H’m. I suppose you are waiting for someone.
ASLAKSEN.
Yes, I am.
FIELDBO.
And are things going tolerably at home? Your wife——?
ASLAKSEN.
In bed, as usual; coughing and wasting away.
FIELDBO.
And your second child?
ASLAKSEN.
Oh, he’s a cripple for the rest of his days; you know that. That’s our
luck, you see; what the devil’s the use of talking about it?
FIELDBO.
Let me look at you, Aslaksen!
ASLAKSEN.
Well; what do you want to see?
FIELDBO.
You’ve been drinking to-day.
ASLAKSEN.
Yes, and yesterday too.
FIELDBO.
Well, yesterday there was some excuse for it; but to-day——
ASLAKSEN.
What about your friends in there, then? Aren’t they drinking too?
FIELDBO.
Yes, my dear Aslaksen; that’s a fair retort; but circumstances differ so
in this world.
ASLAKSEN.
I didn’t choose my circumstances.
FIELDBO.
No; God chose them for you.
ASLAKSEN.
No, he didn’t—men chose them. Daniel Heire chose, when he took me from
the printing-house and sent me to college. And Chamberlain Bratsberg
chose, when he ruined Daniel Heire and sent me back to the
printing-house.
FIELDBO.
Now you know that’s not true. The Chamberlain did not ruin Daniel Heire;
Daniel Heire ruined himself.
ASLAKSEN.
Perhaps! But how dared Daniel Heire ruin himself, in the face of his
responsibilities towards me? God’s partly to blame too, of course. Why
should he give me talent and ability? Well, of course I could have
turned them to account as a respectable handicraftsman; but then comes
that tattling old fool——
FIELDBO.
It’s base of you to say that. Daniel Heire acted with the best
intentions.
ASLAKSEN.
What good do his “best intentions” do me? You hear them in there,
clinking glasses and drinking healths? Well, I too have sat at that
table in my day, dressed in purple and fine linen, like the best of
them——! That was just the thing for me, that was—for me, that had read
so much and had thirsted so long to have my share in all the good things
of life. Well, well; how long was Jeppe in Paradise?[14] Smash, crash!
down you go—and my fine fortunes fell to pie, as we printers say.
FIELDBO.
But, after all, you were not so badly off; you had your trade to fall
back upon.
ASLAKSEN.
That’s easily said. After getting out of your class you can’t get into
it again. They took the ground from under my feet, and shoved me out on
the slippery ice—and then they abuse me because I stumble.
FIELDBO.
Well, far be it from me to judge you harshly——
ASLAKSEN.