Norse Tales and Sketches by Alexander Lange Kielland

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The door opened; a glimmering yellow light fell upon the white faces; it
called to mind 'The Victims of Terrorism' in Luxembourg. Then all again
became dark, and the black-robed emissary of the College flitted through
the room like a bat, with the famous white document in his claws.

He began to read.

Never in my life had I been less inclined for leaping; and yet I started
violently at the first words. 'The monkey!' I had almost shouted; for he
it was--it was evidently the coffee-stain on page 496. The paper bore
precisely upon what I had read with so much energy the preceding night.

And I began to write. After a short, but superior and assured preamble,
I introduced the high-sounding words of Schweigaard, 'One might thus
certainly assume,' etc., and hurried down the left page, with unabated
vigour down the right, reached the monkey, dashed past him, began to
grope and fumble, and then I found I could not write a word more.

I felt that something was wanting, but I knew that it was useless to
speculate; what a man can't do, he can't. I therefore made a full stop,
and went away long before any of the others were half finished.

He has dismounted, thought my fellow-sufferers, or he may have leaped
wide of the hoop. For it was a difficult paper.

* * * * *

'Why,' said the advocate, as he read, 'you are better than I thought.
This is pure Schweigaard. You have left out the last point, but that
doesn't matter very much; one can see that you are well up in these
things. But why, then, were you so pitiably afraid of the process
yesterday?'

'I didn't know a thing.'

He laughed. 'Was it last night, then, that you learned your process?'

'Yes.'

'Did anyone help you?'

'Yes.'

'He must be a devil of a crammer who could put so much law into your
head in one night. May I ask what wizard it was?'

'A monkey!' I replied.

A TALE OF THE SEA.

Once there lay in a certain haven a large number of vessels. They had
lain there very long, not exactly on account of storm, but rather
because of a dead calm; and at last they had lain there until they no
longer heeded the weather.

All the captains had gradually become good friends; they visited from
ship to ship, and called one another 'Cousin.'

They were in no hurry to depart. Now and then a youthful steersman might
chance to let fall a word about a good wind and a smooth sea. But such
remarks were not tolerated; order had to be maintained on a ship. Those,
therefore, who could not hold their tongues were set ashore.

Matters could not, however, go on thus for ever. Men are not so good as
they ought to be, and all do not thrive under law and order.

The crews at length began to murmur a little; they were weary of
painting and polishing the cabins, and of rowing the captains to and
from the toddy suppers. It was rumoured that individual ships were
getting ready for sailing. The sails of some were set one by one in all
silence, the anchors were weighed without song, and the ships glided
quietly out of the harbour; others sailed while their captains slept.
Fighting and mutiny were also heard of; but then there came help from
the neighbour captains, the malcontents were punished and put ashore,
and all moorings were carefully examined and strengthened.

Nevertheless, all the ships, except one, at last left the harbour. They
did not all sail with like fortune; one and another even came in again
for a time, damaged. Others were little heard of. The captain of one
ship, it was said, was thrown overboard by his men; another sailed with
half the crew in irons, none knew where. But yet they were all in
motion, each striving after its own fashion, now in storm, now in calm,
towards its goal.

As stated, only one ship remained in the harbour, and it lay safe and
sound, with two anchors at the bottom and three great cables attached to
the quay.

It was a strange little craft. The hull was old, but it had been newly
repaired, and they had given it a smart little modern figurehead, which
contrasted strangely with the smooth sides and the heavy stern. One
could see that the rigging had originally belonged to a large vessel,
but had been very hastily adapted to the smaller hull, and this still
further increased the want of proportion in the brig's whole appearance.
Then it was painted with large portholes for guns, like a man-of-war,
and always carried its flag at the main-mast.

The skipper was no common man. He himself had painted the sketch of the
brig that hung in the cabin, and, besides, he could sing--both psalms
and songs. Indeed, there were those who maintained that he composed the
songs himself; but this was most probably a lie. And it was certainly a
lie that they whispered in the forecastle: that the skipper had not
quite got his sea-legs. Young men always tell such stories to
cabin-boys, in order to appear manly. And, besides, there was a
steersman on the brig, who could, on a pinch, easily round the headlands
alone.

He had sailed as steersman for many years of our Lord, ever since the
time of the skipper's late father. He had become as if glued to the
tiller, and many could scarcely imagine the old brig with a new
steersman.

He had certainly never voyaged in distant waters; but as his trade had
always been the same, and as he had invariably been in the company of
others, the brig had sailed pretty fortunately, without special damage
and without special merit.

Therefore, both he and the skipper had arrived at the conviction that
none could sail better than they, and hence they cared little what the
others did. They looked up at the sky and shook their heads.

The men felt quite comfortable, for they were not used to better things.
Most of them could not understand why the crews of the other ships were
in such a hurry to be off; the month went round all the same, whether
one lay in port or sailed, and then it was better to avoid work. So long
as the skipper made no sign of preparation for sailing, the men might
keep their minds easy, for he must surely have the most interest in
getting away. And besides, they all knew what sort of fellow the
steersman was, and if such a capable and experienced man lay still, they
might be quite sure that he had good and powerful reasons.

But a little party among the crew--some quite youthful persons--thought
it was a shame to let themselves be thus left astern by everybody. They
had, indeed, no special advantage or profit to expect from the voyage,
but at last the inaction became intolerable, and they conceived the
daring resolve of sending a youth aft to beg the captain to fix a date
for sailing.

The more judicious among the crew crossed themselves, and humbly
entreated the young man to keep quiet; but the latter was a rash
greenhorn, who had sailed in foreign service, and therefore imagined
himself to be a 'regular devil of a fellow.' He went right aft and down
into the cabin, where the skipper and the steersman sat with their
whisky before them, playing cards.

'We would ask if the skipper would kindly set sail next week, for now we
are all so weary of lying here,' said the young man, looking the skipper
straight in the eyes without winking.

The latter's face first turned pale blue, and then assumed a deep violet
tint; but he restrained himself, and said, as was his invariable custom:

'What think you, steersman?'

'H'm,' replied the steersman slowly. More he never used to say at first,
when he was questioned, for he did not like to answer promptly. But when
he got an opportunity of speaking alone, without being interrupted, he
could utter the longest sentences and the very hardest words. And then
the skipper was especially proud of him.

However short the steersman's reply might seem, the skipper at once
understood its meaning. He turned towards the youth--gravely, but
gracefully, for he was an exceedingly well-bred man.

'You cursed young fool! don't you think I understand these things better
than you? I, who have thought of nothing but being a skipper since I was
knee-high! But I know well enough what you and the like of you are
thinking about. You don't care a d---- about the craft, and if you could
only get the power from us old ones, you would run her on the first
islet you came to, so that you might plunder her of the whisky. But
there will be none of that, my young whelp! Here we shall lie, as long
as I choose.'

When this decision reached the forecastle, it awoke great indignation
among the young and immature, which, indeed, was only to be expected.
But even the skipper's friends and admirers shook their heads, and
opined that it was a nasty answer; after all, it was only a civil
question, which ought not to compromise anybody.

There now arose a growing ill-humour--something quite unheard-of among
these peaceable fellows. Even the skipper, who was not usually quick to
understand or remark anything, thought he saw many sullen faces, and he
was no longer so well pleased with the bearing of the crew when he
stepped out upon deck with his genial 'Good-morning, you rogues.'

But the steersman had long scented something, for he had a fine nose and
long ears. Therefore, a couple of evenings after the young man's
unfortunate visit, it was remarked that something extraordinary was
brewing aft.

The cabin-boy had to make three journeys with the toddy-kettle, and the
report he gave in the forecastle after his last trip was indeed
disquieting.

The steersman seemed to have talked without intermission for two hours;
before them on the table lay barometer, chronometer, sextant, journal,
and half the ship's library. This consisted of Kingo's hymn-book and an
old Dutch 'Kaart-Boikje'; [Footnote: Chart-book.] for the skipper could
do just as little with the new hymns as the steersman with the new
charts.

The skipper now sat prodding the chart with a large pair of compasses,
while the steersman talked, using all his longest and hardest words.
There was one word in particular that was often repeated, and this the
boy learned by heart. He said it over and over again to himself as he
went up the cabin stairs and passed along the deck to the forecastle,
and the moment he opened the door he shouted:

'Initiative! Mind that word, boys! Write it down--initiative!'

_In-i-ti-a-tive_ was with much difficulty spelt out and written with
chalk on the table. And during the boy's long statement all these men
sat staring, uneasily and with anxious expectancy, at this long, mystic
word.

'And then,' concluded the cabin-boy at last--'then says the steersman:
"But we ourselves shall take the--" what is written on the table.'

All exclaimed simultaneously, 'Initiative.'

'Yes, that was it. And every time he said it, they both struck the table
and looked at me as if they would eat me. I now think, therefore, that
it is a new kind of revolver they intend to use upon us.'

But none of the others thought so; it was surely not so bad as that. But
something was impending, that was clear. And the relieved watchman went
to his berth with gloomy forebodings, and the middle watch did not get a
wink of sleep that night.

At seven o'clock next morning both skipper and steersman were up on
deck. No man could remember ever having seen them before so early in the
day. But there was no time to stand in amazement, for now followed, in
quick succession, orders for sailing.

'Heave up the anchors! Let two men go ashore and slip the cables!'

There was gladness and bustle among the crew, and the preparations
proceeded so rapidly that in less than an hour the brig was under
canvas.

The skipper looked at the steersman and shook his head, muttering, 'This
is the devil's own haste.'

After a few little turns in the spacious harbour, the brig passed the
headland and stood out to sea. A fresh breeze was blowing, and the waves
ran rather high.

The steersman, with a prodigious twist in his mouth, stood astride the
tiller, for such a piece of devil's trumpery as a wheel should never
come on board as long as _he_ had anything to say in the matter.

The skipper stood on the cabin stairs, with his head above the
companion. His face was of a somewhat greenish hue, and he frequently
ran down into the cabin. The old boatswain believed that he went to look
at the chart, the young man thought he drank whisky, but the cabin-boy
swore that he went below to vomit.

The men were in excellent spirits; it was so refreshing to breathe the
sea air, and to feel the ship once again moving under their feet.
Indeed, the old brig herself seemed to be in a good humour; she dived as
deep down between the seas as she could, and raised much more foam than
was necessary.

The young sailors looked out for heavy seas. 'Here comes a whopper,'
they shouted; 'if it would only hit us straight!' And it did.

It was a substantial sea, larger than the others. It approached
deliberately, and seemed to lie down and take aim. It then rose
suddenly, and gave the brig, which was chubby as a cherub, such a
mighty slap on the port cheek that she quivered in every timber. And
high over the railing, far in upon the deck, dashed the cold salt spray;
the captain had scarcely time to duck his head below the companion.

Ah, how refreshing it was! It exhilarated both old and young; they had
not had a taste of the cold sea-water for a long time, and with one
voice the whole crew broke into a lusty 'Hurrah!'

But at this moment the steerman's stentorian voice rang out: 'Hard to
leeward!' The brig luffed up close to the wind, the sails flapped so
violently that the rigging shook, and now followed in rapid succession,
even quicker than before, orders to anchor. 'Let fall the port anchor!
Let go the starboard one too!'

Plump--fell the one; plump--went the other. The old chains rattled out,
and a little red cloud of rust rose up on either side of the bowsprit.

The men, accustomed to obey, worked rapidly without thinking why, and
the brig soon rode pretty quietly at her two anchors.

But now, after the work was finished, no one could conceal his
astonishment at this sudden anchoring, just off the coast, among islets
and skerries. And still more extraordinary seemed the behaviour of those
in command. For they both stood right forward, with their backs to the
weather, leaning over the railing and staring at the port bow. Some had
even thought they had heard the captain cry, 'To the pumps, men,' but
this point was never cleared up.

'What the devil can they be doing forward?' said the rash young man.

'They think she struck on a reef when we shipped the big sea,' whispered
the cabin-boy.

'Hold your jaw, boy!' said the boatswain.

All the same, the cabin-boy's words passed from mouth to mouth; a little
chuckle was heard here and there; the men's faces became more and more
ludicrously uneasy, and their suppressed laughter was on the point of
bursting forth. Then the steersman was seen to nudge the skipper in the
side.

'Yes; but then you must whisper to me,' said the latter.

The steersman nodded, and then the skipper turned to the crew and
solemnly spoke as follows:

'Yes, this time, fortunately, everything went well; but now I hope that
each of you will have learnt how dangerous it is to lend an ear to these
juvenile agitators, who can never be quiet and let evolution, as the
steersman says, pursue its natural course. I yielded to your wishes this
time, it is true, but not because I approved of your insane rashness; it
was simply that I might convince you by--by the logic of events. And
see--how did things go? Certainly we have, as by a miracle, been spared
the worst; but now we lie here, outside our safe haven, our old
anchorage, which we have forsaken to be tossed about on the turbulent
waters of the unknown and the untried. But, believe me, henceforth you
will find both our excellent steersman and your captain at our post,
guarding against such crude, immature projects. And if things go badly
with us in days to come, you must all remember that it is entirely your
own fault; we wash our hands of the matter.'

Thereupon he strode through the men, who respectfully fell back to let
him pass. The steersman, who had really whispered, dried his eyes and
followed. They both disappeared in the cabin.

* * * * *

There was much strife in the forecastle that day, and it grew worse
after.

The brig's happy days were all over. Dissension and discontent,
suspicion and obstinacy, converted the narrow limits of the forecastle
into a veritable hell.

Only skipper and steersman seemed to thrive well under all this. The
general dissatisfaction did not affect them; for they, of course, were
not to blame.

None thought of any change. The crew had done what they could, and the
skipper, on his part, had also been accommodating.

Now they might keep their minds at rest. The brig lay in a dangerous
place, but now she would have to lie--and there she lies to this day.

A DINNER.

There was a large dinner-party at the merchant's. The judge had made a
speech in honour of the home-coming of the student, the eldest son of
the house, and the merchant had replied with another in honour of the
judge; so far all was well and good. And yet one could see that the host
was disquieted about something. He answered inconsequentially, decanted
Rhine wine into port, and betrayed absence of mind in all manner of
ways.

He was meditating upon a speech--a speech beyond the scope of the
regulation after-dinner orations. This was something very remarkable;
for the merchant was no speaker, and--what was still more remarkable--he
knew it himself.

When, therefore, well on in the dinner, he hammered upon the table for
silence, and said that he must give expression to a sentiment that lay
at his heart, everybody instantly felt that something unusual was
impending.

There fell such a sudden stillness upon the table, that one could hear
the lively chatter of the ladies, who, in accordance with Norse custom,
were dining in the adjoining rooms.

At length the silence reached even them, and they crowded in the doorway
to listen. Only the hostess held back, sending her husband an anxious
look. 'Ah, dear me!' she sighed, half aloud, 'he is sure to make a
muddle of it. He has already made all his speeches; what would he be at
now?'

And he certainly did not begin well. He stammered, cleared his throat,
got entangled among the usual toast expressions, such as 'I will not
fail to--ahem--I am impelled to express my, my--that is, I would beg
you, gentlemen, to assist me in--'

The gentlemen sat and stared down into their glasses, ready to empty
them upon the least hint of a conclusion. But none came. On the
contrary, the speaker recovered himself.

For something really lay at his heart. His joy and pride over his son,
who had come home sound and well after having passed a respectable
examination, the judge's flattering speech, the good cheer, the wine,
the festive mood--all this put words into his mouth. And when he got
over the fatal introductory phrases, the words came more and more
fluently.

It was the toast of 'The Young.' The speaker dwelt upon our
responsibility towards children, and the many sorrows--but also the many
joys--that the parents have in them.

He was from time to time compelled to talk quickly to hide his emotion,
for he felt what he said.

And when he came to the grown-up children, when he imagined his dear son
a partner in his business, and spoke of grandchildren and so on, his
words acquired a ring of eloquence which astonished all his hearers, and
his peroration was greeted with hearty applause.

'For, gentlemen, it is in these children that we, as it were, continue
our existence. We leave them not only our name, but also our work. And
we leave them this, not that they may idly enjoy its fruits, but that
they may continue it, extend it--yes, do it much better than their
fathers were able to. For it is our hope that the rising generation may
appropriate the fruits of the work of the age, that they may be freed
from the prejudices that have darkened the past and partially darken the
present; and, in drinking the health of the young, let us wish that,
steadily progressing, they may become worthy of their sires--yes, let us
say it--outgrow them.

'And only when we know that we leave the work of our generation in abler
hands, can we calmly look forward to the time when we shall bid adieu to
our daily task, and then we may confidently reckon upon a bright and
glorious future for our dear Fatherland. A health to the Young!'

The hostess, who had ventured nearer when she heard that the speech was
going on well, was proud of her husband; the whole company was in an
exhilarated humour, but the gladdest of all was the student.

He had stood a little in awe of his father, whose severely patriarchal
principles he well knew. He now heard that the old man was extremely
liberal-minded towards youth, and he was very glad to be enabled to
discourse with him upon serious matters.

But, for the moment, it was only a question of jesting; _a propos_ of
the toast, there ensued one of those interesting table-talks, about who
was really young and who old. After the company had arrived at this
witty result, that the eldest were in reality the youngest, they
adjourned to the dessert-table, which was laid in the ladies' room.

But, no matter how gallant the gentlemen--especially those of the old
school--may be towards the fair sex, neither feminine amiability nor the
most _recherche_ dessert has power to stop them for long on their way to
the smoking-room. And soon the first faint aroma of cigars, so great a
luxury to smokers, announced the beginning of that process which has
obtained for our ladies the fame of being quite smoke-dried.

The student and a few other young gentlemen remained for a time with
the young ladies--under the strict surveillance of the elder ones. But
little by little they also were swallowed up in the gray cloud which
indicated the way that their fathers had taken.

In the smoking-room they were carrying on a very animated conversation
upon some matter of social politics. The host, who was speaking,
supported his view with a number of 'historical facts,' which, however,
were entirely unreliable.

His opponent, a solicitor of the High Court, was sitting chuckling
inwardly at the prospect of refuting these inaccurate statements, when
the student entered the room.

He came just in time to hear his father's blundering, and, in his jovial
humour, in his delight over the new conception of his father that he had
acquired after the toast, he said, with a cheery bluntness:

'Excuse me, father, you are mistaken there. The circumstances are not at
all as you state. On the contrary--'

He got no further: the father laughingly slapped him on the shoulder,
and said:

'There, there! are you, too, trifling with newspapers! But really, you
must not disturb us; we are in the middle of a serious discussion.'

The son heard an irritating sniff from the gray cloud; he was provoked
at the scorn implied in his interposition being regarded as disturbing a
serious conversation.

He therefore replied somewhat sharply.

The father, who instantly remarked the tone, suddenly changed his own
manner.

'Are you serious in coming here and saying that your father is talking
nonsense?'

'I did not say that; I only said that you were mistaken.'

'The words are of little moment, but the meaning was there,' said the
merchant, who was beginning to get angry. For he heard a gentleman say
to his neighbour:

'If this had only happened in my father's time!'

One word now drew forth another, and the situation became extremely
painful.

The hostess, who had always an attentive ear for the gentlemen's
conversation, as she knew her husband's hasty temper, immediately came
and looked in at the door.

'What is it, Adjunct [Footnote: Assistant-teacher.] Hansen?'

'Ah,' replied Hansen, 'your son has forgotten himself a little.'

'To his own father! He must have had too much to drink. Dear Hansen, try
and get him out.'

The Adjunct, who was more well-meaning than diplomatic, and who, besides
(a rarer thing with old teachers than is generally supposed) was
esteemed by his former pupils, went and took the student without
ceremony by the arm, saying: 'Come, shall we two take a turn in the
garden?'

The young man turned round violently, but when he saw that it was the
old teacher, and received, at the same time, a troubled, imploring
glance from his mother, he passively allowed himself to be led away.

While in the doorway, he heard the lawyer, whom he had never been able
to endure, say something about the egg that would teach the hen to lay,
which witticism was received with uproarious laughter. A thrill passed
through him; but the Adjunct held him firmly, and out they went.

It was long before the old teacher could get him sufficiently quieted to
become susceptible to reason. The disappointment, the bitter sense of
being at variance with his father, and, not least, the affront of being
treated as a boy in the presence of so many--all this had to pour out
for awhile.

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