MARRIED

by

AUGUST STRINDBERG

CONTENTS

ASRA

LOVE AND BREAD

COMPELLED TO

COMPENSATION

FRICTIONS

UNNATURAL SELECTION

AN ATTEMPT AT REFORM

A NATURAL OBSTACLE

A DOLL'S HOUSE

PHOENIX

ROMEO AND JULIA

PROLIFICACY

AUTUMN

COMPULSORY MARRIAGE

CORINNA

UNMARRIED AND MARRIED

A DUEL

HIS SERVANT

THE BREADWINNER

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Strindberg's works in English translation: Plays translated by EdwinBjorkman; _Master Olof_, American Scandinavian Foundation, 1915; _TheDream Play, The Link, The Dance of Death_, New York, CharlesScribner's Sons, 1912; _Swanwhite, Simoon, Debit and Credit, Advent, The Thunderstorm, After the Fire, _ the same, 1913; _There Are Crimesand Crimes, Miss Julia, The Stronger, Creditors, Pariah_, the same, 1913; Bridal Crown, _The Spook Sonata, The First Warning, GustavusVasa_, the same, 1916. Plays translated by Edith and Warner Oland, Boston Luce & Co. , Vol. I (1912), _The Father, Countess Julie, TheStronger, The Outlaw_; Vol. II (1912), _Facing Death, Easter, Pariah, Comrades_; Vol. III (1914), Swanwhite, Advent, The Storm, Lucky Pehr_, tr. By Velma Swanston Howard, Cincinnati, Stewart & Kidd Co. , 1912. _The Red Room_, tr. By Ellie Schleussner, New York, Putnam's, 1913;_Confession of a Fool_, tr. By S. Swift, London, F. Palmer, 1912; _TheGerman Lieutenant and Other Stories_, Chicago, A. C. McClurg & Co. , 1915; _In Midsummer Days and Other Tales_, tr. By Ellie Schleussner, London, H. Latimer, 1913; _Motherlove_, tr. By Francis J. Ziegler, Philadelphia, Brown Bros. , 2nd ed. , 1916, _On the Seaboard_, tr. ByElizabeth Clarke Westergren, Cincinnati, Stewart & Kidd Co. , 1913;_The Son of a Servant_, tr. By. Claud Field, introduction by HenryVacher-Burch, New York, Putnam's, 1913; _The Growth of a Soul_, tr. ByClaud Field, London, W. Rider & Co. , 1913; _The Inferno_, tr. By ClaudField, New York, Putnam's, 1913; _Legends, Autobiographical Sketches_, London, A. Melrose, 1912; _Zones of the Spirit_, tr. By Claud Field, introduction by Arthur Babillotte, London, G. Allen & Co. 

INTRODUCTION

These stories originally appeared in two volumes, the first in 1884, the second in 1886. The latter part of the present edition is thusseparated from the first part by a lapse of two years. 

Strindberg's views were continually undergoing changes. Constancy wasnever a trait of his. He himself tells us that opinions are but thereflection of a man's experiences, changing as his experiences change. In the two years following the publication of the first volume, Strindberg's experiences were such as to exercise a decisive influenceon his views on the woman question and to transmute his earlypredisposition to woman-hating from a passive tendency to a positive, active force in his character and writing. 

Strindberg's art in _Married_ is of the propagandist, of the fighterfor a cause. He has a lesson to convey and he makes frankly for hisgoal without attempting to conceal his purpose under the gloss of"pure" art. He chooses the story form in preference to the treatise asa more powerful medium to drive home his ideas. That the result hasproved successful is due to the happy admixture in Strindberg ofthinker and artist. His artist's sense never permitted him to distortor misrepresent the truth for the sake of proving his theories. Infact, he arrived at his theories not as a scholar through the study ofbooks, but as an artist through the experience of life. When life hadimpressed upon him what seemed to him a truth, he then applied hisintellect to it to bolster up that truth. Hence it is that, howeveropinionated Strindberg may at times seem, his writings carry thatconviction which we receive only when the author reproduces' truths hehas obtained first-hand from life. One-sided he may occasionally be in_Married_, especially in the later stories, but rarely unfaithful. Hismanner is often to throw such a glaring searchlight upon one spot oflife that all the rest of it stays in darkness; but the places he doesshow up are never unimportant or trivial. They are well worth seeingwith Strindberg's brilliant illumination thrown upon them. 

August Strindberg has left a remarkably rich record of his life invarious works, especially in his autobiographical series of novels. Hewas born in 1849 in Stockholm. His was a sad childhood passed inextreme poverty. He succeeded in entering the University of Upsala in1867, but was forced for a time on account of lack of means tointerrupt his studies. He tried his fortune as schoolmaster, actor, and journalist and made an attempt to study medicine. All the while hewas active in a literary way, composing his first plays in 1869. In1874 he obtained a position in the Royal Library, where he devotedhimself to scientific studies, learned Chinese in order to cataloguethe Chinese manuscripts, and wrote an erudite monograph which was readat the Academy of Inscriptions in Paris. 

His first important literary productions were the drama _Master Olof_(1878) and the novel _The Red Room_ (1879). Disheartened by thefailure of _Master Olof_, he gave up literature for a long time. Whenhe returned to it, he displayed an amazing productivity. Work followedwork in quick succession--novels, short stories, dramas, histories, historical studies, and essays. _The Swedish People_ is said to be themost popular book in Sweden next to the Bible. The mere enumeration ofhis writings would occupy more than two pages. His versatility led himto make researches in physics and chemistry and natural science and towrite on those subjects. 

Through works like _The Red Room_, _Married_, and the dramas _TheFather_ and _Miss Julia_, Strindberg attached himself to thenaturalistic school of literature. Another period of literaryinactivity followed, during which he passed through a mental crisisakin to insanity. When he returned to the writing of novels and dramashe was no longer a naturalist, but a symbolist and mystic. Among theplays he composed in this style are _To Damascus_, _The Dream Play_, and _The Great Highway_. 

Strindberg married three times, divorced his first two wives, butseparated amicably from the third. He died in 1913. The vastdemonstration at his funeral, attended by the laboring classes as wellas by the "upper" classes, proved that, in spite of the antagonisms hehad aroused, Sweden unanimously awarded him the highest place in herliterature. 

THOMAS SELTZER. 

ASRA

He had just completed his thirteenth year when his mother died. Hefelt that he had lost a real friend, for during the twelve months ofher illness he had come to know her personally, as it were, andestablished a relationship between them which is rare between parentsand children. He was a clever boy and had developed early; he had reada great many books besides his schoolbooks, for his father, aprofessor of botany at the Academy of Science, possessed a very goodlibrary. His mother, on the other hand, was not a well-educated woman;she had merely been head housekeeper and children's nurse in herhusband's house. Numerous births and countless vigils (she had notslept through a single night for the last sixteen years), hadexhausted her strength, and when she became bedridden, at the age ofthirty-nine, and was no longer able to look after her house, she madethe acquaintance of her second son; her eldest boy was at a militaryschool and only at home during the week ends. Now that her part asmother of the family was played to the end and nothing remained of herbut a poor invalid, the old-fashioned relationship of strict discipline, that barrier between parents and children, was superseded. The thirteen-year-old son was almost constantly at her bedside, reading to her whenever he was not at school or doing home lessons. She had many questions to ask and he had a great deal to explain, andtherefore all those distinguishing marks erected by age and positionvanished, one after the other: if there was a superior at all, it wasthe son. But the mother, too, had much to teach, for she had learnther lessons in the school of life; and so they were alternatelyteacher and pupil. They discussed all subjects. With the tact of amother and the modesty of the other sex she told her son all he oughtto know of the mystery of life. He was still innocent, but he hadheard many things discussed by the boys at school which had shockedand disgusted him. The mother explained to him all she could explain;warned him of the greatest danger to a young man, and exacted apromise from him never to visit a house of ill-fame, not even out ofcuriosity, because, as she pointed out, in such a case no man couldever trust himself. And she implored him to live a temperate life, andturn to God in prayer whenever temptation assaulted him. 

His father was entirely devoted to science, which was a sealed book tohis wife. When the mother was already on the point of death, he made adiscovery which he hoped would make his name immortal in the scientificworld. He discovered, on a rubbish heap, outside the gates of Stockholm, a new kind of goose-foot with curved hairs on the usually straight-hairedcalyx. He was in communication with the Berlin Academy of Sciences, andthe latter was even now considering the advisability of including the newvariety in the "Flora Germanica"; he was daily expecting to hear whetheror not the Academy had decided to immortalise his name by calling theplant Chenopodium Wennerstroemianium. At his wife's death-bed he wasabsentminded, almost unkind, for he had just received an answer in theaffirmative, and he fretted because neither he nor his wife could enjoythe great news. She thought only of heaven and her children. He could nothelp realising that to talk to her now of a calyx with curved hairs wouldbe the height of absurdity; but, he justified himself, it was not somuch a question of a calyx with straight or curved hairs, as of ascientific discovery; and, more than that, it was a question of hisfuture and the future of his children, for their father's distinctionmeant bread for them. 

When his wife died on the following evening, he cried bitterly; he hadnot shed a tear for many years. He was tortured by remorse, rememberedeven the tiniest wrong he had ever done her, for he had been, on thewhole, an exemplary husband; his indifference, his absent-mindednessof the previous day, filled him with shame and regret, and in a momentof blankness he realised all the pettishness and selfishness of hisscience which, he had imagined, was benefiting mankind. But theseemotions were short-lived; if you open a door with a spring behind it, it will close again immediately. On the following morning, after hehad drawn up an announcement of her death for the papers, he wrote aletter of thanks to the Berlin Academy of Sciences. After that heresumed his work. 

When he came home to dinner, he longed for his wife, so that he mighttell her of his success, for she had always been his truest friend, the only human being who had never been jealous or envious. Now hemissed this loyal companion on whose approval he could count as amatter of course; never once had she contradicted him, for since henever told her more than the practical result of his researches, therewas no room for argument. For a moment the thought occurred to himthat he might make friends with his son; but they knew each other toolittle; their relationship was that of officer and private soldier. His superior rank did not permit him to make advances; moreover, heregarded the boy with suspicion, because the latter possessed a keenerintellect and had read a number of new books which were unknown tohim; occasionally it even happened that the father, the professor, plainly revealed his ignorance to his son, the school-boy. In suchcases the father was either compelled to dismiss the argument, with afew contemptuous remarks to "these new follies, " or peremptorily orderthe school-boy to attend to his lessons. Once or twice, in self-defence, the son had produced one or other of his school-books; the professorhad lost his temper and wished the new school-books to hell. 

And so it came about that the father devoted himself to hiscollections of dried plants and the son went his own way. 

They lived in a quiet street to the left of the Observatory, in asmall, one-storey house, built of bricks, and surrounded by a largegarden; the garden was once the property of the Horticultural Society, and had come into the professor's possession by inheritance. But sincehe studied descriptive botany, and took no interest in the much moreinteresting subjects of the physiology and morphology of plants, ascience which was as good as unknown in his youth, he was practicallya stranger to living nature. He allowed the garden with its manysplendours to become a wilderness, and finally let it to a gardener oncondition that he and his children should be allowed certainprivileges. The son used the garden as a park and enjoyed its beautyas he found it, without taking the trouble to try and understand itscientifically. 

One might compare the boy's character to an ill-proportionedcompensation pendulum; it contained too much of the soft metal of themother, not enough of the hard metal of the father. Friction andirregular oscillations were the natural consequences. Now he was fullof sentiment, now hard and sceptical. His mother's death affected himbeyond words. He mourned her deeply, and she always lived in his memoryas the personification of all that was good and great and beautiful. 

He wasted the summer following her death in brooding and novel-reading. Grief, and to no small extent idleness, had shaken his whole nervoussystem and quickened his imagination. His tears had been like warm Aprilshowers falling on fruit trees, wakening them to a precocious burgeoning:but alas! only too often the blossoms are doomed to wither and perish ina frosty May night, before the fruit has had time to set. 

He was fifteen years old and had therefore arrived at the age whencivilised man attains to manhood and is ripe to give life to a newgeneration, but is prevented from doing so by his inability tomaintain a family. Consequently he was about to begin the ten years'martyrdom which a young man is called upon to endure in the struggleagainst an overwhelming force of nature, before he is in a position tofulfil her laws. 

 * * * * *

It is a warm afternoon about Whitsuntide. The appletrees are gorgeousin their white splendour which nature has showered all over them witha profuse hand. The breeze shakes the crowns and fills the air withpollen; a part of it fulfils its destination and creates new life, apart sinks to the ground and dies. What is a handful of pollen more orless in the inexhaustible store-house of nature! The fertilised blossomcasts off its delicate petals which flutter to the ground and wither;they decay in the rain and are ground to dust, to rise again through thesap and re-appear as blossoms, and this time, perhaps, to become fruit. But now the struggle begins: those which a kind fate has placed on thesunny side, thrive and prosper; the seed bud swells, and if no frostintervenes, the fruit, in due time, will set. But those which looktowards the North, the poor things which grow in the shadow of theothers and never see the sun, are predestined to fade and fall off;the gardener rakes them together and carts them to the pig-sty. 

Behold the apple-tree now, its branches laden with half-ripe fruit, little, round, golden apples with rosy cheeks. A fresh strugglebegins: if all remain alive, the branches will not be able to beartheir weight, the tree will perish. A gale shakes the branches. Itrequires firm stems to hold on. Woe to the weaklings! they arecondemned to destruction. 

A fresh danger! The apple-weevil appears upon the scene. It, too, hasto maintain life and to fulfil a duty towards its progeny. The grubeats its way through the fruit to the stem and the apple falls to theground. But the dainty beetle chooses the strongest and soundest forits brood, otherwise too many of the strong ones would be allowed tolive, and competition would become over-keen. 

The hour of twilight, the gathering dusk, arouses the passionateinstincts of the beast-world. The night-crow crouches on the newly-dugflower-bed to lure its mate. Which of the eager males shall carry theprize? Let them decide the question!

The cat, sleek and warm, fresh from her evening milk, steals away fromher corner by the hearth and picks her way carefully among daffodilsand lilies, afraid lest the dew make her coat damp and ragged beforeher lover joins her. She sniffs at the young lavender and calls. Hercall is answered by the black tom-cat which appears, broad-backed likea marten, on the neighbour's fence; but the gardener's tortoise-shellapproaches from the cow-shed and the fight begins. Handfuls of therich, black soil are flying about in all directions, and thenewly-planted radishes and spinach plants are roughly awakened fromtheir quiet sleep and dreams of the future. The stronger of the tworemains in possession of the field, and the female awaits complacentlythe frenetic embraces of the victor. The vanquished flies to engage ina new struggle in which, perhaps, victory will smile on him. 

Nature smiles, content, for she knows of no other sin than the sinagainst her law; she is on the side of the strong for her desire isfor strong children, even though she should have to kill the "eternalego" of the insignificant individual. And there is no prudery, nohesitation, no fear of consequences, for nature has plenty of food forall her children--except mankind. 

 * * * * *

After supper he went for a walk in the garden while his father satdown at his bed-room window to smoke a pipe and read the eveningpaper. He strolled along the paths, revelling in the delicious odourswhich a plant only exhales when it is in full bloom, and which is thefinest and strongest extract of etheric oils, containing in acondensed form the full strength of the individual, destined to becomethe representative of the species. He listened to the nuptial song ofthe insects above the lime trees, which rings in our ears like afuneral dirge: he heard the purring call of the night-crow; the ardentmewing of the cat, which sounds as if death, and not life, werewooing; the humming note of the dung-beetle, the fluttering of thelarge moths, the thin peeping of the bats. 

He stopped before a bed of narcissus, gathered one of the while, starry flowers, and inhaled its perfume until he felt the bloodhammering in his temples. He had never examined this flower minutely. But during the last term they had read Ovid's story of Narcissus. Hehad not discovered a deeper meaning in the legend. What did it mean, this story of a youth who, from unrequited love, turned his ardourupon himself and was consumed by the flame when he fell in love withhis own likeness seen in a well? As he stood, examining the white, cup-shaped petals, pale as the cheeks of an invalid with fine redlines such as one may see in the faces of consumptives when a pitilesscough forces the blood into the extremest and tiniest blood-vessels, he thought of a school-fellow, a young aristocrat, who was amidshipman now; he looked like that. 

When he had inhaled the scent of the flower for some time, the strongodour of cloves disappeared and left but a disagreeable, soapy smellwhich made him feel sick. 

He sauntered on to where the path turned to the right and finally lostitself in an avenue planted on both sides with elm-trees whose brancheshad grown together and formed an arch overhead. In the semi-darkness, far down the perspective, he could see a large green swing, suspendedby ropes, slowly moving backwards and forwards. A girl stood on theback board, gently swinging herself by bending her knees and throwingher body forward, while she clung, with arms raised high above her head, to the ropes at her side. He recognised the gardener's daughter, a girlwho had been confirmed last Easter and had just begun to wear longskirts. To-night, however, she was dressed in one of her old dresseswhich barely reached to her ankles. 

The sight of the young man embarrassed her, for she remembered theshortness of her skirt, but she nevertheless remained on the swing. Headvanced and looked at her. 

"Go away, Mr. Theodore, " said the girl, giving the swing a vigorouspush. 

"Why should I?" answered the youth, who felt the draught of herfluttering skirts on his throbbing temples. 

"Because I want you to, " said the girl. 

"Let me come up, too, and I'll swing you, Gussie, " pleaded Theodore, springing on to the board. 

Now he was standing on the swing, facing her. And when they rose intothe air, he felt her skirts flapping against his legs, and when theydescended, he bent over her and looked into her eyes which werebrilliant with fear and enjoyment. Her thin cotton blouse fittedtightly and showed every line of her young figure; her smiling lipswere half-open, displaying two rows of sound white teeth, which lookedas if they would like to bite or kiss him. 

Higher and higher rose the swing, until it struck the topmost branchesof the maple. The girl screamed and fell forward, into his arms; hewas pushed over, on to the seat. The trembling of the soft warm bodywhich nestled closely in his arms, sent an electric shock through hiswhole nervous system; a black veil descended before his eyes and hewould have let her go if her left shoulder had not been tightlypressed against his right arm. 

The speed of the swing slackened. She rose and sat on the seat facinghim. And thus they remained with downcast eyes, not daring to look oneanother in the face. 

When the swing stopped, the girl slipped off the seat and ran away asif she were answering a call. Theodore was left alone. He felt theblood surging in his veins. It seemed to him that his strength wasredoubled. But he could not grasp what had happened. He vaguelyconceived himself as an electrophor whose positive electricity, indischarging, had combined with the negative. It had happened during aquite ordinary, to all appearances chaste, contact with a young woman. He had never felt the same emotion in wrestling, for instance, withhis school-fellows in the play-ground. He had come into contact withthe opposite polarity of the female sex and now he knew what it meantto be a man. For he was a man, not a precocious boy, kicking over thetraces; he was a strong, hardy, healthy youth. 

As he strolled along, up and down the garden paths, new thoughtsformed in his brain. Life looked at him with graver eyes, he feltconscious of a sense of duty. But he was only fifteen years old. Hewas not yet confirmed and many years would have to elapse before hewould be considered an independent member of the community, before hewould be able to earn a living for himself, let alone maintain a wifeand family. He took life seriously, the thought of light adventuresnever occurred to him. Women were to him something sacred, hisopposite pole, the supplement and completion of himself. He was maturenow, bodily and mentally, fit to enter the arena of life and fight hisway. What prevented him from doing so? His education, which had taughthim nothing useful; his social position, which stood between him and atrade he might have learned. The Church, which had not yet receivedhis vow of loyalty to her priests; the State, which was still waitingfor his oath of allegiance to Bernadotte and Nassau; the School, whichhad not yet trained him sufficiently to consider him ripe for theUniversity; the secret alliance of the upper against the lowerclasses. A whole mountain of follies lay on him and his youngstrength. Now that he knew himself to be a man, the whole system ofeducation seemed to him an institution for the mutilation of body andsoul. They must both be mutilated before he could be allowed to enterthe harem of the world, where manhood is considered a danger; he couldfind no other excuse for it. And thus he sank back into his formerstate of immaturity. He compared himself to a celery plant, tied upand put under a flower-pot so as to make it as white and soft aspossible, unable to put forth green leaves in the sunshine, flower, and bear seed. 

Wrapped in these thoughts he remained in the garden until the clock onthe nearest church tower struck ten. Then he turned towards the house, for it was bed-time. But the front door was locked. The house-maid, apetticoat thrown over her nightgown, let him in. A glimpse of her bareshoulders roused him from his sentimental reveries; he tried to puthis arm round her and kiss her, for at the moment he was conscious ofnothing but her sex. But the maid had already disappeared, shuttingthe door with a bang. Overwhelmed with shame he opened his window, cooled his head in a basin of cold water and lighted his lamp. 

When he had got into bed, he took up a volume of Arndt's _SpiritualVoices of the Morning_, a book which had belonged to his mother; heread a chapter of it every evening to be on the safe side, for in themorning his time was short. The book reminded him of the promise ofchastity given to his mother on her death-bed, and he felt a twinge ofconscience. A fly which had singed its wings on his lamp, and was nowbuzzing round the little table by his bedside, turned his thoughtsinto another channel; he closed the book and lit a cigarette. He heardhis father take off his boots in the room below, knock out his pipeagainst the stove, pour out a glass of water and get ready to go tobed. He thought how lonely he must be since he had become a widower. In days gone by he had often heard the subdued voices of his parentsthrough the thin partition, in intimate conversation on matters onwhich they always agreed; but now no voice was audible, nothing butthe dead sounds which a man makes in waiting upon himself, soundswhich one must put side by side, like the figures in a rebus, beforeone can understand their meaning. 

He finished his cigarette, blew out the lamp and said the Lord's Prayerin an undertone, but he got no farther than the fifth petition. Then hefell asleep. 

He awoke from a dream in the middle of the night. He had dreamt thathe held the gardener's daughter in his arms. He could not remember thecircumstances, for he was quite dazed, and fell asleep again directly. 

On the following morning he was depressed and had a headache. Hebrooded over the future which loomed before him threateningly andfilled him with dread. He realised with a pang how quickly the summerwas passing, for the end of the summer meant the degradation ofschool-life. Every thought of his own would be stifled by the thoughtsof others; there was no advantage in being able to think independently;it required a fixed number of years before one could reach one's goal. It was like a journey on a good's train; the engine was bound to remainfor a certain time in the stations, and when the pressure of the steambecame too strong, from want of consumption of energy, a waste-pipe hadto be opened. The Board had drawn up the time-table and the train wasnot permitted to arrive at the stations before its appointed time. Thatwas the principal thing which mattered. 

The father noticed the boy's pallor, but he put it down to grief overhis mother's death. 

Autumn came and with it the return to school. Theodore, by dint ofmuch novel-reading during the summer, and coming in this way, as itwere, in constant contact with grown-up people and their problems andstruggles, had come to look upon himself as a grown-up member ofsociety. Now the masters treated him with familiarity, the boys tookliberties which compelled him to repay them in kind. And thiseducational institution, which was to ennoble him and make him fit totake his place in the community, what did it teach him? How did itennoble him? The compendiums, one and all, were written under thecontrol of the upper classes, for the sole purpose of forcing thelower classes to look up to their betters. The schoolmastersfrequently reproached their pupils with ingratitude and impressed onthem their utter inability to realise, even faintly, the advantagethey enjoyed in receiving an education which so many of their poorerfellow-creatures would always lack. No, indeed, the boys were notsophisticated enough to see through the gigantic fraud and itsadvantages. 

But did they ever find true joy, real pleasure in the subjects oftheir studies for their own sakes? Never! Therefore the teachers hadto appeal incessantly to the lower passions of their pupils, toambition, self-interest, material advantages. 

What a miserable make-believe school was! Not one of the boys believedthat he would reap any benefit from repeating the names and dates ofhated kings in their proper sequence, from learning dead languages, proving axioms, defining "a matter of course, " and counting the anthersof plants and the joints on the hindlegs of insects, to knowing the endno more about them than their Latin names. How many long hours werewasted in the vain attempt to divide an angle into three equal sections, a thing which can be done so easily in a minute in an _unscientific_(that is to say practical) way by using a graduator. 

How they scorned everything practical! His sisters, who were taughtFrench from Ollendorf's grammar, were able to speak the language aftertwo years' study; but the college boys could not say a single sentenceafter six. Ollendorf was a name which they pronounced with pity andcontempt. It was the essence of all that was stupid. 

But when his sister asked for an explanation and enquired whether thepurpose of spoken language was not the expression of human thought, the young sophist replied with a phrase picked up from one of themasters who in his turn had borrowed it from Talleyrand. Language wasinvented to hide one's thoughts. This, of course, was beyond thehorizon of a young girl (how well men know how to hide theirshortcomings), but henceforth she believed her brother to betremendously learned, and stopped arguing with him. 

And was there not even a worse stumbling-block in aesthetics, delusiveand deceptive, casting a veil of borrowed splendour and sham beautyover everything? They sang of "The Knights' Vigil of Light. " Whatknights' vigil? With patents of nobility and students' certificates;false testimonials, as they might have told themselves. Of light? Thatwas to say of the upper classes who had the greatest interest inkeeping the lower classes in darkness, a task in which they were ablyassisted by church and school. "And onward, onward, on the path oflight!"

Things were always called by the wrong name. And if it so happenedthat a light-bearer arose from the lower classes, everybody was readyand prepared to extinguish his torch. Oh! youthful, healthy host offighters! How healthy they were, all these young men, enervated byidleness, unsatisfied desires and ambitions, who scorned every man whohad not the means to pay for a University education! What splendidliars they were, the poets of the upper classes! Were they thedeceivers or the deceived?

What was the usual subject of the young men's conversation? Theirstudies? Never! Once in a way, perhaps, they would talk of certificates. No, their conversation was of things obscene; of appointments withwomen; of billiards and drink; of certain diseases which they had hearddiscussed by their elder brothers. They lounged about in the afternoonand "held the reviews, " and the best informed of them knew the name ofthe officer and could tell the others where his mistress lived. 

Once two members of the "Knights' Vigil of Light, " had dined in thecompany of two women on the terrace of a high-class restaurant in theZoological Gardens. For this offence they were expelled from school. They were punished for their naïveté, not because their conduct wasconsidered vicious, for a year after they passed their examinationsand went to the University, gaining in this way a whole year; and whenthey had completed their studies at Upsala, they were attached to theEmbassy in one of the capitals of Europe, to represent the UnitedKingdoms of Sweden and Norway. 

In these surroundings Theodore spent the best part of his youth. Hehad seen through the fraud, but was compelled to acquiesce! Again andagain he asked himself the question: What can I do? There was no answer. And so he became an accessory and learned to hold his tongue. 

His confirmation appeared to him to be very much on a level with hisschool experience. A young minister, an ardent pietist, was to teachhim in four months Luther's Catechism, regardless of the fact that he waswell versed in theology, exegesis and dogmatics, besides having read theNew Testament in Greek. Nevertheless the strict pietism, which demandedabsolute truth in thought and action, could not fail to make a greatimpression on him. 

When the catechumens were assembled for the first time, Theodore foundhimself quite unexpectedly surrounded by a totally different class ofboys to whom he had been used at school. When he entered theassembly-room he was met by the stare of something like a hundredinimical eyes. There were tobacco binders, chimney sweeps, apprenticesof all trades. They were on bad terms and freely abused one another, but this enmity between the different trades was only superficial;however much they quarrelled, they yet held together. He seemed tobreathe a strangely stifling atmosphere; the hatred with which theygreeted him was not unmixed with contempt, the reverse of a certainrespect or envy. He looked in vain for a friend, for a companion, like-minded, dressed as he was. There was not a single one. The parishwas poor, the rich people sent their children to the German church whichwas then the fashion. It was in the company of the children of thepeople, the lower classes, that he was to approach the altar, as theirequal. He asked himself what it was that separated him from these boys?Were they not, bodily, endowed with the same gifts as he? No doubt, forevery one of them earned his living, and some of them helped to keeptheir parents. Were they less gifted, mentally? He did not think so, fortheir remarks gave evidence of keen powers of observation; he would havelaughed at many of their witty remarks if he had not been conscious ofhis superior caste. There was no definite line of demarcation betweenhim and the fools who were his school-fellows. But there was a line hereWas it the shabby clothes, the plain faces, the coarse hands, whichformed the barrier? Partly, he thought. Their plainness, especially, repulsed him. But were they worse than others because they were plain?

He was carrying a foil, as he had a fencing lesson later on. He put itin a corner of the room, hoping that it would escape attention. But ithad been seen already. Nobody knew what kind of a thing it really was, but everybody recognised it as a weapon of some sort. Some of theboldest busied themselves about the corner, so as to have a look atit. They fingered the covering of the handle, scratched the guard withtheir nails, bent the blade, handled the small leather ball. They werelike hares sniffing at a gun which had been lost in the wood. They didnot understand its use, but they knew it for something inimical, something with a hidden meaning. Presently a belt-maker's apprentice, whose brother was in the Life Guards, joined the inquisitive throngand at once decided the question: "Can't you see that it is a sword, you fools?" he shouted, with a look at Theodore. It was a respectfullook, but a look which also hinted at a secret understanding betweenthem, which, correctly interpreted, meant: You and I understand thesethings! But a young rope-maker, who had once been a trumpeter in amilitary band, considered this giving of a verdict without consultinghim a personal slight and declared that he "would be hanged if itwasn't a rapier!" The consequence was a fight which transformed theplace into a bear-garden, dense with dust and re-echoing with screamsand yells. 

The door opened and the minister stood on the threshold. He was a paleyoung man, very thin, with watery blue eyes and a face disfigured by arash. He shouted at the boys. The wild beasts ceased fighting. Hebegan talking of the precious blood of Christ and the power of theEvil One over the human heart. After a little while he succeeded ininducing the hundred boys to sit down on the forms and chairs. But nowhe was quite out of breath and the atmosphere was thick with dust. Heglanced at the window and said in a faint voice: "Open the sash!" Thisrequest re-awakened the only half-subdued passions. Twenty-five boysmade a rush for the window and tried to seize the window cord. 

"Go to your places at once!" screamed the minister, stretching out hishand for his cane. 

There was a momentary silence during which the minister tried to thinkof a way of having the sash raised without a fight. 

"You, " he said at last to a timid little fellow, "go and open thewindow!"

The small boy went to the window and tried to disentangle the windowcord. The others looked on in breathless silence, when suddenly a biglad, in sailor's clothes, who had just come home on the brig _CarlJohan_, lost patience. 

"The devil take me if I don't show you what a lad can do, " he shouted, throwing off his coat and jumping on the window sill; there was aflash from his cutlass and the rope was cut. 

"Cable's cut!" he laughed, as the minister with a hysterical cry, literally drove him to his seat. 

"The rope was so entangled that there was nothing for it but to cutit, " he assured him, as he sat down. 

The minister was furious. He had come from a small town in theprovinces and had never conceived the possibility of so much sin, somuch wickedness and immorality. He had never come into contact withlads so far advanced on the road to damnation. And he talked at greatlength of the precious blood of Christ. 

Not one of them understood what he said, for they did not realise thatthey had fallen, since they had never bee different. The boys receivedhis words with coldness and indifference. 

The minister rambled on and spoke of Christ's precious wounds, but notone of them took his words to heart, for not one of them was consciousof having wounded Christ. He changed the subject and spoke of thedevil, but that was a topic so familiar to them that it made noimpression. At last he hit on the right thing. He began to talk oftheir confirmation which was to take place in the coming spring. Hereminded them of their parents, anxious that their children shouldplay a part in the life of the community; when he went on to speak ofemployers who refused to employ lads who had not been confirmed, hislisteners became deeply interested at once, and every one of themunderstood the great importance of the coming ceremony. Now he wassincere, and the young minds grasped what he was talking about; thenoisiest among them became quiet. 

The registration began. What a number of marriage certificates weremissing! How could the children come to Christ when their parents hadnot been legally married? How could they approach the altar when theirfathers had been in prison? Oh! what sinners they were!

Theodore was deeply moved by the exhibition of so much shame anddisgrace. He longed to tear his thoughts away from the subject, butwas unable to do so. Now it was his turn to hand in his certificatesand the minister read out: son: Theodore, born on such and such adate; parents: professor and knight . .. A faint smile flickered like afeeble sunbeam over his face, he gave him a friendly nod and asked:"And how is your dear father?" But when he saw that the mother wasdead (a fact of which he was perfectly well aware) his face cloudedover. "She was a child of God, " he said, as if he were talking tohimself, in a gushing, sympathetic, whining voice, but the remarkconveyed at the same time a certain reproach against the "dear father, "who was only a professor and knight. After that Theodore could go. 

When he left the assembly-room he felt that he had gone through analmost impossible experience. Were all those lads really depravedbecause they used oaths and coarse language, as his companions, hisfather, his uncle, and all the upper classes did at times? What didthe minister mean when he talked of immorality? They were more savagethan the spoilt children of the wealthy, but that was because theywere more fully alive. It was unfair to blame them for missingmarriage certificates. True, his father had never committed a theft, but there was no necessity for a man to steal if he had an income ofsix thousand crowns and could please himself. The act would be absurdor abnormal in such a case. 

Theodore went back to school realising what it meant "to have receivedan education"; here nobody was badgered for small faults. As littlenotice as possible was taken of one's own or one's parent's weaknesses, one was among equals and understood one another. 

After school one "held the reviews, " sneaked into a cafe and drank aliqueur, and finally went to the fencing-room. He looked at the youngofficers who treated him as their equal, observed all those youngbloods with their supple limbs, pleasant manners and smiling faces, every one of them certain that a good dinner was awaiting him at home, and became conscious of the existence of two worlds: an upper and anunder-world. He remembered the gloomy assembly-room and the wretchedassembly he had just left with a pang; all their wounds and hiddendefects were mercilessly exposed and examined through a magnifying-glass, so that the lower classes might acquire that true humilityfailing which the upper classes cannot enjoy their amiable weaknessesin peace. And for the first time something jarring had come into thislife. 

However much Theodore was tossed about between his natural yearningfor the only half-realised temptations of the world, and his newlyformed desire to turn his back on this world and his mind heavenwards, he did not break the promise given to his mother. The religiousteaching which he and the other catechumens received from the ministerin the church, did not fail to impress him deeply. He was often gloomyand wrapped in thought and felt that life was not what it ought to be. He had a dim notion that once upon a time a terrible crime had beencommitted, which it was now everybody's business to hide by practisingcountless deceptions; he compared himself to a fly caught in a spider'sweb: the more it struggled to regain its freedom, the more it entangleditself, until at last it died miserably, strangled by the cruel threads. 

One evening--the minister scorned no trick likely to produce an effecton his hard-headed pupils--they were having a lesson in the choir. Itwas in January. Two gas jets lighted up the choir, illuminating anddistorting the marble figures on the altar. The whole of the largechurch with its two barrel-vaults, which crossed one another, lay insemi-darkness. In the background the shining organ pipes faintlyreflected the gas flames; above it the angels blowing their trumpetsto summon the sleepers before the judgment seat of their maker, lookedmerely like sinister, threatening human figures above life size; thecloisters were lost in complete darkness. 

The minister had explained the seventh commandment. He had spoken ofimmorality between married and unmarried people. He could not explainto his pupils what immorality between husband and wife meant, althoughhe was a married man himself; but on the subject of immorality in allits other aspects he was well-informed. He went on to the subject ofself-abuse. As he pronounced the word a rustling sound passed throughthe rows of young men; they stared at him, with white cheeks andhollow eyes, as if a phantom had appeared in their midst. As long ashe kept to the tortures of hell fire, they remained fairly indifferent, but when he took up a book and read to them accounts of youths who haddied at the age of twenty-five of consumption of the spine, theycollapsed in their seats, and felt as if the floor were giving waybeneath them! He told them the story of a young boy who was committedto an asylum at the age of twelve, and died at the age of fourteen, having found peace in the faith of his Redeemer. They saw before theirshrinking eyes a hundred corpses, washed and shrouded. "There is but oneremedy against this evil, " went on the minister, "the precious wounds ofChrist. " But how this remedy was to be used against sexual precocity, hedid not tell them. He admonished them not to go to dances, to shuntheatres and gaming-houses, and above all things, to avoid women; thatis to say to act in exact contradiction to their inclinations. That thisvice contradicts and utterly confounds he pronouncement of the communitythat a man is not mature until he is twenty-one, was passed over insilence. Whether it could be prevented by early marriages (supposing ameans of providing food for all instead of banquets for a few could befound) remained an open question. The final issue was that one shouldthrow oneself into the arms of Christ, that is to say, go to church, andleave the care of temporal things to the upper classes. 

After this admonishment the minister requested the first five on thefirst form to stay behind. He wished to speak to them in private. Thefirst five looked as if they had been sentenced to death. Their chestscontracted; they breathed with difficulty, and a careful observer mighthave noticed that their hair had risen an inch at the roots and lay overtheir skulls in damp strands like the hair of a corpse. Their eyes staredfrom their blanched sockets like two round glass bullets set in leather, motionless, not knowing whether to face the question with a bold front, or hide behind an impudent lie. 

After the prayer the hymn of Christ's wounds was sung; to-night itsounded like the singing of consumptives; every now and then it diedaway altogether, or was interrupted by a dry cough, like the cough ofa man who is dying of thirst. Then they began to file out. One of thefive attempted to steal away, but the minister called him back. 

It was a terrible moment. Theodore who sat on the first form was oneof the five. He felt sick at heart. Not because he was guilty of theoffence indicated, but because in his heart he considered it an insultto a man thus to have to lay bare the most secret places of his soul. 

The other four sat down, as far from each other as they could. Thebelt-maker's apprentice, who was one of them, tried to make a joke, but the words refused to come. They saw themselves confronted by thepolice-court, the prison, the hospital and, in the background, theasylum. They did not know what was going to happen, but they feltinstinctively that a species of scourging awaited them. Their onlycomfort in their distressing situation was the fact that _he_, Mr. Theodore, was one of them. It was not clear to them why that factshould be a comfort, but they knew intuitively that no evil wouldhappen to the son of a professor. 

"Come along, Wennerstroem, " said the minister, after he had lightedthe gas in the vestry. 

Wennerstroem went and the door closed behind him. The four remainedseated on their forms, vainly trying to discover a comfortableposition for their limbs. 

After a while Wennerstroem returned, with red eyes, trembling withexcitement; he immediately went down the corridor and out into thenight. 

When he stood in the churchyard which lay silent under a heavy coverof snow, he recapitulated all that had happened in the vestry. Theminister had asked him whether he had sinned? No, he had not. Did hehave dreams? Yes! He was told that dreams were equally sinful, becausethey proved that the heart was wicked, and God looked at the heart. "He trieth the heart and reins, and on the last day he will judgeevery one of us for every sinful thought, and dreams are thoughts. Christ has said: Give me your heart, my son! Go to Him! Pray, pray, pray! Whatsoever is chaste, whatsoever is pure, whatsoever islovely--that is He. The alpha and the omega, life and happiness. Chasten the flesh and be strong in prayer. Go in the name of the Lordand sin no more!"

He felt indignant, but he was also crushed. In vain did he struggle tothrow off his depression, he had not been taught sufficient common-senseat school to use it as a weapon against this Jesuitical sophistry. Itwas true, his knowledge of psychology enabled him to modify the statementthat dreams are thoughts; dreams are fancies, he mused, creations of theimagination; but God has no regard for words! Logic taught him that therewas something unnatural in his premature desires. He could not marry atthe age of sixteen, since he was unable to support a wife; but why he wasunable to support a wife, although he felt himself to be a man, was aproblem which he could not solve. However anxious he might be to getmarried, the laws of society which are made by the upper classes andprotected by bayonets, would prevent him. Consequently nature must havebeen sinned against in some way, for a man was mature long before he wasable to earn a living. It must be degeneracy. His imagination must bedegenerate; it was for him to purify it by prayer and sacrifice. 

When he arrived home, he found his father and sisters at supper. Hewas ashamed to sit down with them, for he felt degraded. His fatherasked him, as usual, whether the date of the confirmation had beenfixed. Theodore did not know. He touched no food, pretending that hewas not well; the truth was that he did not dare to eat any supper. Hewent into his bedroom and read an essay by Schartau which the ministerhad lent him. The subject was the vanity of reason. And here, justhere, where all his hopes of arriving at a clear understanding werecentred, the light failed. Reason which he had dared to hope wouldsome day guide him out of the darkness into the light, reason, too, was sin; the greatest of all sins, for it questioned God's veryexistence, tried to understand what was not meant to be understood. Why _it_ was not meant to be understood, was not explained; probablyit was because if _it_ had been understood the fraud would have beendiscovered. 

He rebelled no longer, but surrendered himself. Before going to bed heread two _Morning Voices_ from Arndt, recited the Creed, the Lord'sPrayer and the Blessing. He felt very hungry; a fact which he realisedwith a certain spiteful pleasure, for it seemed to him that his enemywas suffering. 

With these thoughts he fell asleep. He awoke in the middle of thenight. He had dreamt of a champagne supper in the company of a girl. And the whole terrible evening arose fresh in his memory. 

He leapt out of bed with a bound, threw his sheets and blankets on thefloor and lay down to sleep on the bare mattress, covering himselfwith nothing but a thin coverlet. He was cold and hungry, but he mustsubdue the devil. Again he repeated the Lord's Prayer, with additionsof his own. By and by his thoughts grew confused, the strainedexpression of his features relaxed, a smile softened the expression ofhis mouth; lovely figures appeared before him, serene and smiling, heheard subdued voices, half-stifled laughter, a few bars from a waltz, saw sparkling glasses and frank and merry faces with candid eyes, which met his own unabashed; suddenly a curtain was parted in themiddle; a charming little face peeped through the red silk draperies, with smiling lips and dancing eyes; the slender throat is bare, thebeautiful sloping shoulders look as if they had been modelled by acaressing hand; she holds out her arms and he draws her to histhumping heart. 

The clock was striking three. Again he had been worsted in the fight. 

Determined to win, he picked up the mattress and threw it out of thebed. Then he knelt on the cold floor and fervently prayed to God forstrength, for he felt that he was indeed wrestling with the devil. When he had finished his prayer he lay down on the bare frame, andwith a feeling of satisfaction felt the ropes and belting cutting intohis arms and shins. 

He awoke in the morning in a high fever. 

He was laid up for six weeks. When he arose from his bed of sickness, he felt better than he had ever felt before. The rest, the good foodand the medicine had increased his strength, and the struggle was nowtwice as hard. But he continued to struggle. 

His confirmation took place in the spring. The moving scene in whichthe lower classes promise on oath never to interfere with these thingswhich the upper classes consider their privilege, made a lastingimpression on him. It didn't trouble him that the minister offered himwine bought from the wine-merchant Högstedt at sixty-five öre thepint, and wafers from Lettstroem, the baker, at one crown a pound, asthe flesh and blood of the great agitator Jesus of Nazareth, who wasdone to death nineteen hundred years ago. He didn't think about it, for one didn't think in those days, one had emotions. 

A year after his confirmation he passed his final examination. Thesmart little college cap was a source of great pleasure to him;without being actually conscious of it, he felt that he, as a memberof the upper classes, had received a charter. They were not a littleproud of their knowledge, too, these young men, for the masters hadpronounced them "mature. " The conceited youths! If at least they hadmastered all the nonsense of which they boasted! If anybody hadlistened to their conversation at the banquet given in their honour, it would have been a revelation to him. They declared openly that theyhad not acquired five per cent. Of the knowledge which ought to havebeen in their possession; they assured everybody who had ears tolisten that it was a miracle that they had passed; the uninitiatedwould not have believed a word of it. And some of the young masters, now that the barrier between pupil and teacher was removed, andsimulation was no longer necessary, swore solemnly, with half-intoxicatedgestures, that there was not a single master in the whole school whowould not have been plucked. A sober person could not help drawing theconclusion that the examination was like a line which could be drawn atwill between upper and lower classes; and then he saw in the miraclenothing but a gigantic fraud. 

It was one of the masters who, sipping a glass of punch, maintainedthat only an idiot could imagine that a human brain could remember atthe same time: the three thousand dates mentioned in history; thenames of the five thousand towns situated in all parts of the world;the names of six hundred plants and seven hundred animals; the bonesin the human body, the stones which form the crust of the earth, alltheological disputes, one thousand French words, one thousand English, one thousand German, one thousand Latin, one thousand Greek, half amillion rules and exceptions to the rules: five hundred mathematical, physical, geometrical, chemical formulas. He was willing to prove thatin order to be capable of such a feat the brain would have to be aslarge as the cupola of the Observatory at Upsala. Humboldt, he went onto say, finally forgot his tables, and the professor of astronomy atLund had been unable to divide two whole numbers of six figures each. The newly-fledged under-graduates imagined that they knew sixlanguages, and yet they knew no more than five thousand words at mostof the twenty thousand which composed their mother tongue. And hadn'the seen how they cheated? Oh! he knew all their tricks! He had seenthe dates written on their finger nails; he had watched themconsulting books under cover of their desks, he had heard themwhispering to one another! But, he concluded, what is one to do?Unless one closes an eye to these things, the supply of students isbound to come to an end. During the summer Theodore remained at home, spending much of his time in the garden. He brooded over the problemof his future; what profession was he to choose? He had gained so muchinsight into the methods of the huge Jesuitical community which, underthe name of the upper classes, constituted society, that he feltdissatisfied with the world and decided to enter the Church to savehimself from despair. And yet the world beckoned to him. It lay beforehim, fair and bright, and his young, fermenting blood yearned forlife. He spent himself in the struggle and his idleness added to historments. 

Theodore's increasing melancholy and waning health began to alarm hisfather. He had no doubt about the cause, but he could not bringhimself to talk to his son on such a delicate subject. 

One Sunday afternoon the Professor's brother who was an officer in thePioneers, called. They were sitting in the garden, sipping their coffee. 

"Have you noticed the change in Theodore?" asked the Professor. 

"Yes, his time has come, " answered the Captain. 

"I believe it has come long ago. "

"I wish you'd talk to him, I can't do it. "

"If I were a bachelor, I should play the part of the uncle, " said theCaptain; "as it is, I'll ask Gustav to do it. The boy must see somethingof life, or he'll go wrong. Hot stuff these Wennerstroems, what?"

"Yes, " said the Professor, "I was a man at fifteen, but I had aschool-friend who was never confirmed because he was a father atthirteen. "

"Look at Gustav! Isn't he a fine fellow? I'm hanged if he isn't asbroad across the back as an old captain! He's a handful!"

"Yes, " answered the Professor, "he costs me a lot, but after all, I'drather pay than see the boy running any risks. I wish you'd ask Gustavto take Theodore about with him a little, just to rouse him. "

"Oh! with pleasure!" answered the Captain. 

And so the matter was settled. 

One evening in July, when the summer is in its prime and all theblossoms which the spring has fertilised ripen into fruit, Theodorewas sitting in his bed-room, waiting. He had pinned a text against hiswall. "Come to Jesus, " it said, and it was intended as a hint to thelieutenant not to argue with him when he occasionally came home frombarracks for a few minutes. Gustav was of a lively disposition, "ahandful, " as his uncle had said. He wasted no time in brooding. He hadpromised to call for Theodore at seven o'clock; they were going tomake arrangements for the celebration of the professor's birthday. Theodore's secret plan was to convert his brother, and Gustav'sequally secret intention was to make his younger brother take a morereasonable view of life. 

Punctually at seven o'clock, a cab stopped before the house, (thelieutenant invariably arrived in a cab) and immediately after Theodoreheard the ringing of his spurs and the rattling of his sword on thestairs. 

"Good evening, you old mole, " said the elder brother with a laugh. Hewas the picture of health and youth. His highly-polished Hessian bootsrevealed a pair of fine legs, his tunic outlined the loins of acart-horse; the golden bandolier of his cartridge box made his chestappear broader and his sword-belt showed off a pair of enormous thighs. 

He glanced at the text and grinned, but said nothing. 

"Come along, old man, let's be off to Bellevue! We'll call on thegardener there and make arrangements for the old man's birthday. Puton your hat, and come, old chap!"

Theodore tried to think of an excuse, but the brother took him by thearm, put a hat on his head, back to front, pushed a cigarette betweenhis lips and opened the door. Theodore felt like a fish out of water, but he went with his brother. 

"To Bellevue!" said the lieutenant to the cab-driver, "and mind youmake your thoroughbreds fly!"

Theodore could not help being amused. It would never have occurred tohim to address an elderly married man, like the cabman, with so muchfamiliarity. 

On the way the lieutenant talked of everything under the sun and staredat every pretty girl they passed. 

They met a funeral procession on its return from the cemetery. 

"Did you notice that devilish pretty girl in the last coach?" askedGustav. 

Theodore had not seen her and did not want to see her. 

They passed an omnibus full of girls of the barmaid type. Thelieutenant stood up, unconcernedly, in the public thoroughfare, andkissed his hands to them. He really behaved like a madman. 

The business at Bellevue was soon settled. On their return thecab-driver drove them, without waiting for an order, to "The Equerry, "a restaurant where Gustav was evidently well-known. 

"Let's go and have something to eat, " said the lieutenant, pushing hisbrother out of the cab. 

Theodore was fascinated. He was no abstainer and saw nothing wrong inentering a public-house, although it never occurred to him to do so. He followed, though not without a slight feeling of uneasiness. 

They were received in the hall by two girls. "Good evening, littledoves, " said the lieutenant, and kissed them both on the lips. "Let meintroduce you to my learned brother; he's very young and innocent, notat all like me; what do you say, Jossa?"

The girls looked shyly at Theodore, who did not know which way to turn. His brother's language appeared to him unutterably impudent. 

On their way upstairs they met a dark-haired little girl, who hadevidently been crying; she looked quiet and modest and made a goodimpression on Theodore. 

The lieutenant did not kiss her, but he pulled out his handkerchiefand dried her eyes. Then he ordered an extravagant supper. 

They were in a bright and pretty room, hung with mirrors andcontaining a piano, a perfect room for banquetting. The lieutenantopened the piano with his sword, and before Theodore knew where hewas, he was sitting on the music-stool, and his hands were resting onthe keyboard. 

"Play us a waltz, " commanded the lieutenant, and Theodore played awaltz. The lieutenant took off his sword and danced with Jossa;Theodore heard his spurs knocking against the legs of the chairs andtables. Then he threw himself on the sofa and shouted:

"Come here, ye slaves, and fan me!"

Theodore began to play softly and presently he was absorbed in themusic of Gounod's _Faust. He did not dare to turn round. 

"Go and kiss him, " whispered the brother. 

But the girls felt shy. They were almost afraid of him and hismelancholy music. 

The boldest of them, however, went up to the piano. 

"You are playing from the Freischütz, aren't you?" she asked. 

"No, " said Theodore, politely, "I'm playing Gounod's _Faust_. "

"Your brother looks frightfully respectable, " said the little darkone, whose name was Rieke; "he's different to you, you old villain. "

"Oh! well, he's going into the Church, " whispered the lieutenant. 

These words made a great impression on the girls, and henceforth theyonly kissed the lieutenant when Theodore's back was turned, and lookedat Theodore shyly and apprehensively, like fowls at a chained mastiff. 

Supper appeared, a great number of courses. There were eighteen dishes, not counting the hot ones. 

Gustav poured out the liqueurs. 

"Your health, you old hypocrite!" he laughed. 

Theodore swallowed the liqueur. A delicious warmth ran through hislimbs, a thin, warm veil fell over his eyes, he felt ravenous like astarving beast. What a banquet it was! The fresh salmon with itspeculiar flavour, and the dill with its narcotic aroma; the radisheswhich seem to scrape the throat and call for beer; the smallbeef-steaks and sweet Portuguese onions, which made him think ofdancing girls; the fried lobster which smelt of the sea; the chickenstuffed with parsley which reminded him of the gardener, and the firstgerkins with their poisonous flavour of verdigris which made such ajolly, crackling sound between his crunching teeth. The porter flowedthrough his veins like hot streams of lava; they drank champagne afterthe strawberries; a waitress brought the foaming drink which bubbledin the glasses like a fountain. They poured out a glass for her. Andthen they talked of all sorts of things. 

Theodore sat there like a tree in which the sap is rising. He hadeaten a good supper and felt as if a whole volcano was seething in hisinside. New thoughts, new emotions, new ideas, new points of viewfluttered round his brow like butterflies. He went to the piano andplayed, he himself knew not what. The ivory keys under his hands werelike a heap of bones from which his spirit drew life and melody. 

He did not know how long he had been playing, but when he turned, round he saw his brother entering the room. He looked like a god, radiating life and strength. Behind him came Rieke with a bowl ofpunch, and immediately after all the girls came upstairs. Thelieutenant drank to each one of them separately; Theodore found thateverything was as it should be and finally became so bold that hekissed Rieke on the shoulder. But she looked annoyed and drew awayfrom him, and he felt ashamed. 

When Theodore found himself alone in his room, he had a feeling as ifthe whole world were turned upside down. He tore the text from thewall, not because he no longer believed in Jesus, but because itsbeing pinned against the wall struck him as a species of bragging. Hewas amazed to find that religion sat on him as loosely as a Sundaysuit, and he asked himself whether it was not unseemly to go aboutduring the whole week in Sunday clothes. After all he was but anordinary, commonplace person with whom he was well content, and hecame to the conclusion that he had a better chance of living in peacewith himself if he lived a simple, unpretentious, unassuming life. 

He slept soundly during the night, undisturbed by dreams. 

When he arose on the following morning, his pale cheeks looked fullerand there was a new gladness in his heart. He went out for a walk andsuddenly found himself in the country. The thought struck him that hemight go to the restaurant and look up the girls. He went into thelarge room; there he found Rieke and Jossa alone, in morning dresses, snubbing gooseberries. Before he knew what he was doing, he was sittingat the table beside them with a pair of scissors in his hand, helpingthem. They talked of Theodore's brother and the pleasant evening theyhad spent together. Not a single loose remark was made. They were justlike a happy family; surely he had fallen in good hands, he was amongfriends. 

When they had finished with the gooseberries, he ordered coffee andinvited the girls to share it with him. Later on the proprietress cameand read the paper to them. He felt at home. 

He repeated his visit. One afternoon he went upstairs, to look forRieke. She was sewing a seam. Theodore asked her whether he was in herway. "Not at all, " she replied, "on the contrary. " They talked of hisbrother who was away at camp, and would be away for another twomonths. Presently he ordered some punch and their intimacy grew. 

On another occasion Theodore met her in the Park. She was gatheringflowers. They both sat down in the grass. She was wearing a lightsummer dress, the material of which was so thin that it plainlyrevealed her slight girlish figure. He put his arms round her waistand kissed her. She returned his kisses and he drew her to him in apassionate embrace; but she tore herself away and told him gravelythat if he did not behave himself she would never meet him again. 

They went on meeting one another for two months. Theodore had fallenin love with her. He had long and serious conversations with her onthe most sacred duties of life, on love, on religion, on everything, and between-whiles he spoke to her of his passion. But she invariablyconfounded him with his own arguments. Then he felt ashamed of havingharboured base thoughts of so innocent a girl, and finally his passionwas transformed into admiration for this poor little thing, who hadmanaged to keep herself unspotted in the midst of temptation. 

He had given up the idea of going into the Church; he determined totake the doctor's degree and--who knows--perhaps marry Rieke. He readpoetry to her while she did needlework. She let him kiss her as muchas he liked, she allowed him to fondle and caress her; but that wasthe limit. 

At last his brother returned from camp. He immediately ordered abanquet at "The Equerry"; Theodore was invited. But he was made toplay all the time. He was in the middle of a waltz, to which nobodydanced, when he happened to look round; he was alone. He rose and wentinto the corridor, passed a long row of doors, and at last came to abed-room. There he saw a sight which made him turn round, seize hishat and disappear into the darkness. 

It was dawn when he reached his own bed-room, alone, annihilated, robbed of his faith in life, in love, and, of course, in women, for tohim there was but one woman in the world, and that was Rieke from "TheEquerry. " On the fifteenth of September he went to Upsala to studytheology. 

 * * * * *

The years passed. His sound common-sense was slowly extinguished byall the nonsense with which he had to fill his brain daily and hourly. But at night he was powerless to resist. Nature burst her bonds andtook by force what rebellious man denied her. He lost his health; allhis skull bones were visible in his haggard face, his complexion wassallow and his skin looked damp and clammy; ugly pimples appearedbetween the scanty locks of his beard. His eyes were without lustre, his hands so emaciated that the joints seemed to poke through theskin. He looked like the illustration to an essay on human vice, andyet he lived a perfectly pure life. 

One day the professor of Christian Ethics, a married man with verystrict ideas on morality, called on him and asked him pointblankwhether he had anything on his conscience; if so, he advised him tomake a clean breast of it. Theodore answered that he had nothing toconfess, but that he was unhappy. Thereupon the professor exhorted himto watch and pray and be strong. 

His brother had written him a long letter, begging him not to take acertain stupid matter too much to heart. He told him that it was absurdto take a girl seriously. His philosophy, and he had always found itanswering admirably, was to pay debts incurred and go; to play whileone was young, for the gravity of life made itself felt quite soon enough. Marriage was nothing but a civil institution for the protection of thechildren. There was plenty of time for it. 

Theodore replied at some length in a letter imbued with true Christiansentiment, which the lieutenant left unanswered. 

After passing his first examination in the spring, Theodore wasobliged to spend a summer at Sköfde, in order to undergo the coldwater cure. In the autumn he returned to Upsala. His newly-regainedstrength was merely so much fresh fuel to the fire. 

Matters grew worse and worse. His hair had grown so thin that thescalp was plainly visible. He walked with dragging footsteps andwhenever his fellow students met him in the street, they cut him as ifhe were possessed of all the vices. He noticed it and shunned them inhis turn. He only left his rooms in the evening. He did not dare to goto bed at night. The iron which he had taken to excess, had ruined hisdigestion, and in the following summer the doctors sent him toKarlsbad. 

On his return to Upsala, in the autumn, a rumour got abroad, an uglyrumour, which hung over the town like a black cloud. It was as if adrain had been left open and men were suddenly reminded that the town, that splendid creation of civilisation, was built over a sea ofcorruption, which might at any moment burst its bonds and poison theinhabitants. It was said that Theodore Wennerstroem, in a paroxysm ofpassion had assaulted one of his friends, and the rumour did not lie. 

His father went to Upsala and had an interview with the Dean of theTheological Faculty. The professor of pathology was present. What wasto be done? The doctor remained silent. They pressed him for hisopinion. 

"Since you ask me, " he said, "I must give you an answer; but you knowas well as I do that there is but one remedy. "

"And that is?" asked the theologian. 

"Need you ask?" replied the doctor. 

"Yes, " said the theologian, who was a married man. "Surely, naturedoes not require immorality from a man?"

The father said that he quite understood the case, but that he wasafraid of making recommendations to his son, on account of the risksthe latter would run. 

"If he can't take care of himself he must be a fool, " said the doctor. 

The Dean requested them to continue such an agitating conversation ina more suitable place. .. . He himself had nothing more to add. 

This ended the matter. 

Since Theodore was a member of the upper classes the scandal washushed up. A few years later he passed his final, and was sent by thedoctor to Spa. The amount of quinine which he had taken had affectedhis knees and he walked with two sticks. At Spa he looked so ill thathe was a conspicuous figure even in a crowd of invalids. 

But an unmarried woman of thirty-five, a German, took compassion onthe unhappy man. She spent many hours with him in a lonely summerarbour in the park, discussing the problems of life. She was a memberof a big evangelical society, whose object was the raising of themoral standard. She showed him prospectuses for newspapers andmagazines, the principal mission of which was the suppression ofprostitution. 

"Look at me, " she said, "I am thirty-five years old and enjoyexcellent health! What fools' talk it is to say that immorality is anecessary evil. I have watched and fought a good fight for Christ'ssake. "

The young clergyman silently compared her well-developed figure, herlarge hips, with his own wasted body. 

"What a difference there is between human beings in this world, " washis unspoken comment. 

In the autumn the Rev. Theodore Wennerstroem and Sophia Leidschütz, spinster, were engaged to be married. 

"Saved!" sighed the father, when the news reached him in his house atStockholm. 

"I wonder how it will end, " thought the brother in his barracks. "I'mafraid that my poor Theodore is 'one of those Asra who die when theylove. '"

Theodore Wennerstroem was married. Nine months after the wedding hiswife presented him with a boy who suffered from rickets--anotherthirteen months and Theodore Wennerstroem had breathed his last. 

The doctor who filled up the certificate of death, looked at the finehealthy woman, who stood weeping by the small coffin which containedthe skeleton of her young husband of not much over twenty years. 

"The plus was too great, the minus too small, " he thought, "andtherefore the plus devoured the minus. "

But the father, who received the news of his son's death on a Sunday, sat down to read a sermon. When he had finished, he fell into a brownstudy. 

"There must be something very wrong with a world where virtue isrewarded with death, " he thought. 

And the virtuous widow, _née_ Leidschütz, had two more husbands andeight children, wrote pamphlets on overpopulation and immorality. Buther brother-in-law called her a cursed woman who killed her husbands. 

The anything but virtuous lieutenant married and was father of sixchildren. He got promotion and lived happily to the end of his life. 

LOVE AND BREAD

The assistant had not thought of studying the price of wheat before hecalled on the major to ask him for the hand of his daughter; but themajor had studied it. 

"I love her, " said the assistant. 

"What's your salary?" said the old man. 

"Well, twelve hundred crowns, at present; but we love one another. .. . "

"That has nothing to do with me; twelve hundred crowns is not enough. "

"And then I make a little in addition to my salary, and Louisa knowsthat my heart. .. . "

"Don't talk nonsense! How much in addition to your salary?"

He seized paper and pencil. 

"And my feelings. .. . "

"How much in addition to your salary?"

And he drew hieroglyphics on the blotting paper. 

"Oh! We'll get on well enough, if only. .. . "

"Are you going to answer my question or not? How much in addition toyour salary? Figures! figures, my boy! Facts!"

"I do translations at ten crowns a sheet; I give French lessons, I ampromised proof-correcting. .. . "

"Promises aren't facts! Figures, my boy! Figures! Look here, now, I'llput it down. What are you translating?"

"What am I translating? I can't tell you straight off. "

"You can't tell me straight off? You are engaged on a translation, yousay; can't you tell me what it is? Don't talk such rubbish!"

"I am translating Guizot's _History of Civilisation_, twenty-fivesheets. "

"At ten crowns a sheet makes two hundred and fifty crowns. And then?"

"And then? How can I tell beforehand?"

"Indeed, can't you tell beforehand? But you ought to know. You seem toimagine that being married simply means living together and amusingyourselves! No, my dear boy, there will be children, and childrenrequire feeding and clothing. "

"There needn't be babies directly, if one loves _as we love_ oneanother. "

"How the dickens do you love one another?"

"_As we love_ one another. " He put his hand on his waistcoat. 

"And won't there be any children if people love as you love? You mustbe mad! But you are a decent, respectable member of society, andtherefore I'll give my consent; but make good use of the time, my boy, and increase your income, for hard times are coming. The price ofwheat is rising. "

The assistant grew red in the face when he heard the last words, buthis joy at the old man's consent was so great that he seized his handand kissed it. Heaven knew how happy he was! When he walked for thefirst time down the street with his future bride on his arm, they bothradiated light; it seemed to them that the passers-by stood still andlined the road in honour of their triumphal march; and they walkedalong with proud eyes, squared shoulders and elastic steps. 

In the evening he called at her house; they sat down in the centre ofthe room and read proofs; she helped him. "He's a good sort, " chuckledthe old man. When they had finished, he took her in his arms and said:"Now we have earned three crowns, " and then he kissed her. On thefollowing evening they went to the theatre and he took her home in acab, and that cost twelve crowns. 

Sometimes, when he ought to have given a lesson in the evening, he (isthere anything a man will not do for love's sake?) cancelled his lessonand took her out for a walk instead. 

But the wedding-day approached. They were very busy. They had tochoose the furniture. They began with the most important purchases. Louisa had not intended to be present when he bought the bedroomfurniture, but when it came to the point she went with him. Theybought two beds, which were, of course, to stand side by side. Thefurniture had to be walnut, every single piece real walnut. And theymust have spring mattresses covered with red and white striped tick, and bolsters filled with down; and two eiderdown quilts, exactlyalike. Louisa chose blue, because she was very fair. 

They went to the best stores. They could not do without a redhanging-lamp and a Venus made of plaster of Paris. Then they bought adinner-service; and six dozen differently shaped glasses with cutedges; and knives and forks, grooved and engraved with their initials. And then the kitchen utensils! Mama had to accompany them to see tothose. 

And what a lot he had to do besides! There were bills to accept, journeys to the banks and interviews with tradespeople and artisans;a flat had to be found and curtains had to be put up. He saw toeverything. Of course he had to neglect his work; but once he wasmarried, he would soon make up for it. 

They were only going to take two rooms to begin with, for they weregoing to be frightfully economical. And as they were only going tohave two rooms, they could afford to furnish them well. He rented tworooms and a kitchen on the first floor in Government Street, for sixhundred crowns. When Louisa remarked that they might just as well havetaken three rooms and a kitchen on the fourth floor for five hundredcrowns, he was a little embarrassed; but what did it matter if onlythey loved one another? Yes, of course, Louisa agreed, but couldn'tthey have loved one another just as well in four rooms at a lowerrent, as in three at a higher? Yes, he admitted that he had beenfoolish, but what _did_ it matter so long as they loved one another?

The rooms were furnished. The bed-room looked like a little temple. The two beds stood side by side, like two carriages. The rays of thesun fell on the blue eiderdown quilt, the white, white sheets and thelittle pillow-slips which an elderly maiden aunt had embroidered withtheir monogram; the latter consisted of two huge letters, formed offlowers, joined together in one single embrace, and kissing here andthere, wherever they touched, at the corners. The bride had her ownlittle alcove, which was screened off by a Japanese screen. Thedrawing-room, which was also dining-room, study and morning-room, contained her piano, (which had cost twelve hundred crowns) hiswriting-table with twelve pigeon-holes, (every single piece of it realwalnut) a pier-glass, armchairs; a sideboard and a dining-table. "Itlooks as if nice people lived here, " they said, and they could notunderstand why people wanted a separate dining-room, which always lookedso cheerless with its cane chairs. 

The wedding took place on a Saturday. Sunday dawned, the first day oftheir married life. Oh! what a life it was! Wasn't it lovely to bemarried! Wasn't marriage a splendid institution! One was allowed one'sown way in everything, and parents and relations came and congratulatedone into the bargain. 

At nine o'clock in the morning their bedroom was still dark. Hewouldn't open the shutters to let in daylight, but re-lighted the redlamp which threw its bewitching light on the blue eiderdown, the whitesheets, a little crumpled now, and the Venus made of plaster of Paris, who stood there rosy-red and without shame. And the red light alsofell on his little wife who nestled in her pillows with a look ofcontrition, and yet so refreshed as if she had never slept so well inall her life. There was no traffic in the street to-day for it wasSunday, and the church-bells were calling people to the morningservice with exulting, eager voices, as if they wanted all the worldto come to church and praise Him who had created men and women. 

He whispered to his little bride to shut her eyes so that he might getup and order breakfast. She buried her head in the pillows, while heslipped on his dressing-gown and went behind the screen to dress. 

A broad radiant path of sunlight lay on the sitting-room floor; he didnot know whether it was spring or summer, autumn or winter; he onlyknew that it was Sunday!

His bachelor life was receding into the background like something uglyand dark; the sight of his little home stirred his heart with a faintrecollection of the home of his childhood, and at the same time heldout a glorious promise for the future. 

How strong he felt! The future appeared to him like a mountain comingto meet him. He would breathe on it and the mountain would fall downat his feet like sand; he would fly away, far above gables andchimneys, holding his little wife in his arm. 

He collected his clothes which were scattered all over the room; hefound his white neck-tie hanging on a picture frame; it looked like abig white butterfly. 

He went into the kitchen. How the new copper vessels sparkled, the newtin kettles shone! And all this belonged to him and to her! He calledthe maid who came out of her room in her petticoat. But he did notnotice it, nor did he notice that her shoulders were bare. For himthere was but one woman in all the world. He spoke to the girl as afather would to his daughter. He told her to go to the restaurant andorder breakfast, at once, a first-rate breakfast. Porter and Burgundy!The manager knew his taste. She was to give him his regards. 

He went out of the kitchen and knocked at the bed-room door. 

"May I come in?"

There was a little startled scream. 

"Oh, no, darling, wait a bit!"

He laid the breakfast table himself. When the breakfast was broughtfrom the restaurant, he served it on her new breakfast set. He foldedthe dinner napkins according to all the rules of art. He wiped thewine-glasses, and finally took her bridal-bouquet and put it in a vasebefore her place. 

When she emerged from her bed-room in her embroidered morning gown andstepped into the brilliant sunlight, she felt just a tiny bit faint;he helped her into the armchair, made her drink a little liqueur outof a liqueur glass and eat a caviare sandwich. 

What fun it all was! One could please oneself when one was married. What would Mama have said if she had seen her daughter drinkingliqueurs at this hour of the morning!

He waited on her as if she were still his fiancee. What a breakfastthey were having on the first morning after their wedding! And nobodyhad a right to say a word. Everything was perfectly right and proper, one could enjoy oneself with the very best of consciences, and thatwas the most delightful part of it all. It was not for the first timethat he was eating such a breakfast, but what a difference betweenthen and now! He had been restless and dissatisfied then; he could notbear to think of it, now. And as he drank a glass of genuine Swedishporter after the oysters, he felt the deepest contempt for allbachelors. 

"How stupid of people not to get married! Such selfishness! They oughtto be taxed like dogs. "

"I'm sorry for those poor men who haven't the means to get married, "replied his demure little wife kindly, "for I am sure, if they had themeans they would all get married. "

A little pang shot through the assistant's heart; for a moment he feltafraid, lest he had been a little too venturesome. All his happinessrested on the solution of a financial problem, and if, if. .. . Pooh! Aglass of Burgundy! Now he would work! They should see!

"Game? With cranberries and cucumbers!" The young wife was a littlestartled, but it was really delicious. 

"Lewis, darling, " she put a trembling little hand on his arm, "can weafford it?"

Fortunately she said "we. "

"Pooh! It doesn't matter for once! Later on we can dine on potatoesand herrings. "

"Can you eat potatoes and herrings?"

"I should think so!"

"When you have been drinking more than is good for you, and expect abeefsteak after the herring?"

"Nonsense! Nothing of the kind! Your health, sweetheart! The game isexcellent! So are these artichokes!"

"No, but you are mad, darling! Artichokes at this time of the year!What a bill you will have to pay!"

"Bill! Aren't they good? Don't you think that it is glorious to bealive? Oh! It's splendid, splendid!"

At six o'clock in the afternoon a carriage drove up to the front door. The young wife would have been angry if it had not been so pleasant tololl luxuriously on the soft cushions, while they were being slowlydriven to the Deer Park. 

"It's just like lying on a couch, " whispered Lewis. 

She playfully hit his fingers with her sunshade. Mutual acquaintancesbowed to them from the footpath. Friends waved their hands to him asif they were saying:

"Hallo! you rascal, you have come into a fortune!"

How small the passers-by looked, how smooth the street was, how pleasanttheir ride on springs and cushions!

Life should always be like that. 

It went on for a whole month. Balls, visits, dinners, theatres. Sometimes, of course, they remained at home. And at home it was morepleasant than anywhere else. How lovely, for instance, to carry offone's wife from her parents' house, after supper, without saying asmuch as "by your leave, " put her into a closed carriage, slam thedoor, nod to her people and say: "Now we're off home, to our own fourwalls! And there we'll do exactly what we like!"

And then to have a little supper at home and sit over it, talking andgossiping until the small hours of the morning. 

Lewis was always very sensible at home, at least in theory. One dayhis wife put him to the test by giving him salt salmon, potatoesboiled in milk and oatmeal soup for dinner. Oh! how he enjoyed it! Hewas sick of elaborate menus. 

On the following Friday, when she again suggested salt salmon fordinner, Lewis came home, carrying two ptarmigans! He called to herfrom the threshold:

"Just imagine, Lou, a most extraordinary thing happened! A mostextraordinary thing!"

"Well, what is it?"

"You'll hardly believe me when I tell you that I bought a brace ofptarmigans, bought them myself at the market for--guess!"

His little wife seemed more annoyed than curious. 

"Just think! One crown the two!"

"I have bought ptarmigans at eightpence the brace; but--" she added ina more conciliatory tone, so as not to upset him altogether, "that wasin a very cold winter. "

"Well, but you must admit that I bought them very cheaply. "

Was there anything she would not admit in order to see him happy?

She had ordered boiled groats for dinner, as an experiment. But afterLewis had eaten a ptarmigan, he regretted that he could not eat asmuch of the groats as he would have liked, in order to show her thathe was really very fond of groats. He liked groats very much indeed--milkdid not agree with him after his attack of ague. He couldn't take milk, but groats he would like to see on his table every evening, every blessedevening of his life, if only she wouldn't be angry with him. 

And groats never again appeared on his table. 

When they had been married for six weeks, the young wife fell ill. Shesuffered from headaches and sickness. It could not be anything serious, just a little cold. But this sickness? Had she eaten anything which haddisagreed with her? Hadn't all the copper vessels new coatings of tin?He sent for the doctor. The doctor smiled and said it was all right. 

"What was all right? Oh! Nonsense! It wasn't possible. How could ithave been possible? No, surely, the bed-room paper was to blame. Itmust contain arsenic. Let us send a piece to the chemist's at once andhave it tested. "

"Entirely free from arsenic, " reported the chemist. 

"How strange! No arsenic in the wall papers?"

The young wife was still ill. He consulted a medical book and whispereda question in her ear. "There now! a hot bath!"

Four weeks later the midwife declared that everything was "as itshould be. "

"As it should be? Well, of course! Only it was somewhat premature!"

But as it could not, be helped, they were delighted. Fancy, a baby!They would be papa and mama! What should they call him? For, of course, it would be a boy. No doubt, it would. But now she had a seriousconversation with her husband! There had been no translating orproof-correcting since their marriage. And his salary alone was notsufficient. 

"Yes, they had given no thought to the morrow. But, dear me, one wasyoung only once! Now, however, there would be a change. "

On the following morning the assistant called on an old schoolfriend, a registrar, to ask him to stand security for a loan. 

"You see, my dear fellow, when one is about to become a father, onehas to consider how to meet increasing expenses. "

"Quite so, old man, " answered the registrar, "therefore I have beenunable to get married. But you are fortunate in having the means. "

The assistant hesitated to make his request. How could he have theaudacity to ask this poor bachelor to help him to provide the expensesfor the coming event? This bachelor, who had not the means to found afamily of his own? He could not bring himself to do it. 

When he came home to dinner, his wife told him that two gentlemen hadcalled to see him. 

"What did they look like? Were they young? Did they wear eye-glasses?Then there was no doubt, they were two lieutenants, old friends of hiswhom he had met at Vaxholm. "

"No, they couldn't have been lieutenants; they were too old for that. "

"Then he knew; they were old college friends from Upsala, probably P. Who was a lecturer, and O. Who was a curate, now. They had come to seehow their old pal was shaping as a husband. "

"No, they didn't come from Upsala, they came from Stockholm. "

The maid was called in and cross-examined. She thought the callers hadbeen shabbily dressed and had carried sticks. 

"Sticks! I can't make out what sort of people they can have been. Well, we'll know soon enough, as they said they would call again. Butto change the subject, I happened to see a basket of hothousestrawberries at a really ridiculous price; it really is absurd! Justimagine, hothouse strawberries at one and sixpence a basket! And atthis time of the year!"

"But, my darling, what is this extravagance to lead to?"

"It'll be all right. I have got an order for a translation this very day. "

"But you are in debt, Lewis?"

"Trifles! Mere nothings! It'll be all right when I take up a big loan, presently. "

"A loan! But that'll be a new debt!"

"True! But there'll be easy terms! Don't let's talk business now! Aren'tthese strawberries delicious? What? A glass of sherry with them would betip-top. Don't you think so? Lina, run round to the stores and fetch abottle of sherry, the best they have. "

After his afternoon nap, his wife insisted on a serious conversation. 

"You won't be angry, dear, will you?"

"Angry? I! Good heavens, no! Is it about household expenses?"

"Yes! We owe money at the stores! The butcher is pressing for payment;the man from the livery stables has called for his money; it's mostunpleasant. "

"Is that all? I shall pay them to the last farthing to-morrow. Howdare they worry you about such trifles? They shall be paid to-morrow, but they shall lose a customer. Now, don't let's talk about it anymore. Come out for a walk. No carriage! Well, we'll take the car tothe Deer Park, it will cheer us up. "

They went to the Deer Park. They asked for a private room at therestaurant, and people stared at them and whispered. 

"They think we are out on a spree, " he laughed. "What fun! What madness!"

But his wife did not like it. 

They had a big bill to pay. 

"If only we had stayed at home! We might have bought such a lot of thingsfor the money. "

Months elapsed. The great event was coming nearer and nearer. A cradlehad to be bought and baby-clothes. A number of things were wanted. Theyoung husband was out on business all day long. The price of wheat hadrisen. Hard times were at hand. He could get no translations, noproof-correcting. Men had become materialists. They didn't spend moneyon books, they bought food. What a prosaic period we were living in!Ideals were melting away, one after the other, and ptarmigans were notto be had under two crowns the brace. The livery stables would notprovide carriages for nothing for the cab-proprietors had wives andfamilies to support, just as everybody else; at the stores cash had tobe paid for goods, Oh! what realists they all were!

The great day had come at last. It was evening. He must run for themidwife. And while his wife suffered all the pangs of childbirth, hehad to go down into the hall and pacify the creditors. 

At last he held a daughter in his arms. His tears fell on the baby, for now he realised his responsibility, a responsibility which he wasunable to shoulder. He made new resolutions. But his nerves wereunstrung. He was working at a translation which he seemed unable tofinish, for he had to be constantly out on business. 

He rushed to his father-in-law, who was staying in town, to bring himthe glad news. 

"We have a little daughter!"

"Well and good, " replied his father-in-law; "can you support a child?"

"Not at present; for heaven's sake, help us, father!"

"I'll tide you over your present difficulties. I can't do more. Mymeans are only sufficient to support my own family. "

The patient required chickens which he bought himself at the market, and wine at six crowns the bottle. It had to be the very best. 

The midwife expected a hundred crowns. 

"Why should we pay her less than others? Hasn't she just received acheque for a hundred crowns from the captain?"

Very soon the young wife was up again. She looked like a girl, asslender as a willow, a little pale, it was true, but the pallor suitedher. 

The old man called and had a private conversation with his son-in-law. 

"No more children, for the present, " he said, "or you'll be ruined. "

"What language from a father! Aren't we married! Don't we love oneanother? Aren't we to have a family?"

"Yes, but not until you can provide for them. It's all very fine tolove one another, but you musn't forget that you have responsibilities. "

His father-in-law, too, had become a materialist. Oh! what a miserableworld it was! A world without ideals!

The home was undermined, but love survived, for love was strong, andthe hearts of the young couple were soft. The bailiff, on the contrary, was anything but soft. Distraint was imminent, and bankruptcy threatened. Well, let them distrain then!

The father-in-law arrived with a large travelling coach to fetch hisdaughter and grand-child. He warned his son-in-law not to show hisface at his house until he could pay his debts and make a home for hiswife and child. He said nothing to his daughter, but it seemed to himthat he was bringing home a girl who had been led astray. It was as ifhe had lent his innocent child to a casual admirer and now receivedher back "dishonoured. " She would have preferred to stay with herhusband, but he had no home to offer her. 

And so the husband of one year's standing was left behind to watch thepillaging of his home, if he could call it his home, for he had paidfor nothing. The two men with spectacles carted away the beds andbedclothes; the copper kettles and tin vessels; the dinner set, thechandelier and the candlesticks; everything, everything!

He was left alone in the two empty, wretched rooms! If only _she_ hadbeen left to him! But what should she do here, in these empty rooms?No, she was better off where she was! She was being taken care of. 

Now the struggle for a livelihood began in bitter earnest. He foundwork at a daily paper as a proof-corrector. He had to be at the officeat midnight; at three in the morning his work was done. He did notlose his berth, for bankruptcy had been avoided, but he had lost allchance of promotion. 

Later on he is permitted to visit wife and child once a week, but heis never allowed to see her alone. He spends Saturday night in a tinyroom, close to his father-in-law's bedroom. On Sunday morning he hasto return to town, for the paper appears on Monday morning. .. . He saysgood-bye to his wife and child who are allowed to accompany him as faras the garden gate, he waves his hand to them once more from thefurthest hillock, and succumbs to his wretchedness, his misery, hishumiliation. And she is no less unhappy. 

He has calculated that it will take him twenty years to pay his debts. And then? Even then he cannot maintain a wife and child. And hisprospects? He has none! If his father-in-law should die, his wife andchild would be thrown on the street; he cannot venture to look forwardto the death of their only support. 

Oh! How cruel it is of nature to provide food for all her creatures, leaving the children of men alone to starve! Oh! How cruel, how cruel!that life has not ptarmigans and strawberries to give to all men. Howcruel! How cruel!

COMPELLED TO

Punctually at half past nine on a winter evening he appears at thedoor leading to the glass-roofed verandah of the restaurant. While, with mathematical precision, he takes off his gloves, he peers overhis dim spectacles, first to the right, then to the left, to find outwhether any of his acquaintances are present. Then he hangs up hisovercoat on its special hook, the one to the right of the fireplace. Gustav, the waiter, an old pupil of his, flies to his table and, without waiting for an order, brushes the crumbs off the tablecloth, stirs up the mustard, smooths the salt in the salt-cellar and turnsover the dinner napkin. Then he fetches, still without any order, abottle of Medhamra, opens half a bottle of Union beer and, merely forappearance sake, hands the schoolmaster the bill of fare. 

"Crabs?" he asks, more as a matter of form than because there is anyneed of the question. 

"Female crabs, " answers the schoolmaster. 

"Large, female crabs, " repeats Gustav, walks to the speaking tubewhich communicates with the kitchen, and shouts: "Large female crabsfor Mr. Blom, and plenty of dill. "

He fetches butter and cheese, cuts two very thin slices of rye-bread, and places them on the schoolmaster's table. The latter has in themeantime searched the verandah for the evening papers, but has onlyfound the official _Post_. To make up for this very poor success, hetakes the _Daily Journal_, which he had not had time to finish atlunch, and after first opening and refolding the _Post_, and puttingit on the top of the bread basket on his left, sits down to read it. He ornaments the rye-bread with geometrical butter hieroglyphics, cutsoff a piece of cheese in the shape of a rectangle, fills his liqueurglass three quarters full and raises it to his lips, hesitates as ifthe little glass contained physic, throws back his head and says: Ugh!

He has done this for twelve years and will continue doing it until theday of his death. 

As soon as the crabs, six of them, have been put before him, heexamines them as to their sex, and everything being as it should be, makes ready to enjoy himself. He tucks a corner of his dinner napkininto his collar, places two slices of thin bread and cheese by theside of his plate and pours out a glass of beer and half a glass ofliqueur. Then he takes the little crab-knife and business begins. Heis the only man in Sweden who knows how to eat a crab, and whenever hesees anybody else engaged in the same pursuit, he tells him that hehas no idea how to do it. He makes an incision all round the head, anda hole against which he presses his lips and begins to suck. 

"This, " he says, "is the best part of the whole animal. "

He severs the thorax from the lower part, puts his teeth to the bodyand drinks deep draughts; he sucks the little legs as if they wereasparagus, eats a bit of dill, and takes a drink of beer and a mouthfulof rye-bread. When he has carefully taken the shell off the claws andsucked even the tiniest tubes, he eats the flesh; last of all he attacksthe lower part of the body. When he has eaten three crabs, he drinks halfa glass of liqueur and reads the promotions in the _Post_. 

He has done this for twelve years and will continue doing it until hedies. 

He was just twenty years old when he first began to patronise therestaurant, now he is thirty-two, and Gustav has been a waiter for tenyears in the same place. Not one of its frequenters has known therestaurant longer than the school-master, not even the proprietor whotook it over eight years ago. He has watched generations of dinerscome and go; some came for a year, some for two, some for five years;then they disappeared, went to another restaurant, left the town orgot married. He feels very old, although he is only thirty-two! Therestaurant is his home, for his furnished room is nothing but theplace where he sleeps. 

It is ten o'clock. He leaves his table and goes to the back room wherehis grog awaits him. This is the time when the bookseller arrives. They play a game of chess or talk about books. At half-past ten thesecond violin from the Dramatic Theatre drops in. He is an old Polewho, after 1864, escaped to Sweden, and now makes a living by hisformer hobby. Both the Pole and the bookseller are over fifty, butthey get on with the schoolmaster as if he were a contemporary. 

The proprietor has his place behind the counter. He is an old seacaptain who fell in love with the proprietress and married her. Sherules in the kitchen, but the sliding panel is always open, so thatshe can keep an eye on the old man, lest he should take a glass toomuch before closing time. Not until the gas has been turned out, andthe old man is ready to go to bed, is he allowed a nightcap in theshape of a stiff glass of rum and water. 

At eleven o'clock the young bloods begin to arrive; they approach thecounter diffidently and ask the proprietor in a whisper whether any ofthe private rooms upstairs are disengaged, and then there is a rustlingof skirts in the hall and cautious footsteps are creeping upstairs. 

"Well, " says the bookseller, who has suddenly found a topic ofconversation, "when are you going to be married, Blom, old man?"

"I haven't the means to get married, " answered the school-master. "Whydon't you take a wife to your bosom yourself?"

"No woman would have me, now that my head looks like an old, leather-covered trunk, " says the bookseller. "And, moreover, there'smy old Stafva, you know. "

Stafva was a legendary person in whom nobody believed. She was theincarnation of the bookseller's unrealised dreams. 

"But you, Mr. Potocki?" suggested the schoolmaster. 

"He's been married once, that's enough, " replies the bookseller. 

The Pole nods his head like a metrometer. 

"Yes, I was married very happily. Ugh!" he says and finishes his grog. 

"Well, " continues the schoolmaster, "if women weren't such fools, onemight consider the matter; but they are infernal fools. "

The Pole nods again and smiles; being a Pole, he doesn't understandwhat the word fool means. 

"I have been married very happily, ugh!"

"And then there is the noise of the children, and children's clothesalways drying near the stove; and servants, and all day long the smellsfrom the kitchen. No, thank you! And, perhaps, sleepless nights into thebargain. "

"Ugh!" added the Pole, completing the sentence. 

"Mr. Potocki says 'ugh' with the malice of the bachelor who listens tothe complaints of the married man, " remarked the bookseller. 

"What did I say?" asks the astonished widower. "Ugh!" says thebookseller, mimicking him, and the conversation degenerates into auniversal grinning and a cloud of tobacco smoke. 

It is midnight. The piano upstairs, which has accompanied a mixedchoir of male and female voices, is silent. The waiter has finishedhis countless journeys from the speaking tube to the verandah; theproprietor enters into his daybook the last few bottles of champagnewhich have been ordered upstairs. The three friends rise from theirchairs and go home, two to their "virgin couches, " and the booksellerto his Stafva. 

When schoolmaster Blom had reached his twentieth year, he was compelledto interrupt his studies at Upsala and accept a post as assistant teacherat Stockholm. As he, in addition, gave private lessons, he made quite agood income. He did not ask much of life. All he wanted was peace andcleanliness. An elderly lady let him a furnished room and there he foundmore than a bachelor finds as a rule. She looked after him and was kindto him; she gave him all the tenderness which nature had intended her tobestow on the new generation that was to spring from her. She mended hisclothes and looked after him generally. He had lost his mother when hewas a little boy and had never been accustomed to gratuitous kindness;therefore he was inclined to look upon her services as an interferencewith his liberty, but he accepted them nevertheless. But all the samethe public house was his real home. There he paid for everything andran up no bills. 

He was born in a small town in the interior of Sweden; consequently hewas a stranger in Stockholm. He knew nobody; was not on visiting termswith any of the families and met his acquaintances nowhere but at thepublic-house. He talked to them freely, but never gave them hisconfidence, in fact he had no confidence to give. At school he taughtthe third class and this gave him a feeling of having been stunted inhis growth. A very long time ago he had been in the third classhimself, had gradually crept up to the seventh, and had spent a fewterms at the University; now he had returned to the third; he had beenthere for twelve years without being moved. He taught the second andthird books of Euclid; this was the course of instruction for thewhole year. He saw only a fragment of life; a fragment withoutbeginning or end; the second and third books. In his spare time heread the newspapers and books on archaeology. Archaeology is a modernscience, one might almost say a disease of the time. And there isdanger in it, for it proves over and over again that human folly haspretty nearly always been the same. 

Politics was to him nothing but an interesting game of chess--playedfor the king, for he was brought up like everybody else; it was anarticle of faith with him that nothing which happened in the world, concerned him, personally; let those look to it whom God had placed ina position of power. This way of looking at things filled his soulwith peace and tranquillity; he troubled nobody and nothing troubledhim. When he found, as he did occasionally, that an unusually foolishevent had occurred, he consoled himself with the conviction that itcould not have been helped. His education had made him selfish, andthe catechism had taught him that if everybody did his duty, allthings would be well, whatever happened. He did his duty towards hispupils in an exemplary fashion; he was never late; never ill. In hisprivate life, too, he was above reproach; he paid his rent on the dayit fell due, never ran up bills at his restaurant, and spent only oneevening a week on pleasure. His life glided along like a railway train to the second and, being a clever man, he managed to avoid collisions. He gave no thought to the future; a truly selfish man never does, forthe simple reason that the future belongs to him for no longer thantwenty or thirty years at the most. 

And thus his days passed. 

 * * * * *

Midsummer morning dawned--radiant and sunny as mid-summer morningshould be. The schoolmaster was still in bed, reading a book on theArt of Warfare in ancient Egypt, when Miss Augusta came into his roomwith his breakfast. She had put on his tray some slices of saffronbread, in honour of the festival, and on his dinner-napkin lay a sprayof elder blossoms. On the previous night she had decorated his roomwith branches of the birch-tree, put clean sand and some cowslips inthe spittoon, and a bunch of lilies-of-the-valley on the dressingtable. 

"Aren't you going to make an excursion to-day, sir?" she asked, glancingat the decorations, anxious for a word of thanks or approval. 

But Mr. Blom had not even noticed the decorations, and therefore heanswered dryly:

"Haven't you realised yet that I never make excursions? I hate elbowingmy way through a crowd, and the noise of the children gets on my nerves. "

"But surely you won't stay in town on such a lovely day! You'll at leastgo to the Deer Park?"

"That would be the very last place I should go to, especially to-day, when it will be crowded. Oh! no, I'm better off in town, and I wish togoodness that this holiday nuisance would be stopped. "

"There are plenty of people who say that there aren't half enoughholidays these days when everybody has to work so hard, " said the oldwoman in a conciliatory tone. "But is there anything else you wish, sir? My sister and I are making an excursion by steamer, and we shan'tbe back until ten o'clock to-night. "

"I hope you'll enjoy yourselves, Miss Augusta. I want nothing, and amquite able to look after myself. The caretaker can do my room when Ihave gone out. "

Miss Augusta left him alone with his breakfast. When he had eaten it, he lit a cigar and remained in bed with his _Egyptian Warfare_. Theopen window shook softly in the southern breeze. At eight o'clock thebells, large and small, of the nearest church began to ring, and thoseof the other churches of Stockholm, St. Catherine's, St. Mary's andSt. Jacob's, joined in; they tinkled and jingled, enough to make aheathen tear his hair in despair. When the church bells stopped, amilitary band on the bridge of a steamer began to play a set ofquadrilles from _The Weak Point_. The schoolmaster writhed between hissheets, and would have got out of bed and shut the window if it hadnot been so hot. Next there came a rolling of drums, which wasinterrupted by the strains of a brass quintet which played, on anothersteamer, the Hunter's Chorus from the _Freischütz_. But the cursedrolling of drums approached. They were marching at the head of theRiflemen on their way to camp. Now he was subjected to a medley ofsounds: the Riflemen's march, the signals, the bells and the brassbands on the steamers, until at last the whole crash and din wasdrowned by the throbbing of the screw. 

At ten o'clock he lit his spirit lamp and boiled his shaving water. His starched shirt lay on his chest of drawers, white and stiff as aboard. It took him a quarter of an hour to push the studs through thebutton-holes. He spent half-an-hour in shaving himself. He brushed hishair as if it were a matter of the utmost importance. When he put onhis trousers, he was careful that the lower ends should not touch thefloor and become dusty. 

His room was simply furnished, extremely plain and tidy. It wasimpersonal, neutral, like the room in a hotel. And yet he had spent init twelve years of his life. Most people collect no end of triflesduring such a period; presents, little superfluous nothings, ornaments. Not a single engraving, not a supplement to an illustrated magazineeven, which at some time or other had appealed to him, hung on the walls;no antimacassar, no rug worked by a loving sister, lay on the chairs;no photograph of a beloved face stood on his writing-table, noembroidered pen-wiper lay by the side of the ink-stand. Everything hadbeen bought as cheaply as possible with a view to avoiding unnecessaryexpense which might have hampered the owner's independence. 

He leaned out of the window which gave him a view of the street and, across Artillery Place, of the harbour. In the house opposite a womanwas dressing. He turned away as if something ugly had met his gaze, orsomething which might disturb his peace of mind. The harbour was gaywith the fluttering flags on the steamers and sailing-ships, and thewater glittered in the sunshine. A few old women, prayer-book in hand, passed his window on their way to church. A sentinel with drawn swordwas walking up and down before the Artillery Barracks, glancingdiscontentedly at the clock on the tower every now and then to see howmuch longer he would have to wait until the relieving guard arrived. Otherwise the street lay empty and grey in the hot sunshine. His eyeswandered back to the woman opposite. She was standing before herlooking-glass, powder puff in hand, intent on powdering the corners ofher nose, with a grimace which made her look like a monkey. He left thewindow and sat down in his rocking chair. 

He made his programme for the day, for he had a vague dread ofsolitude. On week days he was surrounded by the school-boys, andalthough he had no love for those wild beasts whose taming, or ratherwhose efficient acquisition of the difficult art of dissembling, washis life task, yet he felt a certain void when he was not with them. Now, during the long summer vacations, he had established a holidayschool, but even so he had been compelled to give the boys short summerholidays, and, with the exception of meal times when he could alwayscount on the bookseller and the second violin, he had been alone forseveral days. 

"At two o'clock, " he mused, "when the guard has been relieved, and thecrowds have dispersed, I'll go to my restaurant to dine; then I'llinvite the bookseller to Strömsborg; there won't be a soul to-day; wecan have coffee there and punch, and stay till the evening when we'llreturn to town and to Rejner's. " (Rejner's was the name of hisrestaurant in Berzelius Place. )

Punctually at two o'clock he took his hat, brushed himself carefullyand went out. 

"I wonder whether there'll be stewed perch to-day, " he thought. "Andmightn't one treat oneself to asparagus, as it's midsummer-day?"

He strolled past the high wall of the Government Bakery. In BerzeliusPark the seats which were usually occupied by the nursemaids of therich and their charges, were crowded with the families of thelabourers who had appeared in great numbers with their perambulators. He saw a mother feeding her baby. She was a large, full-breastedwoman, and the baby's dimpled hand almost disappeared in her bosom. The schoolmaster turned away with a feeling of loathing. He wasannoyed to see these strangers in _his_ park. It was very much likethe servants using the drawing-room when their master and mistress hadgone out; moreover, he couldn't forgive them their plainness. 

He arrived at the glass verandah, and put his hand on the door handle, thinking once more of the stewed perch "with lots of parsley, " whenhis eyes fell on a notice on the door. There was no necessity to readit, he knew its purport: the restaurant was closed on midsummer-day;he had forgotten it. He felt as if he had run with his head into alamp-post. He was furious; first of all with the proprietor forclosing, then with himself for having forgotten that the restaurantwould be closed. It seemed to him so monstrous that he could haveforgotten an incident of such importance, that he couldn't believe itand racked his brain to find someone on whom he could lay the blame. Of course, it was the fault of the proprietor. He had run off thelines, come into collision. He was done. He sat down on the seat andalmost shed tears of rage. 

Thump! a ball hit him right in the middle of his starched shirt front. Like an infuriated wasp he rose from his seat to find the criminal; aplain little girl's face laughed into his; a labourer in his Sundayclothes and straw hat appeared, took her by the hand and smilinglyexpressed a hope that the child had not hurt him; a laughing crowd ofsoldiers and servant girls stared at him. He looked round for aconstable for he felt that his rights as a human being had beenencroached upon. But when he saw the constable in familiar conversationwith the child's mother, he dropped the idea of making a scene, wentstraight to the nearest cab-stand, hired a cab, and told the driverto drive him to the bookseller's; he could not bear to be alone anylonger. 

In the safe shelter of the cab he took out his handkerchief and flickedthe dust from his shirt front. 

He dismissed the cab in Goten Street, for he felt sure that he wouldfind his friend at home. But as he walked upstairs his assurance lefthim. Supposing he were out after all!

He was out. Not one of the tenants was at home. His knock soundedthrough an empty house; his footsteps re-echoed on the desertedstairs. 

When he was again in the street he was at a loss to know what to do. He did not know Potocki's address, and where was he to find an addressbook on a day when all the shops were closed?

Without knowing where he was going, he went down the street, past theharbour, across the bridge. He did not meet a single man he knew. Thepresence of the crowd which occupied the town during the absence oftheir betters annoyed him, for, like the rest of us, the educationwhich he had received at school had made an aristocrat of him. 

In his first anger he had forgotten his hunger, but now it re-asserteditself. A new, terrible thought occurred to him, a thought which up tonow he had put away from him out of sheer cowardice: Where was he todine? He had started out with plenty of vouchers in his pocket, butonly one crown and fifty öre in coin. The vouchers were only used atRejner's, for convenience sake, and he had spent a crown on hiscabfare. 

He found himself again in Berzelius Park. Everywhere he met labourersand their families, eating what they had brought with them in baskets;hard-boiled eggs, crabs, pancakes. And the police did not interfere. On the contrary, he saw a policeman with a sandwich in one hand and aglass of beer in the other. But what irritated him more than anythingelse was the fact that these people whom he despised had the advantageof him. But why couldn't he go into a dairy and appease his hunger?Yes, why not? The very thought of it made him shudder. 

After some little reflection he went down to the harbour, intending tocross over to the Deer Park. He was bound to find acquaintances therefrom whom he could borrow money (hateful thought!) for his dinner. Andif so, he would dine at "Hazelmount, " the best restaurant. 

The steamer was so crowded that schoolmaster Blom had to stand closeto the engine; the heat at his back was intolerable; his morning coatwas being covered with grease spots, while he stood, with his gazerivetted on the untidy head of a servant girl and endured the rancidsmell of the hair-oil. But he did not see a single face he knew. 

When he entered the restaurant in the Deer Park, he squared hisshoulders and tried to look as distinguished as possible. 

The space before the restaurant was like the auditorium of a theatreand seemed to serve the same purpose: that is to say, it was a placewhere one met one's friends and showed off. The verandah was occupiedby officers, blue in the face with eating and drinking; with them wererepresentatives of the foreign Powers, grown old and grey in theirstrenuous efforts to protect fellow-countrymen who had got mixed upwith sailors and fishermen in drunken brawls, or assist at Galaperformances, christenings, weddings and funerals. So much for thearistocracy. In the centre of a large space Mr. Blom suddenly discoveredthe chimney sweep of his quarter, the proprietor of a small inn, thechemist's assistant and others of the same standing. He watched thegame-keeper in his green coat and silver lace, with his gilt staff, walking up and down and casting contemptuous glances at the assembledcrowd, as if he were wondering why they were here? The schoolmaster feltself-conscious under the stare of all those eyes which seemed to say:"Look at him! there he goes, wondering how to get dinner!" But there wasnothing else for it. He went on to the verandah where the people sateating perch and asparagus, and drinking Sauternes and Champagne. 

All of a sudden he felt the pressure of a friendly hand on his shoulder, and as he turned round, he found himself face to face with Gustav, thewaiter, who seized his hand and exclaimed with undisguised pleasure:

"Is that really you, Mr. Blom? How are you?"

But Gustav, the waiter, who was so pleased to find himself for a fewmoments the equal of his master, held a piece of wood in his warm handand met a pair of eyes which pierced his soul like gimlets. And yetthis same hand had given him ten crowns only yesterday, and the ownerof it had thanked him for six months' service and attention in the wayone thanks a friend. The waiter went back to his companions and satdown amongst them, embarrassed and snubbed. But Mr. Blom left theverandah with bitter thoughts and pushed his way through the crowd; hefancied that he could hear a mocking: "He hasn't been able to getdinner, after all!"

He came to a large open space. There was a puppet-show, and Jasper wasbeing beaten by his wife. A little further off a sailor was showingservant girls, soldiers and apprentices their future husband or wifein a wheel of fortune. They all had had dinner and were enjoyingthemselves; for a moment he believed himself their inferior, but onlyfor a moment; then he remembered that they had not the vaguest idea ofhow an Egyptian camp was fortified. The thought gave him back hisself-respect, and he wondered how it was possible that people could beso degraded as to find pleasure in such childishness. 

In the meantime he had lost all inclination to try the other restaurants;he passed the Tivoli and went further into the heart of the park. Youngmen and women were dancing on the grass to the strains of a violin: alittle further off a whole family was camping under an old oak; the headof the family was kneeling down, in his shirt sleeves, with bare head, aglass of beer in one hand, a sandwich in the other; his fat, jolly, clean-shaven face beamed with pleasure and good-nature as he invited hisguests, who were evidently his wife, parents-in-law, brothers, shop-assistants and servants, to eat, drink and be merry, for to-day wasMidsummer day, all day long. And the jovial fellow made such droll remarksthat the whole party writhed on the grass with amusement. After thepancake had been produced and eaten with the fingers, and the port bottlebeen round, the senior shop-assistant made a speech which was at once somoving and so witty that the ladies at one moment pressed theirhandkerchiefs to their eyes, while the head of the family bit his lips, and at the next interrupted the speaker with loud laughter and cheers. 

The schoolmaster's mood became more and more morose, but instead ofgoing away he sat down on a stone under a pinetree and watched "theanimals. "

When the speech was finished and father and mother had been toastedwith cheers and a flourish of trumpets, executed on a concertina, accompanied by the rattling of all cups and saucers that happened tobe empty, the party rose to play "Third Man, " while mother andmother-in-law attended to the babies. 

"Just like the beasts in the field, " thought the schoolmaster, turningaway, for all that was natural was ugly in his eyes, and only thatwhich was unnatural could lay any claim to beauty in his opinion, except, of course, the paintings of "well-known" masters in theNational Museum. 

He watched the young men taking off their coats, the young girlsslipping off their cuffs and hanging them on the blackthorn bushes;then they took up their positions and the game began. 

The girls picked up their skirts and threw up their legs so that theirgarters, made of blue and red braid such as the grocers sell for tyingup pots, were plainly visible, and whenever the cavalier caught hislady, he took her in his arms and swung her round so that her skirtsflew; and young and old shrieked so with laughter that the parkre-echoed. 

"Is this innocence or corruption?" wondered the schoolmaster. 

But evidently the party did not know what the learned word "corruption"meant, and that was the reason why they were so merry. 

By the time they were tired of playing "Third Man" tea was ready. Theschoolmaster was puzzled to know where the cavaliers had learnt theirfine manners, for they moved about on all fours to offer the girlssugar and cake; and the straps of their waistcoats stood out likehandles. 

"The males showing off before the females!" thought the schoolmaster. "They don't know what they are in for. "

He noticed how the head of the family, the jolly fellow, waited onfather and mother-in-law, wife, shop-assistants and servant girls: andwhenever one of them begged him to help himself first, he invariablyanswered that there was plenty of time for that. 

He watched the father-in-law peeling a willow branch to make a flutefor the little boy; he watched the mother-in-law wash up as if she hadbeen one of the servants. And he thought that there was somethingstrange about selfishness, since it could be so cleverly disguisedthat it looked as if no one gave more than he received; for it must beselfishness, it couldn't be anything else. 

They played at forfeits and redeemed every forfeit with kisses, true, genuine, resounding kisses on the lips; and when the jolly book-keeperwas made to kiss the old oak-tree, his conduct was too absurd foranything; he embraced and caressed the gnarled trunk as if it had beena girl whom he had met secretly; everybody shouted with laughter, forall knew how to do it, although none of them would have liked to becaught doing it. 

The schoolmaster who had begun by watching the spectacle with criticaleyes, fell more and more under the spell of it; he almost believedhimself to be one of the party. He smiled at the sallies of theshop-assistants, and before an hour was gone the head of the familyhad won his whole sympathy. No one could deny that the man was acomedian of the first rank. He could play "Skin-the-cat"; he could"walk backwards, " "lie" on the tree-trunks, swallow coins, eat fire, and imitate all sorts of birds. And when he extracted a saffron cakefrom the dress of one of the girls and made it disappear in his rightear, the schoolmaster laughed until his empty inside ached. 

Then the dancing began. The schoolmaster had read in Rabe's grammar:Nemo saltat sobrius, nisi forte insanit, and had always looked upondancing as a species of insanity. True, he had watched puppies andcalves dancing when they felt frisky, but he did not believe thatCicero's maxim applied to the animal world, and he was in the habit ofdrawing a sharp line between men and animals. Now, as he sat watchingthese young people who were quite sober, and neither hungry nor thirsty, moving round and round to the slow measures of the concertina, he feltas if his soul were in a swing which was being kept going by his eyesand ears, and his right foot beat time gently on the springy turf. 

He spent three hours musing and watching, then he rose. He found italmost difficult to tear himself away; it was just as if he wereleaving a merry party to which he had been invited; but his mood hadchanged; he felt more reconciled. He was at peace with the world andpleasantly tired, as if he had been enjoying himself. 

It was evening. Smart carriages passed him, the lady-occupants lollingon the back seats and looking in their long, white theatre wraps likecorpses in their shrouds; it was fashionable then to look as if onehad been exhumed. The schoolmaster, whose thoughts were running inanother direction, was sure that the ladies must be bored to death andfelt no trace of envy. Below the dusty highroad, far out on the sea, the steamers with their flags and brass bands were returning fromtheir pleasure trips; cheers, strains of music and snatches of songwere wafted by the sea breezes to the mountains and the Deer Park. 

The schoolmaster had never felt so lonely in his life as he did thisevening in the moving throng. He fancied that everybody was looking athim compassionately as he made his solitary way through the crowd, andalmost gave way to self-pity. He would have liked to talk to the firstcomer, for the mere pleasure of hearing his voice, for in his lonelinesshe felt as if he were walking by the side of a stranger. And now hisconscience smote him. He remembered the waiter Gustav, who had beenunable to hide his pleasure at meeting him. Now he had arrived at apoint when he would have given worlds if anybody had met him and shownany pleasure at the fact. But nobody came. 

Yes, somebody did, after all. As he was sitting by himself on thesteamer, a setter, who had lost his master, came to him and put itshead on his knee. The schoolmaster was not particularly fond of dogs, but he allowed it to stay; he felt it pressing its soft warm bodyagainst his leg, he saw the eyes of the forsaken brute looking at himin dumb appeal, as if it were asking him to find its master. 

But as soon as they landed, the setter ran away. "It needed me nolonger, " thought the schoolmaster, and he walked home and went to bed. 

These trifling incidents of Midsummer day had robbed the schoolmasterof his assurance. They taught him that all foresight, all precautions, all the clever calculations in the world availed nothing. He felt acertain instability in his surroundings. Even the public house, hishome, was not to be counted on. It might be closed any day. Moreover, a certain reserve on the part of Gustav troubled him. The waiter wasas civil as before, more attentive even, but his friendship was gone;he had lost confidence. It afforded the schoolmaster food for thought, and whenever a tough piece of meat, or too small a dish of potatoeswas set before him he thought:

"Haha! He's paying me out!"

It was a bad summer for the schoolmaster: the second violin was out oftown and the book-seller frequented "Mosesheight, " a garden restaurantin his own district, situated on a hill. 

On an evening in autumn the bookseller and the second violin weresitting at their favourite table, drinking a glass of punch, whenthe schoolmaster entered, carrying under his arm a parcel which hecarefully hid in an empty hamper in a cupboard used for all sorts oflumber. He was ill-tempered and unusually irritable. 

"Well, old boy, " the bookseller began for the hundredth time, "andwhen are you going to be married?"

"Confound your 'when are you going to be married!' As if a man hadn'tenough trouble without it! Why don't you get married yourself?"growled the schoolmaster. 

"Oh! because I have my old Stafva, " answered the bookseller, who alwayshad a number of stereotyped answers in readiness. 

"I was married very happily, " said the Pole, "but my wife is dead, now, ugh!"

"Is she?" mimicked the schoolmaster; "and the gentleman is a widower?How am I to reconcile these facts?"

The Pole nodded, for he did not in the least understand what theschoolmaster was driving at. 

The latter felt bored by his friends; their topic of conversation wasalways the same; he knew their replies by heart. 

Presently he went into the corridor for a few moments to fetch hiscigar-case which he had left in the pocket of his overcoat. Thebookseller instantly raided the cupboard and returned with themysterious parcel. As it was not sealed, he opened it quickly; itcontained a beautiful American sleeping-suit; he hung it carefullyover the back of the schoolmaster's chair. 

"Ugh!" said the Pole, grinning, as if he were looking at somethingunsightly. 

The proprietor of the restaurant who loved a practical joke, bent overthe counter, laughing loudly; the waiter stood rooted to the spot, andone of the cooks peeped through the door which communicated with thekitchen. 

When the schoolmaster came back and realised the trick played on him, he grew pale with anger; he immediately suspected the bookseller; butwhen his eyes fell on Gustav who was standing in a corner of the room, laughing, his old obsession returned to him: "He's paying me out!"Without a word he seized his property, threw a few coins on thecounter and left the restaurant. 

Henceforth the schoolmaster avoided Rejner's. The bookseller had heardthat he dined at a restaurant in his own district. This was true. Buthe was very discontented! The food was not actually bad, but it wasnot cooked to his liking. The waiters were not attentive. He oftenthought of returning to Rejner's, but his pride would not let him. Hehad been turned out of his home; in five minutes a bond of many years'standing had been severed. 

A short time after fate struck him a fresh blow. Miss Augusta hadinherited a little fortune in the provinces and had decided to leaveStockholm on the first of October. The schoolmaster had to look outfor new lodgings. 

But he had been spoilt, and there was no pleasing him. He changed hisroom every month. There was nothing wrong with the rooms, but theywere not like his old room. It had become such a habit with him towalk through certain streets, that he often found himself before hisold front door before he realised his mistake. He was like a lostchild. 

Eventually he went to live in a boarding house, a solution which hehad always loathed and dreaded. And then his friends lost sight of himaltogether. 

One evening, as the Pole was sitting alone over his grog, smoking, drinking, and nodding with the capacity of the oriental to lapse intocomplete stupor, the bookseller burst in on him like a thunderstorm, flung his hat on the table, and shouted:

"Confound him! Has anybody ever heard anything like it?"

The Pole roused himself from his brandy-and-tobacco Nirvana, androlled his eyes. 

"I say, confound it! Has anybody ever heard anything like it? He'sgoing to be married!"

"Who's going to be married?" asked the Pole, startled by thebookseller's violence and emphatic language. 

"Schoolmaster Blom!"

The bookseller expected a glass of grog in exchange for his news. Theproprietor left the counter and came to their table to listen. 

"Has she any money?" he asked acutely. 

"I don't think so, " replied the bookseller, conscious of his temporaryimportance and selling his wares one by one. 

"Is she beautiful?" asked the Pole. "My wife was very beautiful. Ugh!"

"No, she's not beautiful either, " answered the bookseller, "butnice-looking. "

"Have you seen her?" enquired the proprietor. "Is she old?" His eyeswandered towards the kitchen door. 

"No, she's young!"

"And her parents?" continued the proprietor. 

"I heard that her father was a brass founder in Orebro. "

"The rascal! Well, I never!" said the proprietor. 

"Haven't I always said so? The man is a born husband, " said thebookseller. 

"We all of us are, " said the proprietor, "and take my word for it, noone escapes his fate!"

With this philosophical remark he closed the subject and returned tothe counter. 

When they had settled that the schoolmaster was not marrying for money, they discussed the problem of "what the young people were going to liveon. " The bookseller made a guess at the schoolmaster's salary and "whathe might earn besides by giving private lessons. " When that question, too, had been settled, the proprietor, who had returned to the table, asked for details. 

"Where had he met her? Was she fair or dark? Was she in love withhim?"

The last question was by no means out of the way; the bookseller"thought she was, " for he had seen them together, arm in arm, lookinginto shop windows. 

"But that he, who was such a stick, could fall in love! It was incredible!"

"And what a husband he would make!" The proprietor knew that he was_devilish particular_ about his food, and that, he said, was a mistakewhen one was married. 

"And he likes a glass of punch in the evening, and surely a marriedman can't drink punch every evening of his life. And he doesn't likechildren! It won't turn out well, " he whispered. "Take my word for it, it won't turn out well. And, gentlemen, there's another thing, " (herose from his seat, looked round and continued in a whisper), "I believe, I'm hanged if I don't, that the old hypocrite has had a love affair ofsome sort. Do you remember that incident, gentlemen, with the--hihihi--sleeping suit? He's one of those whom you don't find where you leavethem! Take care, Mrs. Blom! Mind what you are about! I'll say no more!"

It was certainly a fact that the schoolmaster was engaged to bemarried and that the wedding was to take place within two months. 

What happened after, does not belong to this story, and, moreover, itis difficult to know what goes on behind the convent walls ofdomesticity when the vow of silence is being kept. 

It was also a fact that the schoolmaster, after his marriage, was neveragain seen at a public house. 

The bookseller, who met him by himself in the street one evening, hadto listen to a long exhortation on getting married. The schoolmasterhad inveighed against all bachelors; he had called them egotists, whorefused to do their duty by the State; in his opinion they ought to beheavily taxed, for all indirect taxes weighed most cruelly on thefather of a family. He went so far as to say that he wished to seebachelorhood punished by the law of the land as a "crime againstnature. "

The bookseller had a good memory. He said that he doubted theadvisability of taking a _fool_ into one's house, permanently. But theschoolmaster replied that _his_ wife was the most intelligent woman hehad ever met. 

Two years after the wedding the Pole saw the schoolmaster and his wifein the theatre; he thought that they looked happy; "ugh!"

Another three years went by. On a Midsummer day the proprietor of therestaurant made a pleasure trip on the Lake of Mälar to Mariafred. There, before Castle Cripsholm, he saw the schoolmaster, pushing aperambulator over a green field, and carrying in his disengaged hand abasket containing food, while a whole crowd of young men and women, "who looked like country folk, " followed in the rear. After dinner theschoolmaster sang songs and turned somersaults with the youngsters. Helooked ten years younger and had all the ways of a ladies' man. 

The proprietor, who was quite close to the party while they werehaving dinner, overheard a little conversation between Mr. And Mrs. Blom. When the young wife took a dish of crabs from the basket, sheapologised to Albert, because she had not been able to buy a singlefemale crab in the whole market. Thereupon the schoolmaster put hisarm round her, kissed her and said that it didn't matter in the least, because male or female crabs, it was all the same to him. And when oneof the babies in the perambulator began to cry, the schoolmasterlifted it out and hushed it to sleep again. 

Well, all these things are mere details, but how people can get marriedand bring up a family when they have not enough for themselves whilethey are bachelors, is a riddle to me. It almost looks as if babiesbrought their food with them when they come into this world; it reallyalmost does look as if they did. 

COMPENSATION

He was considered a genius at College, and no one doubted that hewould one day distinguish himself. But after passing his examinations, he was obliged to go to Stockholm and look out for a berth. Hisdissertation, which was to win him the doctor's degree, had to bepostponed. As he was very ambitious, but had no private means, heresolved to marry money, and with this object in view, he visited onlythe very best families, both at Upsala where he studied for the bar, andlater on at Stockholm. At Upsala he always fraternised with the newarrivals, that is to say, when they were members of aristocratic families, and the freshers felt flattered by the advances made by the older man. In this way he formed many useful ties, which meant invitations to hisfriends' country houses during the summer. 

The country houses were his happy hunting ground. He possessed socialtalents, he could sing and play and amuse the ladies, and consequentlyhe was a great favourite. He dressed beyond his means; but he neverborrowed money from any of his friends or aristocratic acquaintances. He even went to the length of buying two worthless shares and mentioningon every possible occasion that he had to attend a General Meeting ofthe shareholders. 

For two summers he had paid a great deal of attention to a titled ladywho owned some property, and his prospects were the general topic, when he suddenly disappeared from high life and became engaged to apoor girl, the daughter of a cooper, who owned no property whatever. 

His friends were puzzled and could not understand how he could thusstand in his own light. He had laid his plans so well, he "had but tostretch out his hand and success was in his grasp"; he had the morselfirmly stuck on his fork, it was only necessary for him to open hismouth and swallow it. He himself was at a loss to understand how itwas that the face of a little girl whom he had met but once on a steamercould have upset all his plans of many years' standing. He was bewitched, obsessed. 

He asked his friends whether they didn't think her beautiful?

Frankly speaking they didn't. 

"But she is so clever! Just look into her eyes! What expressive eyesshe has!"

His friends could see nothing and hear less, for the girl never openedher lips. 

But he spent evening after evening with the cooper's family; to besure, the cooper was a very intelligent man! On his knees before her(a trick often practised at the country houses) he held her skeins ofwool; he played and sang to her, talked about religion and the drama, and he always read acquiescence in her eyes. He wrote poetry abouther, and sacrificed at her shrine his laurels, his ambitious dreams, even his dissertation. 

And then he married her. 

The cooper drank too much at the wedding and made an improper speechabout girls in general. But the son-in-law found the old man sounsophisticated, so amiable, that he egged him on instead of shuttinghim up. He felt at his ease among these simple folk; in their midst hecould be quite himself. 

"That's being in love, " said his friends. "Love is a wonderful thing. "

And now they were married. One month--two months. He was unspeakablyhappy. Every evening they spent together and he sang a song to herabout the Rose in the Wood, her favourite song. And he talked aboutreligion and the drama, and she sat and listened eagerly. But she neverexpressed an opinion; she listened in silence and went on with hercrochet work. 

In the third month he relapsed into his old habit of taking an afternoonnap. His wife, who hated being by herself, insisted on sitting by him. It irritated him, for he felt an overwhelming need to be alone with histhoughts. 

Sometimes she met him on his way home from his office, and her heartswelled with pride when he left his colleagues and crossed the streetto join her. She took him home in triumph: he was _her_ husband!

In the fourth month he grew tired of her favourite song. It was stalenow! He took up a book and read, and neither of them spoke. 

One evening he had to attend a meeting which was followed by a banquet. It was his first night away from home. He had persuaded his wife toinvite a friend to spend the evening with her, and to go to bed early, for he did not expect to be home until late. 

The friend came and stayed until nine o'clock. The young wife sat inthe drawing-room, waiting, for she was determined not to go to beduntil her husband had returned. She felt too restless to go to sleep. 

She sat alone in the drawing-room. What could she do to make the timepass more quickly? The maid had gone to bed; the grandfather's clockticked and ticked. But it was only ten o'clock when she put away hercrochet work. She fidgeted, moved the furniture about and felt a littleunstrung. 

So that was what being married meant! One was torn from one's earlysurroundings, and shut up in three solitary rooms to wait until one'shusband came home, half intoxicated. --Nonsense! he loved her, and hewas out on business. She was a fool to forget that. But _did_ he loveher still? Hadn't he refused a day or two ago to hold a skein of woolfor her?--a thing he loved to do before they were married. Didn't helook rather annoyed yesterday when she met him before lunch? And--afterall--if he had to attend a business meeting to-night, there was nonecessity for him to be present at the banquet. 

It was half-past ten when her musing had reached this point. She wassurprised that she hadn't thought of these things before. She relapsedinto her dark mood and the dismal thoughts again passed through hermind, one by one. But now reinforcements had arrived. He never talkedto her now! He never sang to her, never opened the piano! He had toldher a lie when he had said that he couldn't do without his afternoonnap, for he was reading French novels all the time. 

He had told her a lie!

It was only half-past eleven. The silence was oppressive. She openedthe window and looked out into the street. Two men were standing downbelow, bargaining with two women. That was men's way! If he shouldever do anything like that! She should drown herself if he did. 

She shut the window and lighted the chandelier in the bedroom. "Oneought to be able to see what one is about, " he had once said to her ona certain occasion. --Everything was still so bright and new! The greencoverlet looked like a mown lawn, and the little pillows reminded herof two white kittens curled up on the grass. The polish of herdressing-table reflected the light: the mirror had as yet none ofthose ugly stains which are made by the splashing of water. The silveron the back of her hair-brush, her powder-box, her tooth-brush, allshone and sparkled. Her bedroom slippers were still so new and prettythat it was impossible to picture them down-at-heel. Everything lookednew, and yet everything seemed to have lost some of its freshness. Sheknew all his songs, all his drawing-room pieces, all his words, allhis thoughts. She knew before-hand what he would say when he sat downto lunch, what he would talk about when they were alone in theevening. 

She was sick of it all. Had she been in love with him? Oh, yes!Certainly! But was this all then? Was she realising all the dreams ofher girlhood? Were things to go on like this until she died? Yes!But--but--but--surely they would have children! though there was nosign of it as yet. Then she would no longer be alone! Then he might goout as often as he liked, for she would always have somebody to talkto, to play with. Perhaps it was a baby which she wanted to make herhappy. Perhaps matrimony really meant something more than being aman's legitimate mistress. That must be it! But then, he would have tolove her, and he didn't do that. And she began to cry. 

When her husband came home at one o'clock, he was quite sober. But hewas almost angry with her when he found her still up. 

"Why didn't you go to bed?" were the words with which he greeted her. 

"How can I go to sleep when I am waiting for you?"

"A fine look out for me! Am I never to go out then? I believe you havebeen crying, too?"

"Yes, I have, and how can I help it if you--don't--love--me--any--more?"

"Do you mean to say I don't love you because I had to go out onbusiness?"

"A banquet isn't business!"

"Good God! Am I not to be allowed to go out? How can women be soobtrusive?"

"Obtrusive? Yes, I noticed that yesterday, when I met you. I'll nevermeet you again. "

"But, darling, I was with my chief--"

"Huhuhu!"

She burst into tears, her body moved convulsively. 

He had to call the maid and ask her to fetch the hot-water bottle. 

He, too, was weeping. Scalding tears! He wept over himself, his hardnessof heart, his wickedness, his illusions over everything. 

Surely his love for her wasn't an illusion? He did love her! Didn'the? And she said she loved him, too, as he was kneeling before herprostrate figure, kissing her eyes. Yes, they loved one another! Itwas merely a dark cloud which had passed, now. Ugly thoughts, born ofsolitude and loneliness. She would never, never again stay alone. Theyfell asleep in each other's arms, her face dimpled with smiles. 

But she did not go to meet him on the following day. He asked noquestions at lunch. He talked a lot, but more for the sake of talkingthan to amuse her; it seemed as if he were talking to himself. 

In the evening he entertained her with long descriptions of the lifeat Castle Sjöstaholm; he mimicked the young ladies talking to theBaron, and told her the names of the Count's horses. And on thefollowing day he mentioned his dissertation. 

One afternoon he came home very tired. She was sitting in thedrawing-room, waiting for him. Her ball of cotton had fallen on thefloor. In passing, his foot got entangled in the cotton; at his nextstep he pulled her crochet work out of her hand and dragged it along;then he lost his temper and kicked it aside. 

She exclaimed at his rudeness. 

He retorted that he had no time to bother about her rubbish, andadvised her to spend her time more profitably. He had to think of hisdissertation, if he was to have a career at all. And she ought toconsider the question of how to limit their household expenses. 

Things had gone far indeed!

On the next day the young wife, her eyes swollen with weeping, wasknitting socks for her husband. He told her he could buy them cheaperready-made. She burst into tears. What was she to do? The maid did allthe work of the house, there was not enough work in the kitchen fortwo. She always dusted the rooms. Did he want her to send the maidaway?

"No, no!"

"What did he want, then?"

He didn't know himself, but he was sure that something was wrong. Theirexpenses were too high. That was all. They couldn't go on living at theirpresent rate, and then--somehow he could never find time to work at hisdissertation. 

Tears, kisses, and a grand reconciliation! But now he started stayingaway from home in the evening several times a week. Business! A manmust show himself! If he stays at home, he will be overlooked andforgotten!

A year had passed; there were no signs of the arrival of a baby. "Howlike a little liaison I once had in the old days, " he thought; "thereis only one difference: this one is duller and costs more. " There wasno more conversation, now; they merely talked of household matters. "She has no brain, " he thought. "I am listening to myself when I amtalking to her, and the apparent depths of her eyes is a delusion, dueto the size of her pupils--the unusual size of her pupils. --"

He talked openly about his former love for her as of something thatwas over and done with. And yet, whenever he did so, he felt a painin his heart, an irritating, cruel pain, a remorseless pain that couldnever die. 

"Everything on earth withers and dies, " he mused, "why should herfavourite song alone be an exception to this? When one has heard itthree hundred and sixty-five times, it becomes stale; it can't behelped. But is my wife right when she says that our love, also, hasdied? No, and yet--perhaps she is. Our marriage is no better than avulgar liaison, for we have no child. "

One day he made up his mind to talk the matter over with a marriedfriend, for were they not both members of the "Order of the Married"?

"How long have you been married?"

"Six years. "

"And does matrimony bore you?"

"At first it did; but when the children came, matters improved. "

"Was that so? It's strange that we have no child. "

"Not your fault, old man! Tell your wife to go and see a doctor aboutit. "

He had an intimate conversation with her and she went. 

Six weeks after what a change!

What a bustle and commotion in the house! The drawing-room table waslittered with baby-clothes which were quickly hidden if anybody enteredunexpectedly, and reappeared as quickly if it was only he who had comein. A name had to be thought of. It would surely be a boy. The midwifehad to be interviewed, medical books had to be bought, and a cradleand a baby's outfit. 

The baby arrived and it really was a boy! And when he saw the "littlemonkey that smelled of butter" clasped to her bosom, which until thenhad but been his plaything, he reverently discovered the mother in hislittle wife; and "when he saw the big pupils looking at the baby sointently that they seemed to be looking into the future", he realisedthat there were depths in her eyes after all; depths more profoundthan he could fathom for all his drama and religion. And now all hisold love, his dear old love, burst into fresh flames, and there wassomething new added to it, which he had dimly divined, but neverrealised. 

How beautiful she was when she busied herself about the house again!And how intelligent in all matters concerning the baby!

As for him, he felt a man. Instead of talking of the Baron's horsesand the Count's cricket matches, he now talked, too much almost, ofhis son. 

And when occasionally he was obliged to be out of an evening, he alwayslonged for his own fireside; not because his wife sat there waiting forhim, like an evil conscience, but because he knew that she was not alone. And when he came home, both mother and child were asleep. He was almostjealous of the baby, for there had been a certain charm in the thoughtthat while he was out, somebody was sitting alone at home, eagerlyawaiting his return. 

Now he was allowed his afternoon nap. And as soon as he had gone backto town, the piano was opened and the favourite song of the _Rose inthe Wood_ was sung, for it was quite new to Harold, and had regainedall its freshness for poor little Laura who hadn't heard it for so manydays. 

She had no time now for crochet work, but there were plenty ofantimacassars in the house. He, on his part, could not spare the timefor his dissertation. 

"Harold shall write it, " said the father, for he knew now that hislife would not be over when he came to die. 

Many an evening they sat together, as before, and gossiped, but nowboth took a share in the conversation, for now she understood whatthey were talking about. 

She confessed that she was a silly girl who knew nothing about religionand the drama; but she said that she had always told him so, and that hehad refused to believe it. 

But now he believed it less than ever. 

They sang the old favourite song, and Harold crowed, they danced to thetune and rocked the baby's cradle to it, and the song always retainedits freshness and charm. 

FRICTIONS

His eyes had been opened. He realised the perversity of the world, buthe lacked the power to penetrate the darkness and discover the causeof this perversity; therefore he gave himself up to despair, adisillusioned man. Then he fell in love with a girl who marriedsomebody else. He complained of her conduct to his friends, male andfemale, but they only laughed at him. For a little while longer he trodhis solitary path alone and misunderstood. He belonged to "society, "and joined in its pursuits, because it distracted him; but at the bottomof his heart he had nothing but contempt for its amusements, which hetook no pains to conceal. 

One evening he was present at a ball. He danced with a young woman ofunusual beauty and animation. When the band ceased playing, he remainedstanding by her side. He knew he ought to talk to her but he did notknow what to say. After a while the girl broke the silence. 

"You are fond of dancing, Baron?" she said with a cold, smile. 

"Oh no! not at all, " he answered. "Are you?"

"I can't imagine anything more foolish, " she replied. 

He had met his man, or rather his woman. 

"Why do you dance, then?" he asked. 

"For the same reason that you do. "

"Can you read my mind?"

"Easily enough; if two people think alike, the other always knows. "

"H'm! You're a strange woman! Do you believe in love?"

"No!"

"Nor do I! You and I ought to get married. "

"I'm beginning to think so myself. "

"Would you marry me?"

"Why not? At any rate, we shouldn't fight. "

"Horrible idea! But how can you be so sure?"

"Because we think alike. "

"Yes, but that might become monotonous. We should have nothing to talkabout, because the one would always know what the other is thinking. "

"True; but wouldn't it be even more monotonous if we remainedunmarried and misunderstood?"

"You are right! Would you like to think it over?"

"Yes, until the cotillon. "

"No longer?"

"Why any longer?"

He took her back to the drawing-room and left her there, drank severalglasses of champagne and watched her during supper. She allowed twoyoung members of the Diplomatic Corps to wait on her, but made fun ofthem all the time and treated them as if they were footmen. 

As soon as the cotillon began, he went to her and offered her a bouquet. 

"Do you accept me?" he asked. 

"Yes, " she replied. 

And so they were engaged. 

It's a splendid match, said the world. They are made for one another. They are equals as far as social position and money are concerned. They hold the same blasé views of life. By blasé the world meant thatthey cared very little for dances, theatres, bazaars, and other noblesports without which life is not really worth living. 

They were like carefully wiped twin slates, exactly alike; but utterlyunable to surmise whether or not life would write the same legend onboth. They never asked one another during the tender moments of theirengagement: Do you love me? They knew quite well that it was impossible, because they did not believe in love. They talked little, but theyunderstood one another perfectly. 

And they married. 

He was always attentive, always polite, and they were good friends. 

When the baby was born, it had but one effect on their relationship;they had something to talk about now. 

But by-and-by the husband began to reveal a certain energy. He had asense of duty, and moreover, he was sick of being idle. He had aprivate income, but was in no way connected with politics or theGovernment. Now he looked round for some occupation which would fillthe void in his life. He had heard the first morning call of theawakening spirits and felt it his duty to do his share of the greatwork of research into the causes of human misery. He read much, made acareful study of politics and eventually wrote an article and sent itto a paper. The consequence was that he was elected a member of theBoard of Education. This necessitated hard reading in future, for allquestions were to be threshed out thoroughly. 

The Baroness lay on the sofa and read Chateaubriand and Musset. Shehad no faith in the improvement of humanity, and this stirring up ofthe dust and mould which the centuries had deposited on humaninstitutions irritated her. Yet she noticed that she did not keep pacewith her husband. They were like two horses at a race. They had beenweighed before the start and been found to be of the same weight; theyhad promised to keep side by side during the run; everything wascalculated to make them finish the race and leave the course at thesame time. But already the husband had gained by the length of a neck. Unless she hurried up, she was bound to be left behind. 

And the latter really happened. In the following year he was madecontroller of the budget. He was away for two months. His absence madethe Baroness realise that she loved him; a fact which was brought hometo her by her fear of losing him. 

When he returned home, she was all eagerness; but his mind was filledwith the things he had seen and heard abroad. He realised that theyhad come to the parting of the ways, but he would have liked to delayit, prevent it, if possible. He showed her in great living picturesthe functioning of the colossal gigantic machinery of the State, hetried to explain to her the working of the wheels, the multifarioustransmissions, regulators and detents, unreliable pendulums anduntrustworthy safety valves. 

She was interested at first, but after a while her interest waned. Conscious of her mental inferiority, her insignificance, she devotedherself entirely to her baby, anxious to demonstrate to her husbandthat she yet had a value as a model mother. But her husband did notappreciate this value. He had married her for the sake of companionship, and he found in her an excellent nurse for his child. But how could itbe helped now? Who could have foreseen such a thing?

The house was always full of members of Parliament, and politics wasthe subject of conversation at dinner. The hostess merely took carethat no fault could be found with the cooking. The Baron never omittedto have one or two men amongst his guests who could talk to his wifeabout music and the drama, but the Baroness wanted to discuss nothingbut the nursery and the bringing up of children. After dessert, assoon as the health of the hostess was drunk, there was a generalstampede to the smoking-room where the political discussions werecontinued. The Baroness left her guests and went to the nursery with afeeling of bitterness in her heart; she realised that her husband hadso far outdistanced her that she could never again hope to come upwith him. 

He worked much at home in the evening; frequently he was busy at hiswriting-table until the small hours of the morning, but always behindlocked doors. When he noticed afterwards, as he sometimes did, thathis wife went about with red eyes, he felt a pain in his heart; butthey had nothing to say to each other. 

Occasionally however, at those times when his work palled, when herealised that his inner life was growing poorer and poorer, he felt avoid within him, a longing for warmth, for something intimate, somethinghe had dreamed of long ago, in the early days of his youth. But everyfeeling of that sort he suppressed at once as unfaithfulness to his wife, for he had a very high conception of the duty of a husband. 

To bring a little more variety into her daily life, he suggested oneday that she should invite a cousin of whom she had often spoken, butwhom he had never seen, to spend the winter with them in town. 

This had always been a great wish of the Baroness's, but now that therealisation of it was within her power, she changed her mind. She didnot want her in the least now. Her husband pressed her for reasons, but she could not give him any. It roused his curiosity and finallyshe confessed that she was afraid of her cousin; afraid that she mightwin his heart, that he might fall in love with her. 

"She must be a queer girl, we really must have her here!"

The Baroness wept and warned, but the Baron laughed and the cousinarrived. 

One afternoon the Baron came home, tired as usual; he had forgottenall about the cousin and his curiosity in regard to her. They sat downto dinner. The Baron asked the cousin if she was fond of the theatre. She replied that she was not. She preferred reality to make-believe. At home she had founded a school for black sheep and a society for thecare of discharged prisoners. Indeed! The Baron was much interested inthe administration of prisons. The cousin was able to give him a gooddeal of information, and during the rest of the dinner the conversationwas exclusively about prisons. Eventually the cousin promised to treatthe whole question in a paper which the Baron was going to read and workup. 

What the Baroness had foreseen, happened. The Baron contracted aspiritual marriage with the cousin, and his wife was left out in thecold. But the cousin was also beautiful, and when she leaned over theBaron at his writing-desk, and he felt her soft arm on his shoulderand her warm breath against his cheek, he could not suppress asensation of supreme well-being. Needless to say, their conversationwas not always of prisons. They also discussed love. She believed inthe love of the souls, and she stated as plainly as she could, thatmarriage without love was prostitution. The Baron had not taken muchinterest in the development of modern ideas on love, and found thather views on the subject were rather hard, but after all she wasprobably quite right. 

But the cousin possessed other qualities, too, invaluable qualificationsfor a true spiritual marriage. She had no objection to tobacco smoke forinstance, in fact, she was very fond of a cigarette herself. There was noreason, therefore, why she should not go into the smoking-room with themen after dinner and talk about politics. And then she was charming. 

Tortured by little twinges of conscience, the Baron would every nowand then disappear from the smoking-room, go into the nursery, kisshis wife and child, and ask her how she was getting on? The Baronesswas grateful, but she was not happy. After these little journeys theBaron always returned to his friends in the best of tempers; one mighthave thought that he had faithfully performed a sacred duty. At othertimes it irritated and distressed him that his wife did not join theparty in the smoking-room, too, as _his_ wife; this thought was aburden which weighed quite heavily on him. 

The cousin did not go home in the spring, but accompanied the coupleto a watering-place. There she organised little performances for thebenefit of the poor, in which she and the Baron played the parts ofthe lovers. This had the inevitable result that the fire burst intoflames. But the flames were only spiritual flames; mutual interests, like views, and, perhaps, similar dispositions. 

The Baroness had ample time to consider her position. The day arrivedwhen she told her husband that since everything was over between them, the only decent thing to do was to part. But that was more than he hadbargained for; he was miserable; the cousin had better return to herparents, and he would prove to his wife that he was a man of honour. 

The cousin left. A correspondence between her and the Baron began. Hemade the Baroness read every letter, however much she hated doing it. After a while, however, he gave in and read the letters without showingthem to his wife. 

Finally the cousin returned. Then matters came to a crisis. The Barondiscovered that he could not live without her. 

What were they to do? Separate? It would be death. Go on as at present?Impossible! Annul the marriage which the Baron had come to look upon aslegal prostitution and marry his beloved? However painful it might be, it was the only honest course to take. 

But that was against the wishes of the cousin. She did not want it saidof her that she had stolen another woman's husband. And then the scandal!the scandal!

"But it was dishonest not to tell his wife everything; it was dishonestto allow things to go on; one could never tell how the matter would end. "

"What did he mean? How could it end?"

"Nobody could tell!"

"Oh! How dared he! What did he think of her?"

"That she was a woman!"

And he fell on his knees and worshipped her; he said that he did notcare if the administration of prisons and the school for black sheepwent to the devil; he did not know what manner of woman she was; heonly knew that he loved her. 

She replied that she had nothing but contempt for him, and went helterskelter to Paris. He followed at her heels. At Hamburg he wrote aletter to his wife in which he said that they had made a mistake andthat it was immoral not to rectify it. He asked her to divorce him. 

And she divorced him. 

A year after these events the Baron and the cousin were married. Theyhad a child. But that was a fact which did not interfere with theirhappiness. On the contrary! What a wealth of new ideas germinated intheir minds in their voluntary exile! How strong were the winds whichblew here!

He encouraged her to write a book on "young criminals. " The press toreit to pieces. She was furious and swore that she would never writeanother book. He asked her whether she wrote for praise, whether shewas ambitious?--She replied by a question: Why did he write?--A littlequarrel arose. He said it was refreshing to hear her express viewswhich did not echo his own--always his own. --Always his own? What didhe mean? Didn't she have _views of her own_? She henceforth made ither business to prove to him on every occasion that she was capable offorming her own opinions; and to prevent any errors on his part shetook good care that they always differed from his. He told her he didnot care what views she held as long as she loved him. --Love? What aboutit? He was no better than other men and, moreover, he had betrayed her. He did not love her soul, but her body. --No, he loved both, he lovedher, every bit of her!--Oh! How deceitful he had been!--No, he had notbeen deceitful, he had merely deceived himself when he believed that heloved her soul only. 

They were tired of strolling up and down the boulevard, and sat downbefore a cafe. She lighted a cigarette. A waiter requested her ratheruncivilly, not to smoke. The Baron demanded an explanation and thewaiter said that the cafe was a first-class establishment and themanagement was anxious not to drive away respectable people by serving_these ladies_. They rose from their seats, paid and went away. TheBaron was furious, the young Baroness had tears in her eyes. 

"There they had a demonstration of the power of prejudice! Smoking wasa foolish act as far as a man was concerned, but in a woman it was acrime! Let him who was able to do so, destroy this prejudice! Or, letus say, him who would care to do so! The Baron had no wish that hiswife should be the first victim, even if it were to win for her thedoubtful honour of having cast aside a prejudice. For it was nothingelse. In Russia, ladies belonging to the best society smoked at thedinner-table during the courses. Customs changed with the latitudes. And yet those trifles were not without importance, for life consistedof trifles. If men and women shared bad habits, intercourse betweenthem would be less stiff and formal: they would make friends moreeasily and keep pace with one another. If they had the same education, they would have the same interests, and cling together more closelyduring the whole of their lives. "

The Baron was silent as if he had said something foolish. But she hadnot been listening to him; her thoughts had been far away. 

"She had been insulted by a waiter, told that she was not fit toassociate with respectable people. There was more behind that, thanappeared on the surface. She had been recognised. Yes, she was sure ofit, it was not the first time that she had noticed it. "

"What had she noticed?"

"That she had been treated with little respect at the restaurants. Thepeople evidently did not think that they were married; because theywere affectionate and civil to one another. She had borne it in silencefor a long time, but now she had come to the end of her tether. And yetthis was nothing compared to what they were saying at home!"

"Well, what were they saying? And why had she never told him anythingabout it before?"

"Oh! horrible things! The letters she had received! Leaving theanonymous ones quite out of the question. 

"Well, and what about him? Was he not being treated as if he were acriminal? And yet he had not committed a crime! He had acted accordingto all legal requirements, he had not broken his marriage vows. He hadleft the country in compliance with the dictates of the law; the RoyalConsistory has granted his appeal for a divorce; the clergy, Holy Church, had given him his release from the bonds of his first marriage on stampedpaper; therefore he had not broken them! When a country was conquered, awhole nation was absolved from its oath of loyalty to its monarch; whydid society look askance at the release from a promise? Had it notconferred the right on the Consistory to dissolve a marriage? How couldit dare to assume the character of a judge now and condemn its own laws?Society was at war with itself! He was being treated like a criminal!Hadn't the secretary of the Embassy, his old friend, on whom he had lefthis and his wife's cards, acknowledged them by simply returning one cardonly? And was he not overlooked at all public functions?"

"Oh! She had had to put up with worse things! One of her friends in Parishad closed her door to her, and several had cut her in the street. "

"Only the wearer of a boot knew where it pinched. The boots which theywere wearing now were real Spanish boots, and they were at war withsociety. The upper classes had cut them. The upper classes! Thiscommunity of semi-imbeciles, who secretly lived like dogs, but showedone another respect as long as there was no public scandal; that was tosay as long as one did not honestly revoke an agreement and wait untilit had lapsed before one made use of one's newly-regained freedom! Andthese vicious upper classes were the awarders of social position andrespect, according to a scale on which honesty ranked far below zero. Society was nothing but a tissue of lies! It was inexplicable that ithadn't been found out long ago! It was high time to examine this finestructure and inquire into the condition of its foundations. "

They were on friendlier terms on arriving home than they had been formany years. The Baroness stayed at home with her baby, and was soonexpecting a second one. This struggle against the tide was too hardfor her, and she was already growing tired of it. She was tired ofeverything! To write in an elegantly furnished, well-heated room onthe subject of discharged prisoners, offering them, at a properdistance, a well-gloved hand, was a proceeding society approved of;but to hold out the hand of friendship to a woman who had married alegally divorced man was quite another thing. Why should it be so? Itwas difficult to find an answer. 

The Baron fought in the thick of the battle. He visited the Chamber ofDeputies, was present at meetings, and everywhere he listened topassionate diatribes against society. He read papers and magazines, kept a keen eye on literature, studied the subject deeply. His wifewas threatened by the same fate which had overtaken the first one; tobe left behind! It was strange. She seemed unable to take in all thedetails of his investigations, she disapproved of much of the newdoctrine, but she felt that he was right and fighting for a goodcause. He knew that he could always count on her never-flaggingsympathy; that he had a friend at home who would always stand by him. Their common fate drove them into each other's arms like frightenedbirds at the approach of a storm. All the womanliness in her, --howeverlittle it may be appreciated now-a-days, --which is after all nothingbut a memory of the great mother, the force of nature which is woman'sendowment, was roused. It fell on the children like the warm glow of afire at eventide; it fell on the husband like a ray of sunshine; itbrought peace to the home. He often wondered how it was that he didnot miss his old comrade, with whom he was wont to discuss everything;he discovered that his thoughts had gained force and vigour since hestopped pouring them out as soon as he conceived them; it seemed tohim that he was profiting more by the silent approval, the kindly nod, the unwavering sympathy. He felt that his strength had increased, thathis views were less under outside control; he was a solitary man, now, and yet he was less solitary than he had been in the past, for he wasno longer constantly met by contradictions which merely filled hisheart with misgivings. 

It was Christmas Eve in Paris. A large Christmas tree, grown in thewood of St. Germain, stood in their little chalet on the Cours de laReine. They were going out after breakfast to buy Christmas presentsfor the children. The Baron was pre-occupied, for he had just publisheda little pamphlet, entitled: "Do the Upper Classes constitute Society?"They were sitting at breakfast in their cosy dining-room, and the doorswhich led to the nursery stood wide open. They listened to the nurseplaying with the children, and the Baroness smiled with contentment andhappiness. She had grown very gentle and her happiness was a quiet one. One of the children suddenly screamed and she rose from the table to seewhat was the matter. At the same moment the footman came into thedining-room with the morning post. The Baron opened two packets ofprinted matter. The first was a "big respectable" newspaper. He openedit and his eyes fell on a headline in fat type: "A Blasphemer!"

He began to read: "Christmas is upon us again! This festival dear toall pure hearts, this festival sacred to all Christian nations, whichhas brought a message of peace and good-will to all men, which makeseven the murderer sheathe his knife, and the thief respect the sacredlaw of property; this festival, which is not only of very ancientorigin, but which is also, especially in the countries of the North, surrounded by a host of historic associations, etc. , etc. And then likefoul fumes arising from a drain, an individual suddenly confronts uswho does not scruple to tear asunder the most sacred bonds, who vomitsmalice on all respectable members of society; malice, dictated by thepettiest vengeance. .. . " He refolded the paper and put it into thepocket of his dressing-gown. Then he opened the second parcel. Itcontained caricatures of himself and his wife. It went the same way asthe first, but he had to be quick, for his wife was re-entering thedining-room. He finished his breakfast and went into his bed-room toget ready to go out. They left the house together. 

The sunlight fell on the frosted plane-trees of the Champs Elysées, and in the heart of the stony desert the Place de la Concorde openedout like a large oasis. He felt her arm on his, and yet he had thefeeling as if she were supporting him. She talked of the presentswhich they were going to buy for the children, and he tried to forcehimself to take an interest in the subject. But all at once heinterrupted her conversation and asked her, à-propos of nothing:

"Do you know the difference between vengeance and punishment?"

"No, I've never thought about it. "

"I wonder whether it isn't this: When an anonymous journalist revengeshimself, it is punishment; but when a well-known writer, who is not apressman, fights with an open visor, meting out punishment, then it isrevenge! Let us join the new prophets!"

She begged him not to spoil Christmas by talking of the newspapers. 

"This festival, " he muttered, "on which peace and good-will. .. . "

They passed through the arcades of the Rue de Rivoli, turned into theboulevards and made their purchases. They dined at the Grand Hotel. She was in a sunny frame of mind and tried to cheer him up. But heremained preoccupied. Suddenly he asked, "How is it possible that one can have a bad conscience when one hasacted rightly?"

She did not know. 

"Is it because the upper classes have so trained us, that our consciencetroubles us whenever we rebel against them? Probably it is so. Whyshouldn't he who has been hurt unjustly, have the right to attackinjustice? Because only he who has been hurt will attack, and the upperclasses hate being attacked. Why did I not strike at the upper classesin the past, when I belonged to them? Because, of course, I didn't knowthem then. One must look at a picture from a distance in order to findthe correct visual point!"

"One shouldn't talk about such things on Christmas Eve!"

"True, it is Christmas. This festival of. .. . "

They returned home. They lit the candles on the Christmas tree; itradiated peace and happiness; but its dark branches smelt of a funeraland looked sinister, like the Baron's face. The nurse came in with thelittle ones. His face lighted up, for, he thought, when they are grownup they will reap in joy what we have sown in tears; then theirconscience will only trouble them when they have sinned against thelaws of nature; they won't have to suffer from whims which have beencaned into us at school, drummed into us by the parsons, invented bythe upper classes for their own benefit. 

The Baroness sat down at the piano when the maids and the footmenentered. She played melancholy old dances, dear to the heart of thepeople of the North, while the servants danced gravely with thechildren. It was very much like the penitential part of divineservice. 

After that the presents were distributed among the children, and theservants received their gifts. And then the children were put to bed. 

The Baroness went into the drawing-room and sat down in an arm-chair. The Baron threw himself on a footstool at her feet. He rested his headon her knees. It was so heavy--so heavy. She silently stroked hisforehead. "What! was he weeping?"

"Yes!"

She had never before seen a man weep. It was a terrible sight. His bigstrong frame shook, but he made no sound. 

"Why was he weeping?"

"Because he was unhappy. "

"Unhappy with her?"

"No, no, not with her, but still, unhappy. "

"Had anybody treated him badly?"

"Yes!"

"Couldn't he tell her all about it?"

"No, he only wanted to sit at her knees, as he used to sit long ago, at his mother's. "

She talked to him as if he had been a child. She kissed his eyes andwiped his face with her handkerchief. She felt so proud, so strong, there were no tears in her eyes. The sight of her inspired him withnew courage. 

"How weak he had been! That he should have found the machine-madeattacks of his opponents so hard to bear! Did his enemies reallybelieve what they said?"

"Terrible thought! Probably they did. One often found stones firmlygrown into pine-trees, why should not opinions grow into the brain inthe same way? But she believed in him, she knew that he was fightingfor a good cause?"

"Yes, she believed it! But--he must not be angry with her for askinghim such a question--but--did he not miss his child, the first one?"

"Yes, certainly, but it could not be helped. At least, not yet! But heand the others who were working for the future would have to find aremedy for that, too. He did not know, yet, what form that remedywould take, but stronger brains than his, and many together, wouldsurely one day solve this problem which at present seemed insolvable. "

"Yes, she hoped it would be so. "

"But their marriage? Was it a marriage in the true sense of the word, seeing that he couldn't tell her what troubled him? Wasn't it, too, pro. .. ?"

"No, it was a true marriage, for they loved one another. There hadbeen no love between him and his first wife. But he and she did loveone another, could she deny it?"

"She couldn't, he was her dear love. " Then their marriage was a truemarriage before God and before Nature. 

UNNATURAL SELECTION OR THE ORIGIN OF RACE

The Baron had read in _The Slaves of Life_ with disgust and indignationthat the children of the aristocracy were bound to perish unless theytook the mothers' milk from the children of the lower classes. He hadread Darwin and believed that the gist of his teaching was that throughselection the children of the aristocracy had come to be more highlydeveloped representatives of the genus "Man. " But the doctrine ofheredity made him look upon the employment of a foster-mother withaversion; for might not, with the blood of the lower classes, certainconceptions, ideas and desires be introduced and propagated in thearistocratic nursling? He was therefore determined that his wife shouldnurse her baby herself, and if she should prove incapable of doing so, the child should be brought up with the bottle. He had a right to thecows' milk, for they fed on his hay; without it they would starve, orwould not have come into existence at all. The baby was born. It was ason! The father had been somewhat anxious before he became certain ofhis wife's condition, for he was, personally, a poor man; his wife, onthe other hand, was very wealthy, but he had no claim to her fortuneunless their union was blest with a legal heir, (in accordance with thelaw of entail chap. 00 par. 00). His joy was therefore great and genuine. The baby was a transparent little thoroughbred, with blue veins shiningthrough his waxen skin. Nevertheless his blood was poor. His mother whopossessed the figure of an angel, was brought up on choice food, protectedby rich furs from all the eccentricities of the climate, and had thataristocratic pallor which denotes the woman of noble descent. 

She nursed the baby herself. There was consequently no need to becomeindebted to peasant women for the privilege of enjoying life on thisplanet. Nothing but fables, all he had read about it! The baby suckedand screamed for a fortnight. But all babies scream. It meant nothing. But it lost flesh. It became terribly emaciated. The doctor was sentfor. He had a private conversation with the father, during which hedeclared that the baby would die if the Baroness continued to nursehim, because she was firstly too highly strung, and secondly hadnothing with which to feed him. He took the trouble to make aquantitative analysis of the milk, and proved (by equations) that thechild was bound to starve unless there was a change in the method ofhis feeding. 

What was to be done? On no account could the baby be allowed to die. 

Bottle or foster mother? The latter was out of the question. Let ustry the bottle! The doctor, however, prescribed a foster mother. 

The best Dutch cow, which had received the gold medal for the district, was isolated and fed with hay; with dry hay of the finest quality. Thedoctor analysed the milk, everything was all right. How simple the systemwas! How strange that they had not thought of it before! After all, oneneed not engage a foster mother a tyrant before whom one had to cringe, a loafer one had to fatten; not to mention the fact that she might havean infectious disease. 

But the baby continued to lose flesh and to scream. It screamed nightand day. There was no doubt it suffered from colic. A new cow wasprocured and a fresh analysis made. The milk was mixed with Karlsbadwater, genuine Sprudel, but the baby went on screaming. 

"There's no remedy but to engage a foster mother, " said the doctor. 

"Oh! anything but that! One did not want to rob other children, it wasagainst nature, and, moreover, what about heredity?"

When the Baron began to talk of things natural and unnatural, thedoctor explained to him that if nature were allowed her own way, allnoble families would die out and their estates fall to the crown. Thiswas the wisdom of nature, and human civilization was nothing but afoolish struggle against nature, in which man was bound to be beaten. The Baron's race was doomed; this was proved by the fact that his wifewas unable to feed the fruit of her womb; in order to live they werebound to buy or steal the milk of other women. Consequently the racelived on robbery, down to the smallest detail. 

"Could the purchase of the milk be called robbery? The purchase ofit!"

"Yes, because the money with which it was bought was produced by labour. Whose labour? The people's! For the aristocracy didn't work. "

"The doctor was a socialist!"

"No, a follower of Darwin. However, he didn't care in the least if theycalled him a socialist. It made no difference to him. "

"But surely, purchase was not robbery! That was too strong a word!"

"Well, but if one paid with money one hadn't earned!"

"That was to say, earned by manual labour?"

"Yes!"

"But in that case the doctor was a robber too!"

"Quite so! Nevertheless he would not hold back with the truth! Didn'tthe Baron remember the repenting thief who had spoken such true words?"

The conversation was interrupted; the Baron sent for a famous professor. The latter called him a murderer straight out, because he had notengaged a nurse long ago. 

The Baron had to persuade his wife. He had to retract all his formerarguments and emphasize the one simple fact, namely, the love for hischild, (regulated by the law of entail). 

But where was a foster mother to come from? It was no use thinking oflooking for one in town, for there all people were corrupt. No, itwould have to be a country girl. But the Baroness objected to a girlbecause, she argued, a girl with a baby was an immoral person; and herson might contract a hereditary tendency. 

The doctor retorted that all foster mothers were unmarried women andthat if the young Baron inherited from her a preference for the othersex, he would grow into a good fellow; tendencies of that sort oughtto be encouraged. It was not likely that any of the farmers' wiveswould accept the position, because a farmer who owned land, wouldcertainly prefer to keep his wife and children with him. 

"But supposing they married a girl to a farm labourer?"

"It would mean a delay of nine months. "

"But supposing they found a husband for a girl who had a baby?"

"That wasn't a bad idea!"

The Baron knew a girl who had a baby just three months old. He knewher only too well, for he had been engaged for three years and hadbeen unfaithful to his fiancee by "doctor's orders. " He went to herhimself and made his suggestion. She should have a farm of her own ifshe would consent to marry Anders, a farm labourer, and come to theManor as foster mother to the young Baron. Well, was it strange thatshe should accept the proffered settlement in preference to her bearingher disgrace alone? It was arranged there and then that on the followingSunday the banns should be read for the first, second and third time, and that Anders should go home to his own village for two months. 

The Baron looked at her baby with a strange feeling of envy. He was abig, strong boy. He was not beautiful, but he looked like a guaranteeof many generations to come. The child was born to live but it was nothis fate to fulfil his destination. 

Anna wept when he was taken to the orphanage, but the good food at theManor (her dinner was sent up to her from the dining-room, and she hadas much porter and wine as she wanted) consoled her. She was alsoallowed to go out driving in the big carriage, with a footman by theside of the coachman. And she read _A Thousand and One Nights_. Neverin all her life had she been so well off. 

After an absence of two months Anders returned. He had done nothingbut eat, drink, and rest. He took possession of the farm, but he alsowanted his Anna. Couldn't she, at least, come and see him sometimes?No, the Baroness objected. No nonsense of that sort!

Anna lost flesh and the little Baron screamed. The doctor wasconsulted. 

"Let her go and see her husband, " he said. 

"But supposing it did the baby harm?"

"It won't!"

But Anders must be "analysed" first. Anders objected. 

Anders received a present of a few sheep and was "analysed. "

The little Baron stopped screaming. 

But now news came from the orphanage that Anna's boy had died ofdiphtheria. 

Anna fretted, and the little Baron screamed louder than ever. She wasdischarged and sent back to Anders and a new foster mother wasengaged. 

Anders was glad to have his wife with him at last, but she hadcontracted expensive habits. She couldn't drink Brazilian coffee, forinstance, it had to be Java. And her health did not permit her to eatfish six times a week, nor could she work in the fields. Food at thefarm grew scarce. 

Anders would have been obliged to give up the farm after twelve months, but the Baron had a kindly feeling for him and allowed him to stay on asa tenant. 

Anna worked daily at the Manor and frequently saw the little Baron;but he did not recognise her and it was just as well that he did not. And yet he had lain at her breast! And she had saved his life bysacrificing the life of her own child. But she was prolific and hadseveral sons, who grew up and were labourers and railway men; one ofthem was a convict. 

But the old Baron looked forward with anxiety to the day on which hisson should marry and have children in his turn. He did not look strong!He would have been far more reassured if the other little Baron, theone who had died at the orphanage, had been the heir to the estates. And when he read _The Slaves of Life_ a second time, he had to admitthat the upper classes live at the mercy of the lower classes, and whenhe read Darwin again he could not deny that natural selection, in ourtime, was anything but natural. But facts were facts and remainedunalterable, in spite of all the doctor and the socialists might sayto the contrary. 

AN ATTEMPT AT REFORM

She had noticed with indignation that girls were solely brought up tobe housekeepers for their future husbands. Therefore she had learnt atrade which would enable her to keep herself in all circumstances oflife. She made artificial flowers. 

He had noticed with regret that girls simply waited for a husband whoshould keep them; he resolved to marry a free and independent womanwho could earn her own living; such a woman would be his equal and acompanion for life, not a housekeeper. 

Fate ordained that they should meet. He was an artist and she, as Ialready mentioned, made flowers; they were both living in Paris at thetime when they conceived these ideas. 

There was style in their marriage. They took three rooms at Passy. Inthe centre was the studio, to the right of it his room, to the lefthers. This did away with the common bed-room and double bed, thatabomination which has no counterpart in nature and is responsible fora great deal of dissipation and immorality. It moreover did away withthe inconvenience of having to dress and undress in the same room. Itwas far better that each of them should have a separate room and thatthe studio should be a neutral, common meeting-place. 

They required no servant; they were going to do the cooking themselvesand employ an old charwoman in the mornings and evenings. It was allvery well thought out and excellent in theory. 

"But supposing you had children?" asked the sceptics. 

"Nonsense, there won't be any!"

It worked splendidly. He went to the market in the morning and did thecatering. Then he made the coffee. She made the beds and put the roomsin order. And then they sat down and worked. 

When they were tired of working they gossiped, gave one another goodadvice, laughed and were very jolly. 

At twelve o'clock he lit the kitchen fire and she prepared thevegetables. He cooked the beef, while she ran across the street tothe grocer's; then she laid the table and he dished up the dinner. 

Of course, they loved one another as husbands and wives do. They saidgood-night to each other and went into their own rooms, but there wasno lock to keep him out when he knocked at her door; but theaccommodation was small and the morning found them in their ownquarters. Then he knocked at the wall:

"Good morning, little girlie, how are you to-day?"

"Very well, darling, and you?"

Their meeting at breakfast was always like a new experience which nevergrew stale. 

They often went out together in the evening and frequently met theircountrymen. She had no objection to the smell of tobacco, and was neverin the way. Everybody said that it was an ideal marriage; no onehad ever known a happier couple. 

But the young wife's parents, who lived a long way off, were alwayswriting and asking all sorts of indelicate questions; they were longingto have a grandchild. Louisa ought to remember that the institution ofmarriage existed for the benefit of the children, not the parents. Louisa held that this view was an old-fashioned one. Mama asked herwhether she did not think that the result of the new ideas would be thecomplete extirpation of mankind? Louisa had never looked at it in thatlight, and moreover the question did not interest her. Both she and herhusband were happy; at last the spectacle of a happy married couple waspresented to the world, and the world was envious. 

Life was very pleasant. Neither of them was master and they sharedexpenses. Now he earned more, now she did, but in the end theircontributions to the common fund amounted to the same figure. 

Then she had a birthday! She was awakened in the morning by the entranceof the charwoman with a bunch of flowers and a letter painted all overwith flowers, and containing the following words:

 "To the lady flower-bud from her dauber, who wishes her many happy returns of the day and begs her to honour him with her company at an excellent little breakfast--at once. "

She knocked at his door--come in!

And they breakfasted, sitting on the bed--his bed; and the charwomanwas kept the whole day to do all the work. It was a lovely birthday!

Their happiness never palled. It lasted two years. All the prophetshad prophesied falsely. 

It was a model marriage!

But when two years had passed, the young wife fell ill. She put itdown to some poison contained in the wall-paper; he suggested germs ofsome sort. Yes, certainly, germs. But something was wrong. Somethingwas not as it should be. She must have caught cold. Then she grewstout. Was she suffering from tumour? Yes, they were afraid she was. 

She consulted a doctor--and came home crying. It was indeed a growth, but one which would one day see daylight, grow into a flower and bearfruit. 

The husband did anything but cry. He found style in it, and then thewretch went to his club and boasted about it to his friends. But thewife still wept. What would her position be now? She would soon not beable to earn money with her work and then she would have to live onhim. And they would have to have a servant! Ugh! those servants!

All their care, their caution, their wariness had been wrecked on therock of the inevitable. 

But the mother-in-law wrote enthusiastic letters and repeated over andover again that marriage was instituted by God for the protection ofthe children; the parents' pleasure counted for very little. 

Hugo implored her to forget the fact that she would not be able toearn anything in future. Didn't she do her full share of the work bymothering the baby? Wasn't that as good as money? Money was, rightlyunderstood, nothing but work. Therefore she paid her share in full. 

It took her a long time to get over the fact that he had to keep her. But when the baby came, she forgot all about it. She remained his wifeand companion as before in addition to being the mother of his child, and he found that this was worth more than anything else. 

A NATURAL OBSTACLE

Her father had insisted on her learning book-keeping, so that she mightescape the common lot of young womanhood; to sit there and wait for ahusband. 

She was now employed as book-keeper in the goods department of theRailways, and was universally looked upon as a very capable youngwoman. She had a way of getting on with people, and her prospects wereexcellent. 

Then she met the green forester from the School of Forestry andmarried him. They had made up their minds not to have any children;theirs was to be a true, spiritual marriage, and the world was to bemade to realise that a woman, too, has a soul, and is not merely sex. Husband and wife met at dinner in the evening. It really was a truemarriage, the union of two souls; it was, of course, also the union oftwo bodies, but this is a point one does not discuss. 

One day the wife came home and told her husband that her office hourshad been changed. The directors had decided to run a new night trainto Malmo, and in future she would have to be at her office from six tonine in the evening. It was a nuisance, for he could not come homebefore six. That was quite impossible. 

Henceforth they had to dine separately and meet only at night. He wasdissatisfied. He hated the long evenings. 

He fell into the habit of calling for her. But he found it dull to siton a chair in the goods department and have the porters knocking againsthim. He was always in the way. And when he tried to talk to her as shesat at her desk with the penholder behind her ear, she interrupted himwith a curt:

"Oh! do be quiet until I've done!"

Then the porters turned away their faces and he could see by theirbacks that they were laughing. 

Sometimes one or the other of her colleagues announced him with a:

"Your husband is waiting for you, Mrs. X. "

"Your husband!" There was something scornful in the very way in whichthey pronounced the word. 

But what irritated him more than anything else was the fact that thedesk nearest to her was occupied by a "young ass" who was alwaysgazing into her eyes and everlastingly consulting the ledger, bendingover her shoulders so that he almost touched her with his chin. And they talked of invoices and certificates, of things which mighthave meant anything for all he knew. And they compared papers andfigures and seemed to be on more familiar terms with one another thanhusband and wife were. And that was quite natural, for she saw more ofthe young ass than of her husband. It struck him that their marriagewas not a true spiritual marriage after all; in order to be that he, too, would have had to be employed in the goods department. But as ithappened he was at the School of Forestry. 

One day, or rather one night, she told him that on the followingSaturday a meeting of railway employés, which was to conclude with adinner, would be held, and that she would have to be present. Herhusband received the communication with a little air of constraint. 

"Do you want to go?" he asked naïvely. 

"Of course, I do!"

"But you will be the only woman amongst so many men, and when men havehad too much to drink, they are apt to become coarse. "

"Don't you attend the meetings of the School of Forestry without me?"

"Certainly, but I am not the only man amongst a lot of women. "

"Men and women were equals, she was amazed that he, who had alwayspreached the emancipation of women could have any objection to herattending the meeting. "

"He admitted that it was nothing but prejudice on his part. He admittedthat she was right and that he was wrong, but all the same he begged hernot to go; he hated the idea. He couldn't get over the fact. "

"He was inconsequent. "

"He admitted that he was inconsequent, but it would take ten generationsto get used to the new conditions. "

"Then he must not go to meetings either?"

"That was quite a different matter, for his meetings were attended bymen only. He didn't mind her going out without him; what he didn't likewas that she went out alone with so many men. "

"She wouldn't be alone, for the cashier's wife would be present as--"

"As what?"

"As the cashier's wife. "

"Then couldn't he be present as her husband?"

"Why did he want to make himself so cheap by being in the way?"

"He didn't mind making himself cheap. "

"Was he jealous?"

"Yes! Why not? He was afraid that something might come between them. "

"What a shame to be jealous! What an insult! What distrust! What didhe think of her?"

"That she was perfect. He would prove it. She could go alone!""Could she really? How condescending of him!"

She went. She did not come home until the early hours of the morning. She awakened her husband and told him how well it had all gone off. Hewas delighted to hear it. Somebody had made a speech about her; theyhad sung quartets and ended with a dance. 

"And how had she come home?"

"The young ass had accompanied her to the front door. "

"Supposing anybody who knew them had seen her at three o'clock in themorning in the company of the young ass?"

"Well, and what then? She was a respectable woman. "

"Yes, but she might easily lose her reputation. "

"Ah! He was jealous, and what was even worse, he was envious. Hegrudged her every little bit of fun. That was what being marriedmeant! To be scolded if one dared to go out and enjoy oneself alittle. What a stupid institution marriage was! But was their union atrue marriage? They met one another at night, just as other marriedcouples did. Men were all alike. Civil enough until they were married, but afterwards, oh! Afterwards. .. . Her husband was no better thanother men: he looked upon her as his property, he thought he had aright to order her about. "

"It was true. There was a time when he had believed that they belongedto one another, but he had made a mistake. He belonged to her as a dogbelonged to its master. What was he but her footman, who called forher at night to see her home? He was 'her husband. ' But did she wantto be 'his wife'? Were they equals?"

"She hadn't come home to quarrel with him. She wanted to be nothingbut his wife, and she did not want him to be anything but herhusband. "

The effect of the champagne, he thought, and turned to the wall. 

She cried and begged him not to be unjust, but to--forgive her. 

He pulled the blankets over his ears. 

She asked him again if he--if he didn't want her to be his wife anymore?

"Yes, of course, he wanted her! But he had been so dreadfully boredall the evening, he could never live through another evening like it. "

"Let them forget all about it then!"

And they forgot all about it and continued loving one another. 

On the following evening, when the green forester came for his wife, he was told that she had gone to the store rooms. He was alone in thecounting-house and sat down on a chair. Presently a glass door wasopened and the young ass put in his head: "Are you here, Annie?"

No, it was only her husband!

He rose and went away. The young ass called his wife Annie, and wasevidently on very familiar terms with her. It was more than he couldbear. 

When she came home they had a scene. She reproached him with the factthat he did not take his views on the emancipation of women seriously, otherwise he could not be annoyed at her being on familiar terms withher fellow-clerks. He made matters worse by admitting that his viewswere not to be taken seriously. 

"Surely he didn't mean what he was saying! Had he changed his mind?How could he!"

"Yes, he had changed his mind. One could not help modifying one'sviews almost daily, because one had to adapt them to the conditions oflife which were always changing. And if he had believed in spiritualmarriages in the days gone by, he had now come to lose faith inmarriages of any sort whatever. That was progress in the direction ofradicalism. And as to the spiritual, she was spiritually married tothe young ass rather than to him, for they exchanged views on themanagement of the goods department daily and hourly, while she took nointerest at all in the cultivation of forests. Was there anythingspiritual in their marriage? Was there?"

"No, not any longer! Her love was dead! He had killed it when herenounced his splendid faith in--the emancipation of women. "

Matters became more and more unbearable. The green forester began tolook to his fellow-foresters for companionship and gave up thinking ofthe goods department and its way of conducting business, matters whichhe never understood. 

"You don't understand me, " she kept on saying over and over again. 

"No, I don't understand the goods department, " he said. 

One night, or rather one morning, he told her that he was goingbotanising with a girls' class. He was teaching botany in a girls'school. 

"Oh! indeed! Why had he never mentioned it before? Big girls?"

"Oh! very big ones. From sixteen to twenty. "

"H'm! In the morning?"

"No! In the afternoon! And they would have supper in one of theoutlying little villages. "

"Would they? The head-mistress would be there of course?"

"Oh! no, she had every confidence in him, since he was a married man. It was an advantage, sometimes, to be married. "

On the next day she was ill. 

"Surely he hadn't the heart to leave her!"

"He must consider his work before anything else. Was she very ill?"

"Oh! terribly ill!"

In spite of her objections he sent for a doctor. The doctor declaredthat there was nothing much the matter; it was quite unnecessary forthe husband to stay at home. The green forester returned towards morning. He was in high spirits. He had enjoyed himself immensely! He had not hadsuch a day for a long, long time. 

The storm burst. Huhuhu! This struggle was too much for her! He mustswear a solemn oath never to love any woman but her. Never!

She had convulsions; he ran for the smelling salts. 

He was too generous to give her details of the supper with theschoolgirls, but he could not forego the pleasure of mentioning hisformer simile anent dogs and possession, and he took the occasion todraw her attention to the fact that love without the conception of aright to possession--on both sides--was not thinkable. What wasmaking her cry? The same thing which had made him swear, when she wentout with twenty men. The fear of losing him! But one can lose onlythat which one possesses! Possesses!

Thus the rent was repaired. But goods department and girls' schoolwere ready with their scissors to undo the laborious mending. 

The harmony was disturbed. 

The wife fell ill. She was sure that she had hurt herself in lifting a case which was tooheavy for her. She was so keen on her work that she could not bear towait while the porters stood about and did nothing. She was compelledto lend a hand. Now she must have ruptured herself. 

Yes, indeed, there was something the matter!

How angry she was! Angry with her husband who alone was to blame. Whatwere they going to do with the baby? It would have to be boarded out!Rousseau had done that. It was true, he was a fool, but on thisparticular point he was right. 

She was full of fads and fancies. The forester had to resign his lessonsat the girls' school at once. 

She chafed and fretted because she was no longer able to go into thestore rooms, but compelled to stay in the counting-house all day longand make entries. But the worst blow which befell her was the arrivalof an assistant whose secret mission it was to take her place when shewould be laid up. 

The manner of her colleagues had changed, too. The porters grinned. She felt ashamed and longed to hide herself. It would be better tostay at home and cook her husband's dinner than sit here and be staredat. Oh! What black chasms of prejudice lay concealed in the deceitfulhearts of men!

She stayed at home for the last month, for the walk to and from heroffice four times a day was too much for her. And she was always sohungry! She had to send out for sandwiches in the morning. And everynow and then she felt faint and had to take a rest. What a life! Awoman's lot was indeed a miserable one. 

The baby was born. 

"Shall we board it out?" asked the father. 

"Had he no heart?"

"Oh! yes, of course he had!"

And the baby remained at home. 

Then a very polite letter arrived from the head office, enquiring afterthe young mother's health. 

"She was very well and would be back at the office on the day afterto-morrow. "

She was still a little weak and had to take a cab; but she soon pickedup her strength. However, a new difficulty now presented itself. Shemust be kept informed of the baby's condition; a messenger boy wasdespatched to her home, at first twice a day, then every two hours. 

And when she was told that the baby had been crying, she put on herhat and rushed home at once. But the assistant was there, ready totake her place. The head clerk was very civil and made no comment. 

One day the young mother discovered accidentally that the nurse wasunable to feed the baby, but had concealed the fact for fear of losingher place. She had to take a day off in order to find a new foster mother. But they were all alike; brutal egoists every one of them, who took nointerest in the children of strangers. No one could ever depend on them. 

"No, " agreed the husband, "in a case of this sort one can only depend ononeself. "

"Do you mean to insinuate that I ought to give up my work?"

"Oh! You must do as you like about that!"

"And become your slave!"

"No, I don't mean that at all!"

The little one was not at all well; all children are ill occasionally. He was teething! One day's leave after another! The poor baby sufferedfrom toothache. She had to soothe him at night, work at the officeduring the day, sleepy, tired, anxious, and again take a day off. 

The green forester did his best and carried the baby about in his armshalf the night, but he never said a word about his wife's work at thegoods department. 

Nevertheless she knew what was in his mind. He was waiting for her togive in; but he was deceitful and so he said nothing! How treacherousmen were! She hated him; she would sooner kill herself than throw upher work and "be his slave. "

The forester saw quite clearly now that it was impossible for anywoman to emancipate herself from the laws of nature; _under presentcircumstances_, he was shrewd enough to add. 

When the baby was five months old, it was plainly evident that thewhole thing would before very long repeat itself. 

What a catastrophe!

But when that sort of thing once begins. .. . 

The forester was obliged to resume his lessons at the girls' school toaugment their income, and now--she laid down her arms. 

"I am your slave, now, " she groaned, when she came home with herdischarge. 

Nevertheless she is the head of the house, and he gives her everypenny he earns. When he wants to buy a cigar he makes a long speechbefore he ventures to ask for the money. She never refuses it to him, but all the same he finds the asking for it unpleasant. He is allowedto attend meetings, but no dinners, and all botanising with girls isstrictly forbidden. He does not miss it much, for he prefers playingwith his children. 

His colleagues call him henpecked; but he smiles, and tells them thathe is happy in spite of it, because he has in his wife a very sweetand sensible companion. 

She, on her part, obstinately maintains that she is nothing but hisslave, whatever he might say to the contrary. It is her one comfort, poor, little woman!

A DOLL'S HOUSE

They had been married for six years, but they were still more likelovers than husband and wife. He was a captain in the navy, and everysummer he was obliged to leave her for a few months; twice he had beenaway on a long voyage. But his short absences were a blessing indisguise, for if their relations had grown a little stale during thewinter, the summer trip invariably restored them to their formerfreshness and delightfulness. 

During the first summer he wrote veritable love-letters to her andnever passed a sailing ship without signalling: "Will you takeletters?" And when he came in sight of the landmarks of the StockholmArchipelago, he did not know how to get to her quickly enough. But shefound a way. She wired him to Landsort that she would meet him atDalarö. When he anchored, he saw a little blue scarf fluttering on theverandah of the hotel: then he knew that it was she. But there was somuch to do aboard that it was evening before he could go ashore. Hesaw her from his gig on the landing-stage as the bow held out his oarto fend off; she was every bit as young, as pretty and as strong asshe had been when he left her; it was exactly as if they werere-living the first spring days of their love. A delicious littlesupper waited for him in the two little rooms she had engaged. What alot they had to talk about! The voyage, the children, the future! Thewine sparkled in the glasses and his kisses brought the blood to hercheeks. 

Tattoo went on the ship, but he took no notice of it, for he did notintend to leave her before one o'clock. 

"What? He was going?"

"Yes; he must get back aboard, but it would do if he was there for themorning watch. "

"When did the morning watch begin?"

"At five o'clock. "

"Oh!. .. As early as that!"

"But where was she going to stay the night?"

"That was her business!"

He guessed it and wanted to have a look at her room; but she plantedherself firmly on the threshold. He covered her face with kisses, tookher in his arms as if she were a baby and opened the door. 

"What an enormous bed! It was like the long boat. Where did the peopleget it from?"

She blushed crimson. 

"Of course, she had understood from his letter that they would stay atthe hotel together. "

Well, and so they would, in spite of his having to be back aboard forthe morning watch. What did he care for the stupid morning prayers!"

"How could he say such a thing!"

"Hadn't they better have some coffee and a fire? The sheets felt damp!What a sensible little rogue she was to provide for his staying, too!Who would have thought that she had so much sense? Where did she getit from?"

"She didn't get it from anywhere!"

"No? Well, he might have known! He might have known everything!"

"Oh! But he was so stupid!"

"Indeed, he was stupid, was he?"

And he slipped his arm round her waist. 

"But he ought to behave himself!"

"Behave himself? It was easy to talk!"

"The girl was coming with the wood!"

When it struck two, and sea and Skerries were flaming in the east, they were sitting at the open window. 

"They were lovers still, weren't they? And now he must go. But hewould be back at ten, for breakfast, and after that they would go fora sail. "

He made some coffee on her spirit lamp, and they drank it while thesun was rising and the seagulls screamed. The gunboat was lying farout at sea and every now and then he saw the cutlasses of the watchglinting in the sunlight. It was hard to part, but the certainty ofmeeting again in a few hours' time helped them to bear it. He kissedher for the last time, buckled on his sword and left her. 

When he arrived at the bridge and shouted: "boat ahoy!" she hidherself behind the window curtains as if she were ashamed to be seen. He blew kisses to her until the sailors came with the gig. Then a last:"Sleep well and dream of me" and the gig put off. He watched herthrough his glasses, and for a long time he could distinguish a littlefigure with black hair. The sunbeams fell on her nightdress and barethroat and made her look like a mermaid. 

The reveille went. The longdrawn bugle notes rolled out between thegreen islands over the shining water and returned from behind the pinewoods. The whole crew assembled on deck and the Lord's Prayer and"Jesus, at the day's beginning" were read. The little church tower ofDalarö answered with a faint ringing of bells, for it was Sunday. Cutters came up in the morning breeze: flags were flying, shotsresounded, light summer dresses gleamed on the bridge, the steamer, leaving a crimson track behind her, steamed up, the fishers hauled intheir nets, and the sun shone on the blue, billowy water and the greenislands. 

At ten o'clock six pairs rowed the gig ashore from the gunboat. Theywere together again. And as they sat at breakfast in the largedining-room, the hotel guests watched and whispered: "Is she hiswife?" He talked to her in an undertone like a lover, and she castdown her eyes and smiled; or hit his fingers with her dinner napkin. 

The boat lay alongside the bridge; she sat at the helm, he lookedafter the foresail. But he could not take his eyes off her finelyshaped figure in the light summer dress, her determined little faceand proud eyes, as she sat looking to windward, while her little handin its strong leather glove held the mainsheet. He wanted to talk toher and was purposely clumsy in tacking; then she scolded him as if hewere a cabin boy, which amused him immensely. 

"Why didn't you bring the baby with you?" he asked her teasingly. 

"Where should I have put it to sleep?"

"In the long boat, of course?"

She smiled at him in a way which filled his heart with happiness. 

"Well, and what did the proprietress say this morning?"

"What should she say?"

"Did she sleep well last night?"

"Why shouldn't she sleep well?"

"I don't know; she might have been kept awake by rats, or perhaps bythe rattling of a window; who can tell what might not disturb the gentlesleep of an old maid!"

"If you don't stop talking nonsense, I shall make the sheet fast andsail you to the bottom of the sea. "

They landed at a small island and ate their luncheon which they hadbrought with them in a little basket. After lunch they shot at atarget with a revolver. Then they pretended to fish with rods, butthey caught nothing and sailed out again into the open sea where theeidergeese were, through a strait where they watched the carp playingabout the rushes. He never tired of looking at her, talking to her, kissing her. 

In this manner they met for six summers, and always they were just asyoung, just as mad and just as happy as before. They spent the winterin Stockholm in their little cabins. He amused himself by rigging boatsfor his little boys or telling them stories of his adventures in Chinaand the South Sea Islands, while his wife sat by him, listening andlaughing at his funny tales. It was a charming room, that could not beequalled in the whole world. It was crammed full of Japanese sunshadesand armour, miniature pagodas from India, bows and lances from Australia, nigger drums and dried flying fish, sugar cane and opium pipes. Papa, whose hair was growing thin at the top, did not feel very happy outsidehis own four walls. Occasionally he played at draughts with his friend, the auditor, and sometimes they had a game at Boston and drank a glassof grog. At first his wife had joined in the game, but now that she hadfour children, she was too busy; nevertheless, she liked to sit with theplayers for a little and look at their cards, and whenever she passedPapa's chair he caught her round the waist and asked her whether shethought he ought to be pleased with his hand. 

This time the corvette was to be away for six months. The captain didnot feel easy about it, for the children were growing up and theresponsibility of the big establishment was too much for Mama. Thecaptain himself was not quite so young and vigorous as he had been, but--it could not be helped and so he left. 

Directly he arrived at Kronborg he posted a letter to her. 

"My darling Topmast, " it began. 

 "Wind moderate, S. S. E. By E. + 10° C. 6 bells, watch below. I cannot express in words what I feel on this voyage during which I shall not see you. When we kedged out (at 6 p. M. While a strong gale blew from N. E. By N. ) I felt as if a belaying pin were suddenly being driven into my chest and I actually had a sensation as if a chain had been drawn through the hawsepipes of my ears. They say that sailors can feel the approach of misfortune. I don't know whether this is true, but I shall not feel easy until I have had a letter from you. Nothing has happened on board, simply because nothing must happen. How are you all at home? Has Bob had his new boots, and do they fit? I am a wretched correspondent as you know, so 111 stop now. With a big kiss right on this x. 

 "Your old Pal. 

 "P. S. You ought to find a friend (female, of course) and don't forget to ask the proprietress at Dalaro to take care of the long boat until my return. The wind is getting up; it will blow from the North to-night. "

Off Portsmouth the captain received the following letter from hiswife:

 "Dear old Pal, "It's horrible here without you, believe me. I have had a lot of worry, too, for little Alice has got a new tooth. The doctor said it was unusually early, which was a sign of (but I'm not going to tell you that). Bob's boots fit him very well and he is very proud of them. 

 "You say in your letter that I ought to find a friend of my own sex. Well, I have found one, or, rather, she has found me. Her name is Ottilia Sandegren, and she was educated at the seminary. She is rather grave and takes life very seriously, therefore you need not be afraid, Pal, that your Topmast will be led astray. Moreover, she is religious. We really ought to take religion a little more seriously, both of us. She is a splendid woman. She has just arrived and sends you her kind regards. 

 "Your Gurli. "

The captain was not overpleased with this letter. It was too short andnot half as bright as her letters generally were. Seminary, religion, grave, Ottilia: Ottilia twice! And then Gurli! Why not Gulla asbefore? H'm!

A week later he received a second letter from Bordeaux, a letter whichwas accompanied by a book, sent under separate cover. 

"Dear William!"--"H'm! William! No longer Pal!"--"Life is a struggle"--"What the deuce does she mean? What has that to do with us?"--"frombeginning to end. Gently as a river in Kedron"--"Kedron! she's quotingthe Bible!"--"our life has glided along. Like sleepwalkers we have beenwalking on the edge of precipices without being aware of them"--"Theseminary, oh! the seminary!"--"Suddenly we find ourselves face to facewith the ethical"--"The ethical? Ablative!"--"asserting itself in itshigher potencies!"--"Potencies?"--"Now that I am awake from my long sleepand ask myself: has our marriage been a marriage in the true sense of theword? I must admit with shame and remorse that this has not been the case. For love is of divine origin. (St. Matthew xi. 22, 24. )"

The captain had to mix himself a glass of rum and water before he feltable to continue his reading. --"How earthly, how material our love hasbeen! Have our souls lived in that harmony of which Plato speaks?(Phaidon, Book vi. Chap. Ii. Par. 9). Our answer is bound to be in thenegative. What have I been to you? A housekeeper and, oh! The disgrace!your mistress! Have our souls understood one another? Again we are boundto answer 'No. '"--"To Hell with all Ottilias and seminaries!Has she been my housekeeper? She has been my wife and the mother of mychildren!"--"Read the book I have sent you! It will answer all yourquestions. It voices that which for centuries has lain hidden in thehearts of all women! Read it, and then tell me if you think that ourunion has been a true marriage. Your Gurli. "

His presentiment of evil had not deceived him. The captain was besidehimself; he could not understand what had happened to his wife. It wasworse than religious hypocrisy. 

He tore off the wrapper and read on the title page of a book in apaper cover: _Et Dukkehjem af Henrik Ibsen_. A Doll's House? Well, and--? His home had been a charming doll's house; his wife had beenhis little doll and he had been her big doll. They had danced alongthe stony path of life and had been happy. What more did they want?What was wrong? He must read the book at once and find out. 

He finished it in three hours. His brain reeled. How did it concernhim and his wife? Had they forged bills? No! Hadn't they loved oneanother? Of course they had!

He locked himself into his cabin and read the book a second time; heunderlined passages in red and blue, and when the dawn broke, he took"A well-meant little ablative on the play _A Doll's House_, written bythe old Pal on board the Vanadis in the Atlantic off Bordeaux. (Lat. 45°Long. 16°. )

 "1. She married him because he was in love with her and that was a deuced clever thing to do. For if she had waited until she had fallen in love with someone, it might have happened that _he_ would not have fallen in love with her, and then there would have been the devil to pay. For it happens very rarely that both parties are equally in love. "

 "2. She forges a bill. That was foolish, but it is not true that it was done for the husband's sake only, for she has never loved him; it would have been the truth if she had said that she had done it for him, herself and the children. Is that clear?"

 "3. That he wants to embrace her after the ball is only a proof of his love for her, and there is no wrong in that; but it should not be done on the stage. "_Il y a des choses qui se font mais que ne se disent point_, ' as the French say, Moreover, if the poet had been fair, he would also save shown an opposite case. '_La petite chienne veut, mais le grand chien ne veut pas_, ' says Ollendorf. (Vide the long boat at Dalarö. )"

 "4. That she, when she discovers that her husband is a fool (and that he is when he offers to condone her offence because it has not leaked out) decides to leave her children 'not considering herself worthy of bringing them up, ' is a not very clever trick of coquetry. If they have both been fools (and surely they don't teach at the seminary that it is right to forge bills) they should pull well together in future in double harness. "

 "Least of all is she justified in leaving her children's education in the hands of the father whom she despises. "

 "5. Nora has consequently every reason for staying with her children when she discovers what an imbecile her husband is. "

 "6. The husband cannot be blamed for not sufficiently appreciating her, for she doesn't reveal her true character until after the row. "

 "7. Nora has undoubtedly been a fool; she herself does not deny it. "

 "8. There is every guarantee of their pulling together more happily in future; he has repented and promised to turn over a new leaf. So has she. Very well! Here's my hand, let's begin again at the beginning. Birds of a feather flock together. There's nothing lost, we've both been fools! You, little Nora, were badly brought up. I, old rascal, didn't know any better. We are both to be pitied. Pelt our teachers with rotten eggs, but don't hit me alone on the head. I, though a man, am every bit as innocent as you are! Perhaps even a little more so, for I married for love, you for a home. Let us be friends, therefore, and together teach our children the valuable lesson we have learnt in the school of life. "

 Is that clear? All right then!

 This was written by Captain Pal with his stiff fingers and slow brain!

 And now, my darling dolly, I have read your book and given you my opinion. But what have we to do with it? Didn't we love one another? Haven't we educated one another and helped one another to rub off our sharp corners? Surely you'll remember that we had many a little encounter in the beginning! What fads of yours are those? To hell with all Ottilias and seminaries!

 The book you sent me is a queer book. It is like a watercourse with an insufficient number of buoys, so that one might run aground at any moment. But I pricked the chart and found calm waters. Only, I couldn't do it again. The devil may crack these nuts which are rotten inside when one has managed to break the shell. I wish you peace and happiness and the recovery of your sound common sense. 

 "How are the little ones? You forgot to mention them. Probably you were thinking too much of Nora's unfortunate kiddies, (which exist only in a play of that sort). Is my little boy crying? My nightingale singing, my dolly dancing? She must always do that if she wants to make her old pal happy. And now may God bless you and prevent evil thoughts from rising between us. My heart is sadder than I can tell. And I am expected to sit down and write a critique on a play. God bless you and the babies; kiss their rosy cheeks for your faithful old Pal. "

When the captain had sent off his letter, he went into the officers'mess and drank a glass of punch. The doctor was there, too. 

"Have you noticed a smell of old black breeches?" he asked. "I shouldlike to hoist myself up to the cat block and let a good old N. W. By N. Blow right through me. "

But the doctor did not understand what he was driving at. 

"Ottilia, Ottilia!. .. What she wants is a taste of the handspike. Sendthe witch to the quarterdeck and let the second mess loose on her behindclosed hatches. One knows what is good for an old maid. "

"What's the matter with you, old chap?" asked the doctor. 

"Plato! Plato! To the devil with Plato! To be six months at sea makesone sick of Plato. That teaches one ethics! Ethics? I bet a marlinspiketo a large rifle: if Ottilia were married she would cease talking ofPlato. "

"What on earth _is_ the matter?"

"Nothing. Do you hear? You're a doctor. What's the matter with thosewomen? Isn't it bad for them to remain unmarried? Doesn't it makethem. .. ? What?"

The doctor gave him his candid opinion and added that he was sorrythat there were not enough men to go round. 

"In a state of nature the male is mostly polygamous; in most casesthere is no obstacle to this, as there is plenty of food for the youngones (beasts of prey excepted): abnormalities like unmated females donot exist in nature. But in civilised countries, where a man is luckyif he earns enough bread, it is a common occurrence, especially as thefemales are in preponderance. One ought to treat unmarried women withkindness, for their lot is a melancholy one. "

"With kindness! That's all very well; but supposing they are anythingbut kind themselves!"

And he told the doctor the whole story, even confessing that he hadwritten a critique on a play. 

"Oh! well, no end of nonsense is written, " said the doctor, puttinghis hand on the lid of the jug which contained the punch. "In the endscience decides all great questions! Science, and nothing else. "

When the six months were over and the captain, who had been inconstant, but not very pleasant, correspondence with his wife, (shehad sharply criticised his critique), at last landed at Dalarö, he wasreceived by his wife, all the children, two servants and Ottilia. Hiswife was affectionate, but not cordial. She held up her brow to bekissed. Ottilia was as tall as a stay, and wore her hair short; seenfrom the back she looked like a swab. The supper was dull and theydrank only tea. The long boat took in a cargo of children and thecaptain was lodged in one of the attics. 

What a change! Poor old Pal looked old and felt puzzled. 

"To be married and yet not have a wife, " he thought, "it'sintolerable!"

On the following morning he wanted to take his wife for a sail. Butthe sea did not agree with Ottilia. She had been ill on the steamer. And, moreover, it was Sunday. Sunday? That was it! Well, they would gofor a walk. They had a lot to talk about. Of course, they had a lot tosay to each other. But Ottilia was not to come with them!

They went out together, arm in arm. But they did not talk much; andwhat they said were words uttered for the sake of concealing theirthoughts more than for the sake of exchanging ideas. 

They passed the little cholera cemetery and took the road leading tothe Swiss Valley. A faint breeze rustled through the pine trees andglimpses of the blue sea flashed through the dark branches. 

They sat down on a stone. He threw himself on the turf at her feet. Now the storm is going to burst, he thought, and it did. 

"Have you thought at all about our marriage?" she began. 

"No, " he replied, with every appearance of having fully considered thematter, "I have merely felt about it. In my opinion love is a matterof sentiment; one steers by landmarks and makes port; take compass andchart and you are sure to founder. "

"Yes, but our home has been nothing but a doll's house. "

"Excuse me, but this is not quite true. You have never forged a bill;you have never shown your ankles to a syphilitic doctor of whom youwanted to borrow money against security _in natura_; you have neverbeen so romantically silly as to expect your husband to give himselfup for a crime which his wife had committed from ignorance, and whichwas not a crime because there was no plaintiff; and you have neverlied to me. I have treated you every bit as honestly as Helmer treatedhis wife when he took her into his full confidence and allowed her tohave a voice in the banking business; tolerated her interference withthe appointment of an employee. We have therefore been husband andwife according to all conceptions, old and new-fashioned. "

"Yes, but I have been your housekeeper!"

"Pardon me, you are wrong. You have never had a meal in the kitchen, you have never received wages, you have never had to account for moneyspent. I have never scolded you because one thing or the other was notto my liking. And do you consider my work: to reckon and to brace, toease off and call out 'Present arms, ' count herrings and measure rum, weigh peas and examine flour, more honourable than yours: to lookafter the servants, cater for the house and bring up the children?"

"No, but you are paid for your work! You are your own master! You area man!"

"My dear child, do you want me to give you wages? Do you want to be myhousekeeper in real earnest? That I was born a man is an accident. Imight almost say a pity, for it's very nearly a crime to be a mannow-a-days, but it isn't my fault. The devil take him who has stirredup the two halves of humanity, one against the other! He has much toanswer for. Am I the master? Don't we both rule? Have I ever decidedany important matter without asking for your advice? What? But you--youbring up the children exactly as you like! Don't you remember that Iwanted you to stop rocking them to sleep because I said it produced asort of intoxication? But you had your own way! Another time I had mine, and then it was your turn again. There was no compromise possible, because there was no middle course to steer between rocking and notrocking. We got on very well until now. But you have thrown me over forOttilia's sake!"

"Ottilia! always Ottilia! Didn't you yourself send her to me?"

"No, not her personally! But there can be no doubt that it is she whorules now. "

"You want to separate me from all I care for!"

"Is Ottilia all you care for? It almost looks like it!"

"But I can't send her away now that I have engaged her to teach thegirls pedagogics and Latin. "

"Latin! Great Scott! Are the girls to be ruined?"

"They are to know everything a man knows, so that when the time comes, their marriage will be a true marriage. "

"But, my love, all husbands don't know Latin! I don't know more thanone single word, and that is 'ablative. ' And we have been happy inspite of it. Moreover, there is a movement to strike off Latin fromthe plan of instruction for boys, as a superfluous accomplishment. Doesn't this teach you a lot? Isn't it enough that the men are ruined, are the women to be ruined, too? Ottilia, Ottilia, what have I done toyou, that you should treat me like this!"

"Supposing we dropped that matter. --Our love, William, has not beenwhat it should be. It has been sensual!"

"But, my darling, how could we have had children, if it hadn't? And ithas not been sensual only. "

"Can a thing be both black and white? Tell me that!"

"Of course, it can. There's your sunshade for instance, it is blackoutside and white inside. "

"Sophist!"

"Listen to me, sweetheart, tell me in your own way the thoughts whichare in your heart; don't talk like Ottilia's books. Don't let your headrun away with you; be yourself again, my sweet, darling little wife. "

"Yours, your property, bought with your labour. "

"Just as I am your property, your husband, at whom no other woman isallowed to look if she wants to keep her eyes in her head; your husband, who made a present of himself to you, or rather, gave himself to you inexchange. Are we not quits?"

"But we have trifled away our lives! Have we ever had any higherinterests, William?"

"Yes, the very highest, Gurli; we have not always been playing, wehave had grave hours, too. Have we not called into being generationsto come? Have we not both bravely worked and striven for the littleones, who are to grow up into men and women? Have you not faced deathfour times for their sakes? Have you not robbed yourself of yournights' rest in order to rock their cradle, and of your days'pleasures, in order to attend to them? Couldn't we now have a largesix-roomed flat in the main street, and a footman to open the door, ifit were not for the children? Wouldn't you be able to wear silkdresses and pearls? And I, your old Pal, wouldn't have _crows' nests_in my knees, if it hadn't been for the kiddies. Are we really nobetter than dolls? Are we as selfish as old maids say? Old maids, rejected by men as no good. Why are so many girls unmarried? They allboast of proposals and yet they pose as martyrs! Higher interests!Latin! To dress in low neck dresses for charitable purposes and leavethe children at home, neglected! I believe that my interests arehigher than Ottilia's, when I want strong and healthy children, whowill succeed where we have failed. But Latin won't help them! Goodbye, Gurli! I have to go back on board. Are you coming?"

But she remained sitting on the stone and made no answer. He went withheavy footsteps, very heavy footsteps. And the blue sea grew dark andthe sun ceased shining. 

"Pal, Pal, where is this to lead to?" he sighed, as he stepped overthe fence of the cemetery. "I wish I lay there, with a wooden cross tomark my place, among the roots of the trees. But I am sure I couldn'trest, if I were there without her! Oh! Gurli! Gurli!

"Everything has gone wrong, now, mother, " said the captain on a chillyautumn day to his mother-in-law, to whom he was paying a visit. 

"What's the matter, Willy, dear?"

"Yesterday they met at our house. On the day before yesterday at thePrincess's. Little Alice was suddenly taken ill. It was unfortunate, of course, but I didn't dare to send for Gurli, for fear she mightthink that it was done on purpose to annoy her! Oh! when once one haslost faith. .. . I asked a friend at the Admiralty yesterday whether itwas legal in Sweden to kill one's wife's friends with tobacco smoke. Iwas told it wasn't, and that even if it were it was better not to doit, for fear of doing more harm than good. If only it happened to bean admirer! I should take him by the neck and throw him out of thewindow. What am I to do?"

"It's a difficult matter, Willy, dear, but we shall be able to thinkof a way out of it. You can't go on living like a bachelor. "

"No, of course, I can't. "

"I spoke very plainly to her, a day or two ago. I told her that shewould lose you if she didn't mend her ways. "

"And what did she say?"

"She said you had a right to do as you liked with your body. "

"Indeed! And she, too? A fine theory! My hair is fast turning grey, mother!"

"It's a good old scheme to make a wife jealous. It's generally kill orcure, for if there is any love left, it brings it out. "

"There is, I know, there is!"

"Of course, there is. Love doesn't die suddenly; it gets used up inthe course of the years, perhaps. Have a flirtation with Ottilia, andwe shall see!"

"Flirt with Ottilia? With Ottilia?"

"Try it. Aren't you up in any of the subjects which interest her?"

"Well, yes! They are deep in statistics, now. Fallen women, infectiousdiseases. If I could lead the conversation to mathematics! I am wellup in that!"

"There you are! Begin with mathematics--by and by put her shawl roundher shoulders and button her overshoes. Take her home in the evening. Drink her health and kiss her when Gurli is sure to see it. If necessary, be a little officious. She won't be angry, believe me. And give her abig dose of mathematics, so big that Gurli has no option but to sit andlisten to it quietly. Come again in a week's time and tell me theresult. "

The captain went home, read the latest pamphlets on immorality and atonce started to carry out his scheme. 

A week later he called on his mother-in-law, serene and smiling, andgreatly enjoying a glass of good sherry. He was in high spirits. 

"Now tell me all about it, " said the old woman, pushing her spectaclesup on her forehead. 

"It was difficult work at first, " he began, "for she distrusted me. She thought I was making fun of her. Then I mentioned the effect whichthe computation of probabilities had had on the statistics of moralityin America. I told her that it had simply been epoch-making. She knewnothing about it, but the subject attracted her. I gave her examplesand proved in figures that it was possible to calculate with a certainamount of probability the percentage of women who are bound to fall. She was amazed. I saw that her curiosity was aroused and that she waseager to provide herself with a trump-card for the next meeting. Gurliwas pleased to see that Ottilia and I were making friends, and dideverything to further my scheme. She pushed her into my room andclosed the door; and there we sat all afternoon, making calculations. The old witch was happy, for she felt that she was making use of me, and after three hours' work we were fast friends. At supper my wifefound that such old friends as Ottilia and I ought to call one anotherby their Christian names. I brought out my good old sherry tocelebrate the occasion. And then I kissed her on the lips, may Godforgive me for my sins! Gurli looked a little startled, but did notseem to mind. She was radiant with happiness. The sherry was strongand Ottilia was weak. I wrapped her in her cloak and took her home. Igently squeezed her arm and told her the names of the stars. Shebecame enthusiastic! She had always loved the stars, but had neverbeen able to remember their names. The poor women were not allowed toacquire any knowledge. Her enthusiasm grew and we parted as the verybest of friends who had been kept apart through misunderstanding eachother for such a long, long time. 

"On the next day more mathematics. We worked until supper time. Gurlicame in once or twice and gave us an encouraging nod. At supper wetalked of nothing but stars and mathematics, and Gurli sat there, silently, listening to us. Again I took her home. On my way back I meta friend. We went to the Grand Hotel and drank a glass of punch. Itwas one o'clock when I came home. Gurli was still up waiting for me. 

"'Where have you been all this time, William?' she asked. 

"Then the devil entered into my soul and I replied:

"'We had such a lot to talk about that I forgot all about the time. '

"_That_ blow struck home. 

"'I don't think it's nice to run about half the night with a youngwoman, ' she said. 

"I pretended to be embarrassed and stammered:

"'If one has so much to say to one another, one forgets sometimes whatis nice and what is not. '

"'What on earth did you talk about?' asked Gurli, pouting. "'I reallycan't remember. '

"You managed very well, my boy, " said the old woman. "Go on!"

"On the third day, " continued the captain, "Gurli came in with herneedlework and remained in the room until the lesson in mathematicswas over. Supper was not quite as merry as usual, but on the otherhand, very astronomical. I assisted the old witch with her overshoes, a fact which made a great impression on Gurli. When Ottilia saidgood-night, she only offered her cheek to be kissed. On the way home Ipressed her arm and talked of the sympathy of souls and of the starsas the home of the souls. I went to the Grand Hotel, had some punchand arrived home at two o'clock. Gurli was still up; I saw it, but Iwent straight to my room, like the bachelor I was, and Gurli did notlike to follow me and ply me with questions. 

"On the following day I gave Ottilia a lesson in astronomy. Gurlideclared that she was much interested and would like to be present;but Ottilia said we were already too far advanced and she wouldinstruct her in the rudiments later on. This annoyed Gurli and shewent away. We had a great deal of sherry for supper. When Ottiliathanked me for a jolly evening, I put my arm round her waist andkissed her. Gurli grew pale. When I buttoned her overshoes, I . .. I. .. . "

"Never mind me, " said the old lady, "I am an old woman. "

He laughed. "All the same, mother, she's not so bad, really she isn't. But when I was going to put on my overcoat, I found to my astonishmentthe maid waiting in the hall, ready to accompany Ottilia home. Gurlimade excuses for me; she said I had caught a cold on the previousevening, and that she was afraid the night air might do me harm. Ottilia looked self-conscious and left without kissing Gurli. 

"I had promised to show Ottilia some astronomical instruments at theCollege at twelve o'clock on the following day. She kept herappointment, but she was much depressed. She had been to see Gurli, who had treated her very unkindly, so she said. She could not imaginewhy. When I came home to dinner I found a great change in Gurli. Shewas cold and mute as a fish. I could see that she was suffering. Nowwas the time to apply the knife. 

"'What did you say to Ottilia?' I commenced. 'She was so unhappy. '

'What did I say to her? Well, I said to her that she was a flirt. That's what I said. '

'How could you say such a thing?' I replied. 'Surely, you're notjealous!'

'I! Jealous of her!' she burst out. 

'Yes, that's what puzzles me, for I am sure an intelligent and sensibleperson like Ottilia could never have designs on another woman's husband!'

'No, ' (she was coming to the point) 'but another woman's husband mighthave designs on her. '

'Huhuhu!' she went for me tooth and nail. I took Ottilia's part; Gurlicalled her an old maid; I continued to champion her. On this afternoonOttilia did not turn up. She wrote a chilly letter, making excuses andwinding up by saying she could see that she was not wanted. I protestedand suggested that I should go and fetch her. That made Gurli wild! Shewas sure that I was in love with Ottilia and cared no more for herself. She knew that she was only a silly girl, who didn't know anything, wasno good at anything, and--huhuhu!--could never understand mathematics. I sent for a sleigh and we went for a ride. In a hotel, overlooking thesea, we drank mulled wine and had an excellent little supper. It was justas if we were having our wedding day over again, and then we drove home. "

"And then--?" asked the old woman, looking at him over her spectacles. 

"And then? H'm! May God forgive me for my sins! I seduced my own littlewife. What do you say now, granny?"

"I say that you did very well, my boy! And then?"

"And then? Since then everything has been all right, and now we discussthe education of the children and the emancipation of women fromsuperstition and old-maidishness, from sentimentality and the deviland his ablative, but we talk when we are alone together and that isthe best way of avoiding misunderstandings. Don't you think so, oldlady?"

"Yes, Willy, dear, and now I shall come and pay you a call. "

"Do come! And you will see the dolls dance and the larks and thewoodpeckers sing and chirrup; you will see a home filled withhappiness up to the roof, for there is no one there waiting formiracles which only happen in fairy tales. You will see a real doll'shouse. "

PHOENIX

The wild strawberries were getting ripe when he met her for the firsttime at the vicarage. He had met many girls before, but when he saw_her_ he knew; this was she! But he did not dare to tell her so, andshe only teased him for he was still at school. 

He was an undergraduate when he met her for the second time. And as heput his arms round her and kissed her, he saw showers of rockets, heardthe ringing of bells and bugle calls, and felt the earth trembling underhis feet. 

She was a woman at the age of fourteen. Her young bosom seemed to bewaiting for hungry little mouths and eager baby fists. With her firmand elastic step, her round and swelling hips, she looked fit to bearat any moment a baby under her heart. Her hair was of a pale gold, like clarified honey, and surrounded her face like an aureole; hereyes were two flames and her skin was as soft as a glove. 

They were engaged to be married and billed and cooed in the wood likethe birds in the garden under the lime trees; life lay before themlike a sunny meadow which the scythe had not yet touched. But he hadto pass his examinations in mining first, and that would takehim, --including the journey abroad--ten years. Ten years!

He returned to the University. In the summer he came back to thevicarage and found her every bit as beautiful. Three summers hecame--and the fourth time she was pale. There were tiny red lines inthe corners of her nose and her shoulders drooped a little. When thesummer returned for the sixth time, she was taking iron. In theseventh she went to a watering-place. In the eighth she suffered fromtooth-ache and her nerves were out of order. Her hair had lost itsgloss, her voice had grown shrill, her nose was covered with littleblack specks; she had lost her figure, dragged her feet, and hercheeks were hollow. In the winter she had an attack of nervous fever, and her hair had to be cut off. When it grew again, it was a dullbrown. He had fallen in love with a golden-haired girl of fourteen--brunettes did not attract him--and he married a woman of twenty-four, with dull brown hair, who refused to wear her dresses open at thethroat. 

But in spite of all this he loved her. His love was less passionatethan it had been; it had become calm and steadfast. And there wasnothing in the little mining-town which could disturb their happiness. 

She bore him two boys, but he was always wishing for a girl. And atlast a fair-haired baby girl arrived. 

She was the apple of his eye, and as she grew up she resembled hermother more and more. When she was eight years old, she was just whather mother had been. And the father devoted all his spare time to hislittle daughter. 

The housework had coarsened the mother's hands. Her nose had lost itsshape and her temples had fallen in. Constant stooping over the kitchenrange had made her a little round-shouldered. Father and mother met onlyat meals and at night. They did not complain, but things had changed. 

But the daughter was the father's delight. It was almost as if he werein love with her. He saw in her the re-incarnation of her mother, hisfirst impression of her, as beautiful as it had been fleeting. He wasalmost self-conscious in her company and never went into her room whenshe was dressing. He worshipped her. 

But one morning the child remained in bed and refused to get up. Mamaput it down to laziness, but papa sent for the doctor. The shadow ofthe angel of death lay over the house: the child was suffering fromdiphtheria. Either father or mother must take the other children away. He refused. The mother took them to a little house in one of the suburbsand the father remained at home to nurse the invalid. There she lay!The house was disinfected with sulphur which turned the gilded pictureframes black and tarnished the silver on the dressing-table. He walkedthrough the empty rooms in silent anguish, and at night, alone in hisbig bed, he felt like a widower. He bought toys for the little girl, and she smiled at him as he sat on the edge of the bed trying to amuseher with a Punch and Judy show, and asked after mama and her littlebrothers. And the father had to go and stand in the street before thehouse in the suburbs, and nod to his wife who was looking at him fromthe window, and blow kisses to the children. And his wife signalled tohim with sheets of blue and red paper. 

But a day came when the little girl took no more pleasure in Punch andJudy, and ceased smiling; and ceased talking too, for Death hadstretched out his long bony arm and suffocated her. It had been a hardstruggle. 

Then the mother returned, full of remorse because she had deserted herlittle daughter. There was great misery in the home, and greatwretchedness. When the doctor wanted to make a post mortem examination, the father objected. No knife should touch her, for she was not dead tohim; but his resistance was overborne. Then he flew into a passion andtried to kick and bite the doctor. 

When they had bedded her into the earth, he built a monument over hergrave, and for a whole year he visited it every day. In the secondyear he did not go quite so often. His work was heavy and he had littlespare time. He began to feel the burden of the years; his step was lesselastic; his wound was healing. Sometimes he felt ashamed when herealised that he was mourning less and less for his child as time wentby; and finally he forgot all about it. 

Two more girls were born to him, but it was not the same thing; thevoid left by the one who had passed away could never be filled. 

Life was a hard struggle. The young wife who had once been like--likeno other woman on earth, had gradually lost her glamour; the gildinghad worn off the home which had once been so bright and beautiful. Thechildren had bruised and dented their mother's wedding presents, spoiledthe beds and kicked the legs of the furniture. The stuffing of the sofawas plainly visible here and there, and the piano had not been openedfor years. The noise made by the children had drowned the music and thevoices had become harsh. The words of endearment had been cast off withthe baby clothes, caresses had deteriorated into a sort of massage. Theywere growing old and weary. Papa was no longer on his knees before mama, he sat in his shabby armchair and asked her for a match when he wantedto light his pipe. Yes, they were growing old. 

When papa had reached his fiftieth year, mama died. Then the pastawoke and knocked at his heart. When her broken body, which the lastagony had robbed of its few remaining charms, had been laid in itsgrave, the picture of his fourteen-year-old sweetheart arose in hismemory. It was for her, whom he had lost so long ago that he mournednow, and with his yearning for her came remorse. But he had never beenunkind to the old mama; he had been faithful to the fourteen-year-oldvicar's daughter whom he had worshipped on his knees but had never ledto the altar, for he had married an anaemic young woman of twenty-four. If he were to be quite candid, he would have to confess that it was shefor whom he mourned; it was true, he also missed the good cooking andunremitting care of the old mama, but that was a different thing. 

He was on more intimate terms with his children, now; some of them hadleft the old nest, but others were still at home. 

When he had bored his friends for a whole year with anecdotes of thedeceased, an extraordinary coincidence happened. He met a young girlof eighteen, with fair hair, and a striking resemblance to his latewife, as she had been at fourteen. He saw in this coincidence thefinger of a bountiful providence, willing to bestow on him at last thefirst one, the well-beloved. He fell in love with her because sheresembled the first one. And he married her. He had got her at last. 

But his children, especially the girls, resented his second marriage. They found the relationship between their father and step-motherimproper; in their opinion he had been unfaithful to their mother. Andthey left his house and went out into the world. 

He was happy! And his pride in his young wife exceeded even hishappiness. 

"Only the aftermath!" said his old friends. 

When a year had gone by, the young wife presented him with a baby. Papa, of course, was no longer used to a baby's crying, and wanted hisnight's rest. He insisted on a separate bed-room for himself, heedlessof his wife's tears; really, women were a nuisance sometimes. And, moreover, she was jealous of his first wife. He had been fool enoughto tell her of the extraordinary likeness which existed between thetwo and had let her read his first wife's love-letters. She broodedover these facts now that he neglected her. She realised that she hadinherited all the first one's pet names, that she was only herunderstudy, as it were. It irritated her and the attempt to win himfor herself led her into all sorts of mischief. But she only succeededin boring him, and in silently comparing the two women, his verdictwas entirely in favour of the first one. She had been so much moregentle than the second who exasperated him. The longing for hischildren, whom he had driven from their home increased his regret, andhis sleep was disturbed by bad dreams for he was haunted by the ideathat he had been unfaithful to his first wife. 

His home was no longer a happy one. He had done a deed, which he wouldmuch better have left undone. 

He began to spend a good deal of time at his club. But now his wifewas furious. He had deceived her. He was an old man and he had betterlook out! An old man who left his young wife so much alone ran a certainrisk. He might regret it some day!

"Old? She called him old? He would show her that he was not old!"

They shared the same room again. But now matters were seven timesworse. He did not want to be bothered with the baby at night. Theproper place for babies was the nursery. No! he hadn't thought so inthe case of the first wife. 

He had to submit to the torture. 

Twice he had believed in the miracle of Phoenix rising from the ashesof his fourteen year old love, first in his daughter, then in hissecond wife. But in his memory lived the first one only, the littleone from the vicarage, whom he had met when the wild strawberries wereripe, and kissed under the lime trees in the wood, but whom he hadnever married. 

But now, as his sun was setting and his days grew short, he saw in hisdark hours only the picture of the old mama, who had been kind to himand his children, who had never scolded, who was plain, who cooked themeals and patched the little boys' knickers and the skirts of the littlegirls. His flush of victory being over, he was able to see facts clearly. He wondered whether it was not, after all, the old mama who had been thereal true Phoenix, rising, calm and beautiful, from the ashes of thefourteen year old bird of paradise, laying its eggs, plucking thefeathers from its breast to line the nest for the young ones, andnourishing them with its life-blood until it died. 

He wondered . .. But when at last he laid his weary head on the pillow, never again to lift it up, he was convinced that it was so. 

ROMEO AND JULIA

One evening the husband came home with a roll of music under his armand said to his wife:

"Let us play duets after supper!"

"What have you got there?" asked his wife. 

"Romeo and Julia, arranged for the piano. Do you know it?"

"Yes, of course I do, " she replied, "but I don't remember ever havingseen it on the stage. "

"Oh! It's splendid! To me it is like a dream of my youth, but I'veonly heard it once, and that was about twenty years ago. "

After supper, when the children had been put to bed and the house laysilent, the husband lighted the candles on the piano. He looked at thelithographed title-page and read the title: Romeo and Julia. 

"This is Gounod's most beautiful composition, " he said, "and I don'tbelieve that it will be too difficult for us. "

As usual his wife undertook to play the treble and they began. D major, common time, _allegro giusto_. 

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" asked the husband, when they had finishedthe overture. 

"Y--es, " admitted the wife, reluctantly. 

"Now the martial music, " said the husband; "it is exceptionally fine. I can remember the splendid choruses at the Royal Theatre. "

They played a march. 

"Well, wasn't I right?" asked the husband, triumphantly, as if he hadcomposed "Romeo and Julia" himself. 

"I don't know; it rather sounds like a brass band, " answered the wife. 

The husband's honour and good taste were involved; he looked for theMoonshine Aria in the fourth act. After a little searching he cameacross an aria for soprano. That must be it. 

And he began again. 

Tram-tramtram, tram-tramtram, went the bass; it was very easy to play. 

"Do you know, " said his wife, when it was over, "I don't think verymuch of it. "

The husband, quite depressed, admitted that it reminded him of a barrelorgan. 

"I thought so all along, " confessed the wife. 

"And I find it antiquated, too. I am surprised that Gounod should beout of date, already, " he added dejectedly. "Would you like to go onplaying? Let's try the Cavatina and the Trio; I particularly rememberthe soprano; she was divine. "

When they stopped playing, the husband looked crestfallen and put themusic away, as if he wanted to shut the door on the past. 

"Let's have a glass of beer, " he said. They sat down at the table andhad a glass of beer. 

"It's extraordinary, " he began, after a little while, "I neverrealised before that we've grown old, for we really must have viedwith Romeo and Julia as to who should age faster. It's twenty yearsago since I heard the opera for the first time. I was a newly fledgedundergraduate then, I had many friends and the future smiled at me. Iwas immensely proud of the first down on my upper lip and my littlecollege cap, and I remember as if it were to-day, the evening whenFritz, Phil and myself went to hear this opera. We had heard 'Faust'some years before and were great admirers of Gounod's genius. ButRomeo beat all our expectations. The music roused our wildestenthusiasm. Now both my friends are dead. Fritz, who was ambitious, was a private secretary when he died, Phil a medical student; I whoaspired to the position of a minister of state have to content myselfwith that of a regimental judge. The years have passed by quickly andimperceptibly. Of course I have noticed that the lines under my eyeshave grown deeper and that my hair has turned grey at the temples, butI should never have thought that we had travelled so far on the roadto the grave. "

"Yes, my dear, we've grown old; our children could teach us that. Andyou must see it in me too, although you don't say anything. "

"How can you say that!"

"Oh! I know only too well, my dear, " continued the wife, sadly; "Iknow that I am beginning to lose my good looks, that my hair isgrowing thin, that I shall soon lose my front teeth. .. . "

"Just consider how quickly everything passes away"--interrupted herhusband. "It seems to me that one grows old much more rapidly now-a-days, than one used to do. In my father's house Haydn and Mozart were playeda great deal, although they were dead long before he was born. And now--now Gounod has grown old-fashioned already! How distressing it is tomeet again the ideals of one's youth under these altered circumstances!And how horrible it is to feel old age approaching!"

He got up and sat down again at the piano; he took the music and turnedover the pages as if he were looking for keepsakes, locks of hair, dried flowers and ends of ribbon in the drawer of a writing-table. His eyes were riveted on the black notes which looked like little birdsclimbing up and down a wire fencing; but where were the spring songs, the passionate protestations, the jubilant avowals of the rosy days offirst love? The notes stared back at him like strangers; as if thememory of life's spring-time were grown over with weeds. 

Yes, that was it; the strings were covered with dust, the sounding boardwas dried up, the felt worn away. 

A heavy sigh echoed through the room, heavy as if it came from a hollowchest, and then silence fell. 

"But all the same, it is strange, " the husband said suddenly, "thatthe glorious prologue is missing in this arrangement. I rememberdistinctly that there was a prologue with an accompaniment of harpsand a chorus which went like this. "

He softly hummed the tune, which bubbled up like a stream in amountain glen; note succeeded note, his face cleared, his lips smiled, the lines disappeared, his fingers touched the keys, and drew fromthem melodies, powerful, caressing and full of eternal youth, whilewith a strong and ringing voice he sang the part of the bass. 

His wife started from her melancholy reverie and listened with tearsin her eyes. 

"What are you singing?" she asked, full of amazement. 

"Romeo and Julia! Our Romeo and our Julia!"

He jumped up from the music stool and pushed the music towards hisastonished wife. 

"Look! This was the Romeo of our uncles and aunts, this was--readit--Bellini! Oh! We are not old, after all!"

The wife looked at the thick, glossy hair of her husband, his smoothbrow and flashing eyes, with joy. 

"And you? You look like a young girl. We have allowed old Bellini tomake fools of us. I felt that something was wrong. "

"No, darling, I thought so first. "

"Probably you did; that is because you are younger than I am. "

"No, you. .. . "

And husband and wife, like a couple of children, laughingly quarrelover the question of which of them is the elder of the two, and cannotunderstand how they could have discovered lines and grey hairs wherethere are none. 

PROLIFICACY

He was a supernumerary at the Board of Trade and drew a salary oftwelve hundred crowns. He had married a young girl without a penny;for love, as he himself said, to be no longer compelled to go todances and run about the streets, as his friends maintained. But bethat as it may, the life of the newly-wedded couple was happy enoughto begin with. 

"How cheaply married people can live, " he said one day, after thewedding was a thing of the past. The same sum which had been barelyenough to cover the wants of the bachelor now sufficed for husband andwife. Really, marriage was an excellent institution. One had all one'srequirements within one's four walls: club, cafe, everything; no morebills of fare, no tips, no inquisitive porter watching one as one wentout with one's wife in the morning. 

Life smiled at him, his strength increased and he worked for two. Never in all his life had he felt so full of overflowing energy; hejumped out of bed as soon as he woke up in the morning, buoyantly, andin the highest spirits, he was rejuvenated. 

When two months had elapsed, long before his new circumstances hadbegun to pall, his wife whispered a certain piece of information intohis ear. New joys! New cares! But cares so pleasant to bear! It wasnecessary, however, to increase their income at once, so as to receivethe unknown world-citizen in a manner befitting his dignity. He managedto obtain an order for a translation. 

Baby-clothes lay scattered about all over the furniture, a cradlestood waiting in the hall, and at last a splendid boy arrived in thisworld of sorrows. 

The father was delighted. And yet he could not help a vague feeling ofuneasiness whenever he thought of the future. Income and expendituredid not balance. Nothing remained but to reduce his dress allowance. 

His frock coat began to look threadbare at the seams; his shirt frontwas hidden underneath a large tie, his trousers were frayed. It was anundeniable fact that the porters at the office looked down on him onaccount of his shabbiness. 

In addition to this he was compelled to lengthen his working day. 

"It must be the first and last, " he said. But how was it to be done?

He was at a loss to know. 

Three months later his wife prepared him in carefully chosen wordsthat his paternal joys would soon be doubled. It would not be true tosay that he rejoiced greatly at the news. But there was no alternativenow; he must travel along the road he had chosen, even if married lifeshould prove to be anything but cheap. 

"It's true, " he thought, his face brightening, "the younger one willinherit the baby-clothes of his elder brother. This will save a gooddeal of expense, and there will be food enough for them--I shall beable to feed them just as well as others. "

And the second baby was born. 

"You are going it, " said a friend of his, who was a married man himself, but father of one child only. 

"What is a man to do?"

"Use his common-sense. "

"Use his common-sense? But, my dear fellow, a man gets married inorder to . .. I mean to say, not only in order to . .. But yet in orderto. .. . Well, anyhow, we are married and that settles the matter. "

"Not at all. Let me tell you something, my dear boy; if you are at allhoping for promotion it is absolutely necessary that you should wearclean linen, trousers which are not frayed at the bottom, and a hatwhich is not of a rusty brown. "

And the sensible man whispered sensible words into his ear. As theresult, the poor husband was put on short commons in the midst ofplenty. 

But now his troubles began. 

To start with his nerves went to pieces, he suffered from insomnia anddid his work badly. He consulted a doctor. The prescription cost himthree crowns; and such a prescription! He was to stop working; he hadworked too hard, his brain was overtaxed. To stop work would meanstarvation for all of them, and to work spelt death, too!

He went on working. 

One day, as he was sitting at his desk, stooping over endless rows offigures, he had an attack of faintness, slipped off his chair and fellto the ground. 

A visit to a specialist--eighteen crowns. A new prescription; he mustask for sick leave at once, take riding exercise every morning andhave steak and a glass of port for breakfast. 

Riding exercise and port!

But the worst feature of the whole business was a feeling of alienationfrom his wife which had sprung up in his heart--he did not know whenceit came. He was afraid to go near her and at the same time he longed forher presence. He loved her, loved her still, but a certain bitternesswas mingled with his love. 

"You are growing thin, " said a friend. 

"Yes, I believe I've grown thinner, " said the poor husband. 

"You are playing a dangerous game, old boy!"

"I don't know what you mean!"

"A married man in half mourning! Take care, my friend!"

"I really don't know what you're driving at. ". 

"It's impossible to go against the wind for any length of time. Setall sails and run, old chap, and you will see that everything willcome right. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. You understandme. "

He took no notice of the advice for a time, fully aware of the factthat a man's income does not increase in proportion to his family; atthe same time he had no longer any doubt about the cause of hismalady. 

It was summer again. The family had gone into the country. On abeautiful evening husband and wife were strolling along the steepshore, in the shade of the alder trees, resplendent in their younggreen. They sat down on the turf, silent and depressed. He was moroseand disheartened; gloomy thoughts revolved behind his aching brow. Life seemed a great chasm which had opened to engulf all he loved. 

They talked of the probable loss of his appointment; his chief hadbeen annoyed at his second application for sick leave. He complainedof the conduct of his colleagues, he felt himself deserted by everyone;but the fact which hurt him more than anything else was the knowledgethat she, too, had grown tired of him. 

"Oh! but she hadn't! She loved him every bit as much as she did inthose happy days when they were first engaged. How could he doubt it?"

"No, he didn't doubt it; but he had suffered so much, he wasn't masterof his own thoughts. "

He pressed his burning cheek against hers, put his arm round her andcovered her eyes with passionate kisses. 

The gnats danced their nuptial dance above the birch tree without athought of the thousands of young ones which their ecstasy would callinto being; the carp laid their eggs in the reed grass, careless ofthe millions of their kind to which they gave birth; the swallow madelove in broad daylight, not in the least afraid of the consequences oftheir irregular liaisons. 

All of a sudden he sprang to his feet and stretched himself like asleeper awakening from a long sleep, which had been haunted by evildreams, he drank in the balmy air in deep draughts. 

"What's the matter?" whispered his wife, while a crimson blush spreadover her face. 

"I don't know. All I know is that I live, that I breathe again. "

And radiant, with laughing face and shining eyes, he held out his armsto her, picked her up as if she were a baby and pressed his lips toher forehead. The muscles of his legs swelled until they looked likethe muscles of the leg of an antique god, he held his body erect likea young tree and intoxicated with strength and happiness, he carriedhis beloved burden as far as the footpath where he put her down. 

"You will strain yourself, sweetheart, " she said, making a vainattempt to free herself from his encircling arms. 

"Never, you darling! I could carry you to the end of the earth, and Ishall carry you, all of you, no matter how many you are now, or howmany you may yet become. "

And they returned home, arm in arm, their hearts singing withgladness. 

"If the worst comes to the worst, sweet love, one must admit that itis very easy to jump that abyss which separates body and soul!"

"What a thing to say!"

"If I had only realised it before, I should have been less unhappy. Oh! those idealists!"

And they entered their cottage. 

The good old times had returned and had, apparently, come to stay. Thehusband went to work to his office as before. They lived again throughlove's spring time. No doctor was required and the high spirits neverflagged. 

After the third christening, however, he came to the conclusion thatmatters were serious and started playing his old game with theinevitable results: doctor, sick-leave, riding-exercise, port! Butthere must be an end of it, at all costs. Every time the balance-sheetshowed a deficit. 

But when, finally, his whole nervous system went out of joint, he letnature have her own way. Immediately expenses went up and he was besetwith difficulties. 

He was not a poor man, it is true, but on the other hand he was notblest with too many of this world's riches. 

"To tell you the truth, old girl, " he said to his wife, "it will bethe same old story over again. "

"I am afraid it will, my dear, " replied the poor woman, who, inaddition to her duties as a mother, had to do the whole work of thehouse now. 

After the birth of her fourth child, the work grew too hard for herand a nursemaid had to be engaged. 

"Now it must stop, " avowed the disconsolate husband. "This must be thelast. "

Poverty looked in at the door. The foundations on which the house wasbuilt were tottering. 

And thus, at the age of thirty, in the very prime of their life, theyoung husband and wife found themselves condemned to celibacy. He grewmoody, his complexion became grey and his eyes lost their lustre. Herrich beauty faded, her fine figure wasted away, and she suffered allthe sorrows of a mother who sees her children growing up in povertyand rags. 

One day, as she was standing in the kitchen, frying herrings, aneighbour called in for a friendly chat. 

"How are you?" she began. 

"Thank you, I'm not up to very much. How are you?"

"Oh! I'm not at all well. Married life is a misery if one has to beconstantly on one's guard. "

"Do you think you are the only one?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know what my husband said to me the other day? One ought tospare the draught cattle! And I suffer under it all, I can tell you. No, there's no happiness in marriage. Either husband or wife is boundto suffer. It's one or the other!"

"Or both!"

"But what about the men of science who grow fat at the expense of theGovernment?"

"They have to think of so many things, and moreover, it is improper towrite about such problems; they must not be discussed openly. "

"But that would be the first necessity!" And the two women fell todiscussing their bitter experiences. 

In the following summer they were compelled to remain in town; theywere living in a basement with a view of the gutter, the smell ofwhich was so objectionable that it was impossible to keep the windowsopen. 

The wife did needlework in the same room in which the children wereplaying; the husband, who had lost his appointment on account of hisextreme shabbiness, was copying a manuscript in the adjoining room, and grumbling at the children's noise. Hard words were bandied throughthe open door. 

It was Whitsuntide. In the afternoon the husband was lying on theragged leather sofa, gazing at a window on the other side of thestreet. He was watching a woman of evil reputation who was dressingfor her evening stroll. A spray of lilac and two oranges were lying bythe side of her looking-glass. 

She was fastening her dress without taking the least notice of hisinquisitive glances. 

"She's not having a bad time, " mused the celibate, suddenly kindledinto passion. "One lives but once in this world, and one must liveone's life, happen what will!"

His wife entered the room and caught sight of the object of hisscrutiny. Her eyes blazed; the last feeble sparks of her dead loveglowed under the ashes and revealed themselves in a temporary flashof jealousy. 

"Hadn't we better take the children to the Zoo?" she asked. 

"To make a public show of our misery? No, thank you!"

"But it's so hot in here. I shall have to pull down the blinds. "

"You had better open a window!"

He divined his wife's thoughts and rose to do it himself. Out there, on the edge of the pavement, his four little ones were sitting, inclose proximity of the waste pipes. Their feet were in the dry gutter, and they were playing with orange peels which they had found in thesweepings of the road. The sight stabbed his heart, and he felt a lumprising in his throat. But poverty had so blunted his feelings that heremained standing at the window with his arms crossed. 

All at once two filthy streams gushed from the waste pipes, inundatedthe gutter and saturated the feet of the children who screamed, halfsuffocated by the stench. 

"Get the children ready as quickly as you can, " he called, giving wayat the heart-rending scene. 

The father pushed the perambulator with the baby, the other childrenclung to the hands and skirts of the mother. 

They arrived at the cemetery with its dark-stemmed lime-trees, theirusual place of refuge; here the trees grew luxuriantly, as if the soilwere enriched by the bodies which lay buried underneath it. 

The bells were ringing for evening prayers. The inmates of thepoorhouse flocked to the church and sat down in the pews left vacantby their wealthy owners, who had attended to their souls at theprincipal service of the day, and were now driving in their carriagesto the Royal Deer Park. 

The children climbed about the shallow graves, most of which weredecorated with armorial bearings and inscriptions. 

Husband and wife sat down on a seat and placed the perambulator, inwhich the baby lay sucking at its bottle, by their side. Two puppieswere disporting themselves on a grave close by, half hidden by thehigh grass. 

A young and well dressed couple, leading by the hand a little girlclothed in silk and velvet, passed the seat on which they sat. Thepoor copyist raised his eyes to the young dandy and recognised aformer colleague from the Board of Trade who, however, did not seem tosee him. A feeling of bitter envy seized him with such intensity thathe felt more humiliated by this "ignoble sentiment" than by hisdeplorable condition. Was he angry with the other man because hefilled a position which he himself had coveted? Surely not. Butof a sense of justice, and his suffering was all the deeper becauseit was shared by the whole class of the disinherited. He was convincedthat the inmates of the poorhouse, bowed down under the yoke of publiccharity, envied his wife; and he was quite sure that many of thearistocrats who slept all around him in their graves, under their coatsof arms, would have envied him his children if it had been their lot todie without leaving an heir to their estates. Certainly, nobody underthe sun enjoyed complete happiness, but why did the plums always fallto the lot of those who were already sitting in the lap of luxury? Andhow was it that the prizes always fell to the organisers of the greatlottery? The disinherited had to be content with the mass said atevening prayers; to their share fell morality and those virtues whichthe others despised and of which they had no need because the gates ofheaven opened readily enough to their wealth. But what about the goodand just God who had distributed His gifts so unevenly? It would bebetter, indeed, to live one's life without this unjust God, who had, moreover, candidly admitted that the "wind blew where it listed"; hadHe not himself confessed, in these words, that He did not interfere inthe concerns of man? But failing the church, where should we look forcomfort? And yet, why ask for comfort? Wouldn't it be far better tostrive to make such arrangements that no comfort was needed? Wouldn'tit?

His speculations were interrupted by his eldest daughter who asked himfor a leaf of the lime-tree, which she wanted for a sunshade for herdoll. He stepped on the seat and raised his hand to break off a littletwig, when a constable appeared and rudely ordered him not to touchthe trees. A fresh humiliation. At the same time the constablerequested him not to allow his children to play on the graves, whichwas against the regulations. 

"We'd better go home, " said the distressed father. "How carefully theyguard the interests of the dead, and how indifferent they are to theinterests of the living. "

And they returned home. 

He sat down and began to work. He had to copy the manuscript of anacademical treatise on over-population. 

The subject interested him and he read the contents of the whole book. 

The young author who belonged to what was called the ethical school, was preaching against vice. 

"What vice?" mused the copyist. "That which is responsible for ourexistence? Which the priest orders us to indulge in at every weddingwhen he says: Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth?"

The manuscript ran on: Propagation, without holy matrimony, is adestructive vice, because the fate of the children, who do not receiveproper care and nursing, is a sad one. In the case of married couples, on the other hand, it becomes a sacred duty to indulge one's desires. This is proved, among other things, by the fact that the law protectseven the female ovum, and it is right that it should be so. 

"Consequently, " thought the copyist, "there is a providence forlegitimate children, but not for illegitimate ones Oh! this youngphilosopher! And the law which protects the female ovum! Whatbusiness, then, have those microscopic things to detach themselves atevery change of the moon? Those sacred objects ought to be mostcarefully guarded by the police!"

All these futilities he had to copy in his best handwriting. 

They overflowed with morality, but contained not a single word ofenlightenment. 

The moral or rather the immoral gist of the whole argument was: Thereis a God who feeds and clothes all children born in wedlock; a God inHis heaven, probably, but what about the earth? Certainly, it was saidthat He came to earth once and allowed himself to be crucified, aftervainly trying to establish something like order in the confusedaffairs of mankind; He did not succeed. 

The philosopher wound up by screaming himself hoarse in trying toconvince his audience that the abundant supply of wheat was anirrefutable proof that the problem of over-population did not exist;that the doctrine of Malthus was not only false, but criminal, socially as well as morally. 

And the poor father of a family who had not tasted wheaten bread foryears, laid down the manuscript and urged his little ones to fillthemselves with gruel made of rye flour and bluish milk, a dish whichsatisfied their craving, but contained no nourishment. 

He was wretched, not because he considered water gruel objectionable, but because he had lost his precious sense of humour, that magicianwho can transform the dark rye into golden wheat; almighty love, emptying his horn of plenty over his poor home, had vanished. Thechildren had become burdens, and the once beloved wife a secret enemydespised and despising him. 

And the cause of all this unhappiness? The want of bread! And yet thelarge store houses of the new world were breaking down under the weightof the over-abundant supply of wheat. What a world of contradictions!The manner in which bread was distributed must be at fault. 

Science, which has replaced religion, has no answer to give; it merelystates facts and allows the children to die of hunger and the parentsof thirst. 

AUTUMN

They had been married for ten years. Happily? Well, as happily ascircumstances permitted. They had been running in double harness, liketwo young oxen of equal strength, each of which is conscientiouslydoing his own share. 

During the first year of their marriage they buried many illusions andrealised that marriage was not perfect bliss. In the second year thebabies began to arrive, and the daily toil left them no time forbrooding. 

He was very domesticated, perhaps too much so; his family was hisworld, the centre and pivot of which he was. The children were theradii. His wife attempted to be a centre, too, but never in the middleof the circle, for that was exclusively occupied by him, and thereforethe radii fell now on the top of one another, now far apart, and theirlife lacked harmony. 

In the tenth year of their marriage he obtained the post of secretaryto the Board of Prisons, and in that capacity he was obliged to travelabout the country. This interfered seriously with his daily routine;the thought of leaving his world for a whole month upset him. Hewondered whom he would miss more, his wife or his children, and he wassure he would miss them both. 

On the eve of his departure he sat in the corner of the sofa andwatched his portmanteau being packed. His wife was kneeling on theShe brushed his black suit and folded it carefully, so that it shouldtake up as little space as possible. He had no idea how to do thesethings. 

She had never looked upon herself as his housekeeper, hardly as hiswife, she was above all things mother: a mother to the children, amother to him. She darned his socks without the slightest feeling ofdegradation, and asked for no thanks. She never even considered himindebted to her for it, for did he not give her and the children newstockings whenever they wanted them, and a great many other thingsinto the bargain? But for him, she would have to go out and earn herown living, and the children would be left alone all day. 

He sat in the sofa corner and looked at her. Now that the parting wasimminent, he began to feel premature little twinges of longing. Hegazed at her figure. Her shoulders were a little rounded; much bendingover the cradle, ironing board and kitchen range had robbed her backof its straightness. He, too, stooped a little, the result of his toilat the writing-table, and he was obliged to wear spectacles. But atthe moment he really was not thinking of himself. He noticed that herplaits were thinner than they had been and that a faint suggestion ofsilver lay on her hair. Had she sacrificed her beauty to him, to himalone? No, surely not to him, but to the little community which theyformed; for, after all, she had also worked for herself. His hair, too, had grown thin in the struggle to provide for all of them. Hemight have retained his youth a little longer, if there hadn't been somany mouths to fill, if he had remained a bachelor; but he didn'tregret his marriage for one second. 

"It will be a good thing for you to get away for a bit, " said hiswife; "you have been too much at home. "

"I suppose you are glad to get rid of me, " he replied, not withoutbitterness; "but I--I shall miss you very much. "

"You are like a cat, you'll miss your cosy fireside, but not me; youknow you won't. "

"And the kiddies?"

"Oh, yes! I daresay you'll miss them when you are away, for all yourscolding when you are with them. No, no, I don't mean that you areunkind to them, but you do grumble a lot! All the same I won't beunjust, and I know that you love them. "

At supper he was very tired and depressed. He didn't read the eveningpaper, he wanted to talk to his wife. But she was too busy to pay muchattention to him; she had no time to waste; moreover, her ten years'campaign in kitchen and nursery had taught her self-control. 

He felt more sentimental than he cared to show, and the topsy-turvydomof the room made him fidgety. Scraps of his daily life lay scatteredall over chairs and chests of drawers; his black portmanteau yawnedwide-open like a coffin; his white linen was carefully laid on the topof his black suit, which showed slight traces of wear and tear at theknees and elbows. It seemed to him that he himself was lying there, wearing a white shirt with a starched front. Presently they wouldclose the coffin and carry it away. 

On the following morning--it was in August--he rose early and dressedhurriedly. His nerves were unstrung. He went into the nursery andkissed the children who stared at him with sleepy eyes. Then he kissedhis wife, got into a cab, and told the driver to drive him to thestation. 

The journey, which he made in the company of his Board, did him good;it really was a good thing for him to get out of his groove;domesticity lay behind him like a stuffy bedroom, and on the arrivalof the train at Linkoping he was in high spirits. 

An excellent dinner had been ordered at the best hotel and theremainder of the day was spent in eating it. They drank the health ofthe Lord Lieutenant; no one thought of the prisoners on whose behalfthe journey had been undertaken. 

Dinner over, he had to face a lonely evening in his solitary room. Abed, two chairs, a table, a washing-stand and a wax candle, whichthrew its dim light on bare walls. He couldn't suppress a feeling ofnervousness. He missed all his little comforts, --slippers, dressing-gown, pipe rack and writing table; all the little detailswhich played an important part in his daily life. And the kiddies? Andhis wife? What were they doing? Were they all right? He becamerestless and depressed. When he wanted to wind up his watch, he foundthat he had left his watch-key at home. It was hanging on thewatch-stand which his wife had given him before they were married. Hewent to bed and lit a cigar. Then he wanted a book out of hisportmanteau and he had to get up again. Everything was packed sobeautifully, it was a pity to disturb it. In looking for the book, hecame across his slippers. She had forgotten nothing. Then he found thebook. But he couldn't read. He lay in bed and thought of the past, ofhis wife, as she had been ten years ago. He saw her as she had beenthen; the picture of her, as she now was, disappeared in the blue-greyclouds of smoke which rose in rings and wreaths to the rain-stainedceiling. An infinite yearning came over him. Every harsh word he hadever spoken to her now grated on his ears; he thought remorsefully ofevery hour of anguish he had caused her. At last he fell asleep. 

The following day brought much work and another banquet with a toastto the Prison-Governor--the prisoners were still unremembered. In theevening solitude, emptiness, coldness. He felt a pressing need to talkto her. He fetched some notepaper and sat down to write. But at thevery outset he was confronted by a difficulty. How was he to addressher? Whenever he had sent her a few lines to say that he would not behome for dinner, he had always called her "Dear Mother. " But now hewas not going to write to the mother, but to his fiancée, to hisbeloved one. At last he made up his mind and commenced his letter with"My Darling Lily, " as he had done in the old days. At first he wroteslowly and with difficulty, for so many beautiful words and phrasesseemed to have disappeared from the clumsy, dry language of every-daylife; but as he warmed to his work, they awakened in his memory likeforgotten melodies, valse tunes, fragments of poems, elder-blossoms, and swallows, sunsets on a mirror-like sea. All his memories of thespringtime of life came dancing along in clouds of gossamer andenveloped her. He drew a cross at the bottom of the page, as loversdo, and by the side of it he wrote the words: "Kiss here. "

When the letter was finished and he read it through, his cheeks burntand he became self-conscious. He couldn't account for the reason. 

But somehow he felt that he had shown his naked soul to a stranger. 

In spite of this feeling he posted the letter. 

A few days elapsed before he received a reply. While he was waitingfor it, he was a prey to an almost childish bashfulness andembarrassment. 

At last the answer came. He had struck the right note, and from thedin and clamour of the nursery, and the fumes and smell of thekitchen, a song arose, clear and beautiful, tender and pure, likefirst love. 

Now an exchange of love-letters began. He wrote to her every night, and sometimes he sent her a postcard as well during the day. Hiscolleagues didn't know what to think of him. He was so fastidiousabout his dress and personal appearance, that they suspected him of alove affair. And he was in love--in love again. He sent her hisphotograph, without the spectacles, and she sent him a lock of herhair. 

Their language was simple like a child's, and he wrote on colouredpaper ornamented with little doves. Why shouldn't they? They were along way off forty yet, even though the struggle for an existence hadmade them feel that they were getting old. He had neglected her duringthe last twelvemonth, not so much from indifference as from respect--healways saw in her the mother of his children. 

The tour of inspection was approaching its end. He was conscious of acertain feeling of apprehension when he thought of their meeting. Hehad corresponded with his sweetheart; should he find her in the motherand housewife? He dreaded a disappointment. He shrank at the thoughtof finding her with a kitchen towel in her hand, or the childrenclinging to her skirts. Their first meeting must be somewhere else, and they must meet alone. Should he ask her to join him at Waxholm, inthe Stockholm Archipelago, at the hotel where they had spent so manyhappy hours during the period of their engagement? Splendid idea!There they could, for two whole days, re-live in memory the firstbeautiful spring days of their lives, which had flown, never to returnagain. 

He sat down and made the suggestion in an impassioned love-letter. Sheanswered by return agreeing to his proposal, happy that the same ideahad occurred to both of them. 

 * * * * *

Two days later he arrived at Waxholm and engaged rooms at the hotel. It was a beautiful September day. He dined alone, in the greatdining-room, drank a glass of wine and felt young again. Everythingwas so bright and beautiful. There was the blue sea outside; only thebirch trees on the shore had changed their tints. In the garden thedahlias were still in full splendour, and the perfume of the mignonetterose from the borders of the flower beds. A few bees still visited thedying calyces but returned disappointed to their hives. The fishingboats sailed up the Sound before a faint breeze, and in tacking thesails fluttered and the sheets shook; the startled seagulls rose intothe air screaming, and circled round the fishermen who were fishingfrom their boats for small herring. 

He drank his coffee on the verandah, and began to look out for thesteamer which was due at six o'clock. 

Restlessly, apprehensively, he paced the verandah, anxiously watchingfiord and Sound on the side where Stockholm lay, so as to sight thesteamer as soon as she came into view. 

At last a little cloud of smoke showed like a dark patch on the horizon. His heart thumped against his ribs and he drank a liqueur. Then he wentdown to the shore. 

Now he could see the funnel right in the centre of the Sound, and soonafter he noticed the flag on the fore-topmast. .. . Was she really on thesteamer, or had she been prevented from keeping the tryst? It wasonly necessary for one of the children to be ill, and she wouldn't bethere, and he would have to spend a solitary night at the hotel. Thechildren, who during the last few weeks had receded into the background, now stepped between her and him. They had hardly mentioned them in theirlast letters, just as if they had been anxious to be rid of alleyewitnesses and spoil-sports. 

He stamped on the creaking landing-stage and then remained standingmotionless near a bollard staring straight at the steamer whichincreased in size as she approached, followed in her wake by a riverof molten gold that spread over the blue, faintly rippled expanse. Nowhe could distinguish people on the upper deck, a moving crowd, andsailors busy with the ropes, now a fluttering speck of white near thewheel-house. There was no one besides him on the landing-stage, themoving white speck could only be meant for him, and no one would waveto him but her. He pulled out his handkerchief and answered hergreeting, and in doing so he noticed that his handkerchief was not awhite one; he had been using coloured ones for years for the sake ofeconomy. 

The steamer whistled, signalled, the engines stopped, she camealongside, and now he recognised her. Their eyes met in greeting; thedistance was still too great for words. Now he could see her beingpushed slowly by the crowd across the little bridge. It was she, andyet it wasn't. 

Ten years stretched between her and the picture of her which he hadhad in his mind. Fashion had changed, the cut of the clothes wasdifferent. Ten years ago her delicate face with its olive complexionwas framed by the cap which was then worn, and which left the foreheadfree; now her forehead was hidden by a wicked imitation of a bowlerhat. Ten years ago the beautiful lines of her figure were clearlydefinable under the artistic draperies of her cloak which playfullynow hid, now emphasised the curve of her shoulders and the movement ofher arms; now her figure was completely disguised by a long drivingcoat which followed the lines of her dress but completely concealedher figure. As she stepped off the landing-bridge, he caught sight ofher little foot with which he had fallen in love, when it was encasedin a buttoned boot, shaped on natural lines; the shoe which she wasnow wearing resembled a pointed Chinese slipper, and did not allow herfoot to move in those dancing rhythms which had bewitched him. 

It was she and yet it was not she! He embraced and kissed her. Sheenquired after his health and he asked after the children. Then theywalked up the strand. 

Words came slowly and sounded dry and forced. How strange! They werealmost shy in each other's presence, and neither of them mentioned theletters. 

In the end he took heart of grace and asked:

"Would you like to go for a walk before sunset?"

"I should love to, " she replied, taking his arm. 

They went along the high-road in the direction of the little town. Theshutters of all the summer residences were closed; the gardens plundered. Here and there an apple, hidden among the foliage, might still be foundhanging on the trees, but there wasn't a single flower in the flowerbeds. The verandahs, stripped of their sunblinds, looked like skeletons;where there had been bright eyes and gay laughter, silence reigned. 

"How autumnal!" she said. 

"Yes, the forsaken villas look horrible. "

They walked on. 

"Let us go and look at the house where we used to live. "

"Oh, yes! It will be fun. "

They passed the bathing vans. 

Over there, squeezed in between the pilot's and the gardener's cottages, stood the little house with its red fence, its verandah and its littlegarden. 

Memories of past days awoke. There was the bedroom where their firstbaby had been born. What rejoicing! What laughter! Oh! youth and gaiety!The rose-tree which they had planted was still there. And thestrawberry-bed which they had made--no, it existed no longer, grasshad grown over it. In the little plantation traces of the swing whichthey had put up were still visible, but the swing itself haddisappeared. 

"Thank you so much for your beautiful letters, " she said, gentlypressing his arm. 

He blushed and made no reply. 

Then they returned to the hotel, and he told her anecdotes, inconnection with his tour. 

He had ordered dinner to be served in the large dining-room at thetable where they used to sit. They sat down without saying grace. 

It was a tête-à-tête dinner. He took the bread-basket and offered herthe bread. She smiled. It was a long time since he had been soattentive. But dinner at a seaside hotel was a pleasant change andsoon they were engaged in a lively conversation. It was a duet inwhich one of them extolled the days that had gone, and the otherrevived memories of "once upon a time. " They were re-living the past. Their eyes shone and the little lines in their faces disappeared. Oh!golden days! Oh! time of roses which comes but once, if it comes atall, and which is denied to so many of us--so many of us. 

At dessert he whispered a few words into the ear of the waitress; shedisappeared and returned a few seconds later with a bottle of champagne. 

"My dear Axel, what are you thinking of?"

"I am thinking of the spring that has past, but will return again. "

But he wasn't thinking of it exclusively, for at his wife's reproachfulwords there glided through the room, catlike, a dim vision of the nurseryand the porridge bowl. 

However--the atmosphere cleared again; the golden wine stirred theirmemories, and again they lost themselves in the intoxicating raptureof the past. 

He leaned his elbow on the table and shaded his eyes with his hand, asif he were determined to shut out the present--this very present which, --after all, had been of his own seeking. 

The hours passed. They left the dining-room and went into thedrawing-room which boasted a piano, ordering their coffee to bebrought there. 

"I wonder how the kiddies are?" said she, awakening to the hard factsof real life. 

"Sit down and sing to me, " he answered, opening the instrument. 

"What would you like me to sing? You know I haven't sung a note formany days. "

He was well aware of it, but he _did_ want a song. 

She sat down before the piano and began to play. It was a squeakinginstrument that reminded one of the rattling of loose teeth. 

"What shall I sing?" she asked, turning round on the music-stool. 

"You know, darling, " he replied, not daring to meet her eyes. 

"Your song! Very well, if I can remember it. " And she sang: "Where isthe blessed country where my beloved dwells?"

But alas! Her voice was thin and shrill and emotion made her sing outof tune. At times it sounded like a cry from the bottom of a soulwhich feels that noon is past and evening approaching. The fingerswhich had done hard work strayed on the wrong keys. The instrument, too, had seen its best days; the cloth on the hammers had worn away;it sounded as if the springs touched the bare wood. 

When she had finished her song, she sat for a while without turninground, as if she expected him to come and speak to her. But he didn'tmove; not a sound broke the deep silence. When she turned round atlast, she saw him sitting on the sofa, his cheeks wet with tears. Shefelt a strong impulse to jump up, take his head between her hands andkiss him as she had done in days gone by, but she remained where shewas, immovable, with downcast eyes. 

He held a cigar between his thumb and first finger. When the song wasfinished, he bit off the end and struck a match. 

"Thank you, Lily, " he said, puffing at his cigar, "will you have yourcoffee now?"

They drank their coffee, talked of summer holidays in general andsuggested two or three places where they might go next summer. Buttheir conversation languished and they repeated themselves. 

At last he yawned openly and said: "I'm off to bed. "

"I'm going, too, " she said, getting up. "But I'll get a breath offresh air first, on the balcony. "

He went into the bed-room. She lingered for a few moments in thedining-room, and then talked to the landlady for about half an hour ofspring-onions and woollen underwear. 

When the landlady had left her she went into the bedroom and stood fora few minutes at the door, listening. No sound came from within. Hisboots stood in the corridor. She opened the door gently and went in. He was asleep. 

He was asleep!

 * * * * *

At breakfast on the following morning he had a headache, and shefidgeted. 

"What horrible coffee, " he said, with a grimace. 

"Brazilian, " she said, shortly. 

"What shall we do to-day?" he asked, looking at his watch. 

"Hadn't you better eat some bread and butter, instead of grumbling atthe coffee?" she said. 

"Perhaps you're right, " he answered, "and I'll have a liqueur at thesame time. That champagne last night, ugh!"

He asked for bread and butter and a liqueur and his temper improved. 

"Let's go to the Pilot's Hill and look at the view. "

They rose from the breakfast table and went out. 

The weather was splendid and the walk did them good. But they walkedslowly; she panted, and his knees were stiff; they drew no moreparallels with the past. 

They walked across the fields. The grass had been cut long ago, therewasn't a single flower anywhere. They sat down on some large stones. 

He talked of the Board of Prisons and his office. She talked of thechildren. 

Then they walked on in silence. He looked at his watch. 

"Three hours yet till dinner time, " he said. And he wondered how theycould kill time on the next day. 

They returned to the hotel. He asked for the papers. She sat down bythe side of him with a smile on her lips. 

They talked little during dinner. After dinner she mentioned theservants. 

"For heaven's sake, leave the servants alone!" he exclaimed. 

"Surely we haven't come here to quarrel!"

"Am I quarrelling?"

"Well, I'm not!"

An awkward pause followed. He wished somebody would come. The children!Yes! This tête-à-tête embarrassed him, but he felt a pain in his heartwhen he thought of the bright hours of yesterday. 

"Let's go to Oak Hill, " she said, "and gather wild strawberries. "

"There are no wild strawberries at this time of the year, it's autumn. "

"Let's go all the same. "

And they went. But conversation was difficult. His eyes searched forsome object on the roadside which would serve for a peg on which tohang a remark, but there was nothing. There was no subject which theyhadn't discussed. She knew all his views on everything and disagreedwith most of them. She longed to go home, to the children, to her ownfireside. She found it absurd to make a spectacle of herself in thisplace and be on the verge of a quarrel with her husband all the time. 

After a while they stopped, for they were tired. He sat down and beganto write in the sand with his walking stick. He hoped she wouldprovoke a scene. 

"What are you thinking of?" she asked at last. 

"I?" he replied, feeling as if a burden were falling off his shoulders, "I am thinking that we are getting old, mother: our innings are over, and we have to be content with what has been. If you are of the samemind, we'll go home by the night boat. "

"I have thought so all along, old man, but I wanted to please you. "

"Then come along, we'll go home. It's no longer summer, autumn is here. "

They returned to the hotel, much relieved. 

He was a little embarrassed on account of the prosaic ending of theadventure, and felt an irresistible longing to justify it from aphilosophical standpoint. 

"You see, mother, " he said, "my lo--h'm" (the word was too strong) "myaffection for you has undergone a change in the course of time. It hasdeveloped, broadened; at first it was centred on the individual, butlater on, on the family as a whole. It is not now you, personally, that I love, nor is it the children, but it is the whole. .. . 

"Yes, as my uncle used to say, children are lightning conductors!"

After his philosophical explanation he became his old self again. Itwas pleasant to take off his frock coat; he felt, as if he weregetting into his dressing-gown. 

When they entered the hotel, she began at once to pack, and there shewas in her element. 

They went downstairs into the saloon as soon as they got on board. Forappearance sake, however, he asked her whether she would like to watchthe sunset; but she declined. 

At supper he helped himself first, and she asked the waitress theprice of black bread. 

When he had finished his supper, he remained sitting at the table, lingering over a glass of porter. A thought which had amused him forsome time, would no longer be suppressed. 

"Old fool, what?" he said, lifting his glass and smiling at his wifewho happened to look at him at the moment. 

She did not return his smile but her eyes, which had flashed for asecond, assumed so withering an expression of dignity that he feltcrushed. 

The spell was broken, the last trace of his old love had vanished; hewas sitting opposite the mother of his children; he felt small. 

"No need to look down upon me because I have made a fool of myself fora moment, " she said gravely. "But in a man's love there is always agood deal of contempt; it is strange. "

"And in the love of a woman?"

"Even more, it is true! But then, she has every cause. "

"It's the same thing--with a difference. Probably both of them arewrong. That which one values too highly, because it is difficult ofattainment, is easily underrated when one has obtained it. "

"Why does one value it too highly?"

"Why is it so difficult of attainment?"

The steam whistle above their heads interrupted their conversation. 

They landed. 

When they had arrived home, and he saw her again among her children, he realised that his affection for her had undergone a change, andthat her affection for him had been transferred to and divided amongstall these little screamers. Perhaps her love for him had only been ameans to an end. His part had been a short one, and he felt deposed. If he had not been required to earn bread and butter, he wouldprobably have been cast off long ago. 

He went into his study, put on his dressing-gown and slippers, lightedhis pipe and felt at home. 

Outside the wind lashed the rain against the window panes, and whistledin the chimney. 

When the children had been put to bed, his wife came and sat by him. 

"No weather to gather wild strawberries, " she said. 

"No, my dear, the summer is over and autumn is here. "

"Yes, it is autumn, " she replied, "but it is not yet winter, there iscomfort in that. "

"Very poor comfort if we consider that we live but once. "

"Twice when one has children; three times if one lives to see one'sgrandchildren. "

"And after that, the end. "

"Unless there is a life after death. "

"We cannot be sure of that! Who knows? I believe it, but my faith isno proof. "

"But it is good to believe it. Let us have faith! Let us believe thatspring will come again! Let us believe it!"

"Yes, let us believe it, " he said, gathering her to his breast. 

COMPULSORY MARRIAGE

His father died early and from that time forth he was in the hands ofa mother, two sisters and several aunts. He had no brother. They livedon an estate in the Swedish province, Soedermanland, and had noneighbours with whom they _could be_ on friendly terms. When he wasseven years old, a governess was engaged to teach him and his sisters, and about the same time a girl cousin came to live with them. 

He shared his sisters' bedroom, played their games and went bathingwith them; nobody looked upon him as a member of the other sex. Beforelong his sisters took him in hand and became his schoolmasters andtyrants. 

He was a strong boy to start with, but left to the mercy of so manydoting women, he gradually became a helpless molly-coddle. 

Once he made an attempt to emancipate himself and went to play withthe boys of the cottagers. They spent the day in the woods, climbedthe trees, robbed the birds' nests and threw stones at the squirrels. Frithiof was as happy as a released prisoner, and did not come home todinner. The boys gathered whortle-berries, and bathed in the lake. Itwas the first really enjoyable day of his life. 

When he came home in the evening, he found the whole house in greatcommotion. His mother though anxious and upset, did not conceal herjoy at his return; Aunt Agatha, however, a spinster, and his mother'seldest sister, who ruled the house, was furious. She maintained thatit would be a positive crime not to punish him. Frithiof could notunderstand why it should be a crime, but his aunt told him thatdisobedience was a sin. He protested that he had never been forbiddento play with the children of the cottagers. She admitted it but saidthat, of course, there could never have been two questions about it. And she remained firm, and regardless of his mother's pleading eyes, took him away to give him a whipping in her own room. He was eightyears old and fairly big for his age. 

When the aunt touched his waist-belt to unbutton his knickers, a coldshiver ran down his back; he gasped and his heart thumped against hisribs. He made no sound, but stared, horror-struck, at the old womanwho asked him, almost caressingly, to be obedient and not to offer anyresistance. But when she laid hands on his shirt, he grew hot withshame and fury. He sprang from the sofa on which she had pushed him, hitting out right and left. Something unclean, something dark andrepulsive, seemed to emanate from this woman, and the shame of his sexrose up in him as against an assailant. 

But the aunt, mad with passion, seized him, threw him on a chair andbeat him. He screamed with rage, pain he did not feel, and withconvulsive kicks tried to release himself; but all of a sudden he laystill and was silent. 

When the old woman let him go, he remained where he was, motionless. 

"Get up!" she said, in a broken voice. 

He stood up and looked at her. One of her cheeks was pale, the othercrimson. Her eyes glowed strangely and she trembled all over. He lookedat her curiously, as one might examine a wild beast, and all of asudden a supercilious smile raised his upper lip; it seemed to himas if his contempt gave him an advantage over her. "She-devil!" Heflung the word, newly acquired from the children of the cottagers, into her face, defiantly and scornfully, seized his clothes and flewdownstairs to his mother, who was sitting in the dining-room, weeping. 

He wanted to open his heart to her and complain of his aunt's treatment, but she had not the courage to comfort him. So he went into the kitchenwhere the maids consoled him with a handful of currants. 

From this day on he was no longer allowed to sleep in the nursery withhis sisters, but his mother had his bed removed to her own bedroom. Hefound his mother's room stuffy and the new arrangement dull; shefrequently disturbed his sleep by getting up and coming to his bed inthe night to see whether he was covered up; then he flew into a rageand answered her questions peevishly. 

He was never allowed to go out without being carefully wrapped up bysomeone, and he had so many mufflers that he never knew which one toput on. Whenever he tried to steal out of the house, someone was sureto see him from the window and call him back to put on an overcoat. 

By and by his sisters' games began to bore him. His strong arms nolonger wanted to play battledore and shuttlecock, they longed to throwstones. The squabbles over a petty game of croquet, which demandedneither muscle nor brain, irritated him. 

The governess was another one of his trials. She always spoke to himin French and he invariably answered her in Swedish. A vague disgustwith his whole life and surroundings began to stir in him. 

The free and easy manner in which everybody behaved in his presenceoffended him, and he retaliated by heartily loathing all with whom hecame in contact. His mother was the only one who considered his feelingsto a certain extent: she had a big screen put round his bed. 

Ultimately the kitchen and the servants' hall became his refuge; thereeverything he did was approved of. Occasionally, of course, matterswere discussed there which might have aroused a boy's curiosity, butfor him there were no secrets. On one occasion, for instance, he hadaccidentally come to the maids' bathing-place. The governess, who waswith him, screamed, he could not understand why, but he stopped andtalked to the girls who were standing or lying about in the water. Their nudity made no impression upon him. 

He grew up into a youth. An inspector was engaged to teach him farmingfor he was, of course, to take over the management of the estate indue time. They chose an old man who held the orthodox faith. The oldman's society was not exactly calculated to stimulate a young man'sbrain, but it was an improvement on the old conditions. It openednew points of view to him and roused him to activity. But theinspector received daily and hourly so many instructions from theladies, that he ended by being nothing but their mouth-piece. 

At the age of fifteen Frithiof was confirmed, received a present of agold watch and was allowed to go out on horseback; he was notpermitted, however, to realise his greatest ambition, namely to goshooting. True, there was no longer any fear of a whipping from hisarch-enemy, but he dreaded his mother's tears. He always remained achild, and never managed to throw off the habit of giving way to thejudgment of other people. 

The years passed; he had attained his twentieth year. One day he wasstanding in the kitchen watching the cook, who was busy scaling aperch. She was a pretty young woman with a delicate complexion. He wasteasing her and finally put his hand down her back. 

"Do behave yourself, now, Mr. Frithiof, " said the girl. 

"But I am behaving myself, " he replied, becoming more and morefamiliar. 

"If mistress should see you!"

"Well supposing she did?"

At this moment his mother passed the open kitchen door; she instantlyturned away and walked across the yard. 

Frithiof found the situation awkward and slunk away to his bed-room. 

A new gardener entered their service. In their wisdom, anxious toavoid trouble with the maids, the ladies had chosen a married man. But, as misfortune would have it, the gardener had been married longenough to be the father of an exceedingly pretty young daughter. 

Frithiof quickly discovered the sweet blossom among the other roses inthe garden, and poured out all the good-will which lay stored up inhis heart for _that_ half of humanity to which he did not belong, onthis young girl, who was rather well developed and not withouteducation. 

He spent a good deal of his time in the garden and stopped to talk toher whenever he found her working at one of the flower-beds or cuttingflowers. She did not respond to his advances, but this only had theeffect of stimulating his passion. 

One day he was riding through the wood, haunted, as usual, by visionsof her loveliness which, in his opinion, reached the very pinnacle ofperfection. He was sick with longing to meet her alone, freed from allfear of incurring some watcher's displeasure. In his heatedimagination the desire of being near her had assumed such enormousproportions, that he felt that life without her would be impossible. 

He held the reins loosely in his hand, and the horse picked his wayleisurely while its rider sat on its back wrapped in deep thought. Allof a sudden something light appeared between the trees and thegardener's daughter emerged from the underwood and stepped out on thefootpath. 

Frithiof dismounted and took off his hat. They walked on, side byside, talking, while he dragged his horse behind him. He spoke invague words of his love for her; but she rejected all his advances. 

"Why should we talk of the impossible?" she asked. 

"What is impossible?" he exclaimed. 

"That a wealthy gentleman like you should marry a poor girl like me. "

There was no denying the aptitude of her remark, and Frithiof feltthat he was worsted. His love for her was boundless, but he could seeno possibility of bringing his doe safely through the pack whichguarded house and home; they would tear her to pieces. 

After this conversation he gave himself up to mute despair. 

In the autumn the gardener gave notice and left the estate withoutgiving a reason. For six weeks Frithiof was inconsolable, for he hadlost his first and only love; he would never love again. 

In this way the autumn slowly passed and winter stood before the door. At Christmas a new officer of health came into the neighbourhood. Hehad grown-up children, and as the aunts were always ill, friendlyrelations were soon established between the two families. Among thedoctor's children was a young girl and before long Frithiof was headover ears in love with her. He was at first ashamed of his infidelityto his first love, but he soon came to the conclusion that love wassomething impersonal, because it was possible to change the object ofone's tenderness; it was almost like a power of attorney made out onthe holder. 

As soon as his guardians got wind of this new attachment, the motherasked her son for a private interview. 

"You have now arrived at that age, " she began, "when a man begins tolook out for a wife. "

"I have already done that, my dear mother, " he replied. 

"I'm afraid you've been too hasty, " she said. "The girl of whom, Isuppose, you are thinking, doesn't possess the moral principles whichan educated man should demand. "

"What? Amy's moral principles! Who has anything to say against them?"

"I won't say a word against the girl herself, but her father, as youknow, is a freethinker. "

"I shall be proud to be related to a man who can think freely, withoutconsidering his material interests. "

"Well, let's leave him out of the question; you are forgetting, my dearFrithiof, that you are already bound elsewhere. "

"What? Do you mean. .. . "

"Yes; you have played with Louisa's heart. "

"Are you talking of cousin Louisa?"

"I am. Haven't you looked upon yourselves as fiancés since your earliestchildhood? Don't you realise that she has put all her faith and trust inyou?"

"It's you who have played with us, driven us together, not I!" answeredthe son. 

"Think of your old mother, think of your sisters, Frithiof. Do you wantto bring a stranger into this house which has always been our home, astranger who will have the right to order us about?"

"Oh! I see; Louisa is the chosen mistress!"

"There's no chosen mistress, but a mother always has a right to choosethe future wife of her son; nobody is so well fitted to undertake sucha task. Do you doubt my good faith? Can you possibly suspect me, yourmother, of a wish to injure you?" "No, no! but I--I don't love Louisa;I like her as a sister, but. .. . "

"Love? Nothing in all the world is so inconstant as love! It's follyto rely on it, it passes away like a breath; but friendship, conformityof views and habits, similar interests and a long acquaintanceship, these are the surest guarantees of a happy marriage. Louisa is a capablegirl, domesticated and methodical, she will make your home as happy asyou could wish. "

Frithiof's only way of escape was to beg his mother for time toconsider the matter. 

Meanwhile all the ladies of the household had recovered their health, so that the doctor was no longer required. Still he called one day, but he was treated like a burglar who had come to spy out the land. Hewas a sharp man and saw at once how matters stood. Frithiof returnedhis call but was received coldly. This was the end of their friendlyrelations. 

Frithiof came of age. 

Frantic attempts were now made to carry the fortress by storm. Theaunts cringed before the new master and tried to prove to him thatthey could not be dispensed with, by treating him as if he were achild. His sisters mothered him more than ever, and Louisa began todevote a great deal of attention to her dress. She laced herselftightly and curled her hair. She was by no means a plain girl, but shehad cold eyes and a sharp tongue. 

Frithiof remained indifferent; as far as he was concerned she wassexless; he had never looked at her with the eyes of a man. But now, after the conversation with his mother, he could not help a certainfeeling of embarrassment in her presence, especially as she seemed toseek his society. He met her everywhere; on the stairs, in the garden, in the stables even. One morning, when he was still in bed, she cameinto his room to ask him for a pin; she was wearing a dressing-jacketand pretended to be very shy. 

He took a dislike to her, but nevertheless she was always in his mind. 

In the meantime the mother had one conversation after another with herson, and aunt and sisters never ceased hinting at the anticipatedwedding. 

Life was made a burden to him. He saw no way of escape from the net inwhich he had been caught. Louisa was no longer his sister and friend, though he did not like her any the better for it; his constant dwellingon the thought of marrying her had had the result of making him realisethat she was a woman, an unsympathetic woman, it was true, but still awoman. His marriage would mean a change in his position, and, perhaps, delivery from bondage. There were no other girls in the neighbourhood, and, after all, she was probably as good as any other young woman. 

And so he went one day to his mother and told her that he had made uphis mind. He would marry Louisa on condition that he should have anestablishment of his own in one of the wings of the house, and his owntable. He also insisted that his mother should propose for him, for hecould not bring himself to do it. 

The compromise was accepted and Louisa was called in to receiveFrithiof's embrace and timid kiss. They both wept for reasons whichneither of them understood. They felt ashamed of themselves for therest of the day. Afterwards everything went on as before, but themotherliness of aunts and sisters knew no bounds. They furnished thewing, arranged the rooms, settled everything; Frithiof was neverconsulted in the matter. 

The preparations for the wedding were completed. Old friends, buriedin the provinces, were hunted up and invited to be present at theceremony. 

The wedding took place. 

On the morning after his wedding day Frithiof was up early. He lefthis bed-room as quickly as possible, pretending that his presence wasnecessary in the fields. 

Louisa, who was still sleepy, made no objection. But as he was goingout she called after him:

"You won't forget breakfast at eleven!"

It sounded like a command. 

He went to his den, put on a shooting coat and waterproof boots andtook his gun, which he kept concealed in his wardrobe. Then he wentout into the wood. 

It was a beautiful October morning. Everything was covered with hoarfrost. He walked quickly as if he were afraid of being called back, oras if he were trying to escape from something. The fresh air had theeffect of a bath. He felt a free man, at last, and he used his freedomto go out for a morning stroll with his gun. But this exhilaratingfeeling of bodily freedom soon passed. Up to now he had at least had abedroom of his own. He had been master of his thoughts during the dayand his dreams at night. That was over. The thought of that commonbedroom tormented him; there was something unclean about it. Shame wascast aside like a mask, all delicacy of feeling was dispensed with, every illusion of the "high origin" of man destroyed; to come intosuch close contact with nothing but the beast in man had been too muchfor him, for he had been brought up by idealists. He was staggered bythe enormity of the hypocrisy displayed in the intercourse between menand women; it was a revelation to him to find that the inmost substanceof that indescribable womanliness was nothing but the fear ofconsequences. But supposing he had married the doctor's daughter, or the gardener's little girl? Then to be alone with her would bebliss, while to be alone with his wife was depressing and unlovely;then the coarse desire to satisfy a curiosity and a want would betransformed into an ecstasy more spiritual than carnal. 

He wandered through the wood without a purpose, without an idea ofwhat he wanted to shoot; be only felt a vague desire to hear a shotand to kill something; but nothing came before his gun. The birds hadalready migrated. Only a squirrel was climbing about the branches of apine-tree, staring at him with brilliant eyes. He raised the gun andpulled the trigger; but the nimble little beast was already on theother side of the trunk when the shot hit the tree. But the soundimpressed his nerves pleasantly. 

He left the footpath and went through the undergrowth. He stamped onevery fungus that grew on his way. He was in a destructive mood. Helooked for a snake so as to trample on it or kill it with a shot. 

Suddenly he remembered that he ought to go home and that it was themorning after his wedding day. The mere thought of the curious glancesto which he would be exposed had the effect of making him feel like acriminal, about to be unmasked and shown up for having committed acrime against good manners and, what was worse, against nature. Oh!that he could have left this world behind him! But how was he to dothat?

His thoughts grew tired at last of revolving round and round the sameproblem and he felt a craving for food. 

He decided to return home and have some breakfast. 

On entering the gate which led to the court yard, he saw the wholehouse-party standing before the entrance hall. As soon as they caughtsight of him they began to cheer. He crossed the yard with uncertainfootsteps and listened with ill-concealed irritation to the slyquestions after his health. Then he turned away and went into the house, never noticing his wife, who was standing amongst the group waiting forhim to go up to her and kiss her. 

At the breakfast table he suffered tortures; tortures which he knewwould be burnt into his memory for all times. The insinuations of hisguests offended him and his wife's caresses stung him. His day ofrejoicing was the most miserable day of his life. 

In the course of a few months the young wife, with the assistance ofaunts and sisters, had established her over-rule in the house. Frithiofremained, what he had always been, the youngest and dullest member ofthe household. His advice was sometimes asked for, but never actedupon; he was looked after as if he were still a child. His wife soonfound it unbearable to dine with him alone, for he kept an obstinatesilence during the meal. Louisa could not stand it; she must have alightning conductor; one of the sisters removed into the wing. 

Frithiof made more than one attempt to emancipate himself, but hisattempts were always frustrated by the enemy; they were too many forhim, and they talked and preached until he fled into the wood. 

The evenings held terror for him. He hated the bedroom, and went to itas to a place of execution. He became morose and avoided everybody. 

They had been married for a year now, and still there was no promiseof a child; his mother took him aside one day to have a talk to him. 

"Wouldn't you like to have a son?" she asked. 

"Of course, I would, " he replied. 

"You aren't treating your wife very kindly, " said the mother as gentlyas possible. 

He lost his temper. 

"What? What do you say? Are you finding fault with me? Do you want meto toil all day long? H'm! You don't know Louisa! But whose businessis it but mine? Bring your charge against me in such a way that I cananswer it!"

But the mother was not disposed to do that. 

Lonely and miserable, he made friends with the inspector, a young man, addicted to wine and cards. He sought his company and spent the eveningsin his room; he went to bed late, as late as possible. 

On coming home one night, he found his wife still awake and waitingfor him. 

"Where have you been?" she asked sharply. 

"That's my business, " he replied. 

"To be married and have no husband is anything but pleasant, " sherejoined. "If we had a child, at least!"

"It isn't my fault that we haven't!"

"It isn't mine!"

A quarrel arose as to whose fault it was, and the quarrel lasted fortwo years. 

As both of them were too obstinate to take medical advice, the usualthing happened. The husband cut a ridiculous figure, and the wife atragic one. He was told that a childless woman was sacred because, forsome reason or other, "God's" curse rested on her. That "God" couldalso stoop to curse a man was beyond the women's comprehension. 

But Frithiof had no doubt that a curse rested on him for his life wasdreary and unhealthy. Nature has created two sexes, which are nowfriends, now enemies. He had met the enemy, an overwhelming enemy. 

"What is a capon?" he was asked by one of his sisters one day. She wasbusy with her needlework and asked the question à propos of nothing. 

He looked at her suspiciously. No, she did not know the meaning of theword; she had probably listened to a conversation and her curiositywas aroused. 

But the iron had entered his soul. He was being laughed at. He grewsuspicious. Everything he heard and saw he connected with that charge. Beside himself with rage, he seduced one of the maids. 

His act had the desired result. In due time he was a father. 

Now Louisa was looked upon as a martyr and he as a blackguard. Theabuse left him indifferent, for he had vindicated his honour--if itwas an honour and not merely a lucky chance to be born withoutdefects. 

But the incident roused Louisa's jealousy and--it was a strangething--awakened in her a sort of love for her husband. It was a lovewhich irritated him, for it showed itself in unremitting watchfulnessand nervous obtrusiveness; sometimes even in maternal tenderness andsolicitude which knew no bounds. She wanted to look after his gun, seewhether it was charged; she begged him on her knees to wear his overcoatwhen he went out. .. . She kept his home with scrupulous care, tidiedand dusted all day long; every Saturday the rooms were turned insideout, the carpets beaten and his clothes aired. He had no peace andnever knew when he would be turned out of his room so that it couldbe scrubbed. 

There was not sufficient to do to occupy him during the day, for thewomen looked after everything. He studied agriculture and attempted tomake improvements, but all his efforts were frustrated. He was notmaster in his own house. 

Finally he lost heart. He had grown taciturn because he was alwayscontradicted. The want of congenial company and fellows-in-misfortunegradually dulled his brain; his nerves went to pieces; he neglectedhis appearance and took to drink. 

He was hardly ever at home now. Frequently he could be found, intoxicated, at the public house or in the cottages of the farmlabourers. He drank with everybody and all day long. He stimulated hisbrain with alcohol for the sake of the relief he found in talking. Itwas difficult to decide whether he drank in order to be able to talkto somebody who did not contradict him, or whether he drank merely inorder to get drunk. 

He sold privileges and farm produce to the cottagers to providehimself with money, for the women held the cash. Finally he burgledhis own safe and stole the contents. 

There was an orthodox, church-going inspector on the premises now; theprevious one had been dismissed on account of his intemperate habits. When at last, through the clergyman's influence, the proprietor of theinn lost his license Frithiof took to drinking with his own farmlabourers. Scandal followed on scandal. 

He developed into a heavy drinker who had epileptic fits whenever hewas deprived of alcohol. 

He was ultimately committed to an institution where he remained as anincurable patient. 

At lucid intervals, when he was capable of surveying his life, hisheart was filled with compassion for all women who are compelled tomarry without love; his compassion was all the deeper because he hadsuffered in his own flesh the curse which lies on every violation ofnature; and yet he was only a man. 

He saw the cause of his unhappiness in the family--the family as asocial institution, which does not permit the child to become anindependent individual at the proper time. 

He brought no charge against his wife, for was she not equallyunhappy, a victim of the same unfortunate conditions which arehonoured by the sacred name of Law?

CORINNA

Her father was a general, her mother died when she was still a baby. After her mother's death few ladies visited the house; the callerswere mostly men. And her father took her education into his own hands. 

She went out riding with him, was present at the manoeuvres, took aninterest in gymnastics and attended the musters of the reserves. 

Since her father occupied the highest rank in their circle of friends, everybody treated him with an amount of respect which is rarely shownto equals, and as she was the general's daughter, she was treated inthe same way. She held the rank of a general and she knew it. 

There was always an orderly sitting in the hall who rose with muchclanking and clashing of steel and stood at attention whenever shewent in or out. At the balls none but the majors dared to ask her fora dance; she looked upon a captain as a representative of an inferiorrace, and a lieutenant as a naughty boy. 

She fell into the habit of appreciating people entirely according totheir rank. She called all civilians "fishes, " poorly-clad people"rascals, " and the very poor "the mob. "

The ladies, however, were altogether outside this scale. Her father, who occupied a position above all men, and who was saluted respectfullywherever he went, always stood up before a lady, regardless of her age, kissed the hands of those he knew, and was at the beck and call of everypretty woman. The result of this was that very early in life she becamevery firmly convinced of the superiority of her own sex, and accustomedherself to look upon a man as a lower being. 

Whenever she went out on horseback, a groom invariably rode behindher. When she stopped to admire the landscape, he stopped too. He washer shadow. But she had no idea what he looked like, or whether he wasyoung or old. If she had been asked about his sex, she would not haveknown how to reply; it had never occurred to her that the shadow couldhave a sex; when, in mounting, she placed her little riding-boot inhis hand, she remained quite indifferent, and even occasionally raisedher habit a little as if nobody were present. 

These inbred conceptions of the surpassing importance of rankinfluenced her whole life. She found it impossible to make friendswith the daughters of a major or a captain, because their fathers wereher father's social inferiors. Once a lieutenant asked her for a dance. To punish him for his impudence, she refused to talk to him in theintervals. But when she heard later on that her partner had been oneof the royal princes, she was inconsolable. She who knew every orderand title, and the rank of every officer, had failed to recognise aprince! It was too terrible!

She was beautiful, but pride gave her features a certain rigiditywhich scared her admirers away. The thought of marriage had neveroccurred to her. The young men were not fully qualified, and those towhose social position there was no objection, were too old. If she, the daughter of a general, had married a captain, then a major's wifewould have taken precedence of her. Such a degradation would havekilled her. Moreover, she had no wish to be a man's chattel, or anornament for his drawing-room. She was accustomed to command, accustomed to be obeyed; she could obey no man. The freedom andindependence of a man's life appealed to her; it had fostered in her aloathing for all womanly occupations. 

Her sexual instinct awoke late. As she belonged to an old family whichon her father's side, had squandered its strength in a soullessmilitarism, drink and dissipation, and on her mother's had suppressedfertility to prevent the splitting up of property, Nature seemed tohave hesitated about her sex at the eleventh hour; or perhaps hadlacked strength to determine on the continuation of the race. Herfigure possessed none of those essentially feminine characteristics, which Nature requires for her purposes, and she scorned to hide herdefects by artificial means. 

The few women friends she had, found her cold and indifferent towardseverything connected with the sex problem. She treated it withcontempt, considered the relationship between the sexes disgusting, and could not understand how a woman could give herself to a man. Inher opinion Nature was unclean; to wear clean underlinen, starchedpetticoats and stockings without holes was to be virtuous; poor wasmerely another term for dirt and vice. 

Every summer she spent with her father on their estate in the country. 

She was no great lover of the country. Nature made her feel small; shefound the woods uncanny, the lake made her shudder, there was dangerhidden in the tall meadow-grass. She regarded the peasants as cunningand rather filthy beasts. They had so many children, and she had nodoubt that both boys and girls were full of vice. Nevertheless theywere always invited to the manor house on Midsummer day and on thegeneral's birthday, to play the part of the chorus of grand opera, that is to say, to cheer and dance, and look like the figures in apainting. 

It was springtime. Helena, on her thoroughbred mare, had penetratedinto the depths of the country. She felt tired and dismounted; shefastened her mare to a birchtree which grew near an enclosure. Thenshe strolled along by the side of a ditch and began to gather wildorchids. The air was soft and balmy, steam was rising from the ground. She could hear the frogs jumping into the ditch which was half-full ofwater. 

All at once the mare neighed and, stretching her slender neck over thefence, drew in the air with wide-open nostrils. 

"Alice!" she called out, "be quiet, old girl!"

And she continued to gather the modest flowers which so cleverly hidetheir secrets behind the prettiest and neatest curtains that for allthe world look like printed calico. 

But the mare neighed again. From behind the hazel bushes on the otherside of the enclosure came an answer, a second neighing, deeper andfuller. The swampy ground of the enclosure shook, powerful hoofsscattered the stones, to right and left and a black stallion appearedat full gallop. The tense neck carried a magnificent head, the muscleslay like ropes under the glossy skin. As he caught sight of the mare, his eyes began to flash. He stopped and stretched out his neck as ifhe were going to yawn, raised his upper lip and showed his teeth. Thenhe galloped across the grass and approached the railings. 

Helena picked up her skirt and ran to her mare; she raised her hand toseize the bridle, but the mare broke away and took the fence. Then thewooing began. 

She stood at the fence and called, but the excited mare paid no heed. Inside the enclosure the horses chased one another; the situation wasa critical one. The breath of the stallion came like smoke from hisnostrils and white foam flecked his shoulders. 

Helena longed to escape, for the scene filled her with horror. She hadnever witnessed the raging of a natural instinct in a living body. This uncontrolled outbreak terrified her. 

She wanted to run after her mare and drag her away by force, but shewas afraid of the savage stallion. She wanted to call for help, butshe was loath to attract other eyewitnesses. She turned her back tothe scene and decided to wait. 

The sound of horses' hoofs came from the direction of the highroad; acarriage appeared in sight. 

There was no escape; although she was ashamed to stay where she was, it was too late now to run away, for the horses were slowing down andthe carriage stopped a few yards in front of her. 

"How beautiful!" exclaimed one of the occupants of the carriage, alady, and raised her golden lorgnette so as to get a better view ofthe spectacle. 

"But why are we stopping?" retorted the other, irritably. "Drive on!"

"Don't you think it beautiful?" asked the elder lady. 

The coachman's smile was lost in his great beard, as he urged thehorses on. 

"You are such a prude, my dear Milly, " said the first voice. "To methis kind of thing is like a thunderstorm, or a heavy sea. .. . "

Helena could hear no more. She felt crushed with vexation, shame andhorror. 

A farm labourer came shuffling along the highroad. Helena ran to meethim, so as to prevent him from witnessing the scene, and at the sametime ask his help. But he was already too near. 

"I believe it's the miller's black stallion, " he said gravely. "Inthat case it will be better to wait until it's all over, for he won'tbrook interference. If the lady will leave it to me, I will bring hermare home later on. "

Glad to have done with the matter, Helena hurried away. 

When she arrived home, she was ill. 

She refused to ride her mare again, for in her eyes the beast hadbecome unclean. 

This pretty adventure had a greater influence on Helena's psychicdevelopment than might have been expected. The brutal outbreak of anatural instinct, the undisguised exhibition of which in the communityof men is punished with a term of imprisonment, haunted her as if shehad been present at an execution. It distressed her during the day anddisturbed her dreams at night. It increased her fear of nature andmade her give up her former amazon's life. She remained at home andgave herself up to study. 

The house boasted a library. But as misfortune would have it, noadditions had been made since her grandfather's death. All books weretherefore a generation too old, and Helena found antiquated ideals. The first book which fell into her hands was Madame de Staël's _Corinna_The way in which the volume lay on the shelf indicated that it hadserved a special purpose. Bound in green and gold, a little shabby atthe edges, full of marginal notes and underlined passages, the work ofher late mother, it became a bridge, as it were, between mother anddaughter, which enabled the now grown-up daughter to make theacquaintance of the dead mother. These pencil notes were the storyof a soul. Displeasure with the prose of life and the brutality ofnature, had inflamed the writer's imagination and inspired it toconstruct a dreamworld in which the souls dwelled, disincarnate. Itwas essentially an aristocratic world, this dreamworld, for itrequired financial independence from its denizens, so that the soulmight be fed with thoughts. This brain-fever, called romance, wastherefore the gospel of the wealthy, and became absurd and pitiful assoon as it penetrated to the lower classes. 

Corinna became Helena's ideal: the divinely inspired poetess who likethe nun of the middle-ages, had vowed a vow of chastity, so that shemight lead a life of purity, who was, of course, admired by a brilliantthrong, rose to immeasurable heights above the heads of the pettyevery-day mortals. It was the old ideal all over again, transposed:salutes, standing at attention, rolling of drums, the first placeeverywhere. Helena was quite ignorant of the fact that Madame de Staëloutlived the Corinna ideal, and did not become a real influence untilshe came out of her dreamworld into the world of facts. 

She ceased to take an interest in everyday affairs, she communed withherself and brooded over her ego. The inheritance which her mother hadleft her in posthumous notes began to germinate. She identified herselfwith both Corinna and her mother, and spent much time in meditating onher mission in life. That nature had intended her to become a motherand do her share in the propagation of the human race, she refused toadmit her mission was to explain to humanity what Madame de Staël'sCorinna had thought fifty years ago; but she imagined the thoughts wereher own, striving to find expression. 

She began to write. One day she attempted verse. She succeeded. Thelines were of equal length and the last words rhymed. A great lightdawned on her: she was a poetess. One thing more remained: she wantedideas; well she could take them from _Corinna_. 

In this way quite a number of poems originated. 

But they had also to be bestowed on the world, and this could not bedone unless they were printed. One day she sent a poem entitled_Sappho_ and signed _Corinna_ to the _Illustrated Newspaper_. With abeating heart she went out to post the letter herself, and as itdropped into the pillarbox, she prayed softly to "God. "

A trying fortnight ensued. She ate nothing, hardly closed her eyes, and spent her days in solitude. 

When Saturday came and the paper was delivered, she trembled as if shewere fever-stricken, and when she found that her verses were neitherprinted nor mentioned in "Letters to Correspondents, " she almost brokedown. 

On the following Saturday, when she could count on an answer with somecertainty, she slipped the paper into her pocket without unfolding it, and went into the woods. When she had arrived at a secluded spot andmade sure that no one was watching her, she unfolded the paper andhastily glanced at the contents. One poem only was printed, entitled_Bellman's-day_. She turned to "Letters to Correspondents. " Her firstglance at the small print made her start violently. Her fingersclutched the paper, rolled it into a ball and flung it into theunderwood. Then she stared, fascinated, at the ball of white, glimmering through the green undergrowth. For the first time in herlife she had received an insult. She was completely unnerved. Thisunknown journalist had dared what nobody had dared before: he had beenrude to her. She had come out from behind her trenches into the arenawhere high birth counts for nothing, but where victory belongs to thatwonderful natural endowment which we call talent, and before which allpowers bow when it can no longer be denied. But the unknown had alsooffended the woman in her, for he had said:

"The Corinna of 1807 would have cooked dinners and rocked cradles ifshe had lived after 1870. But you are no Corinna. "

For the first time she had heard the voice of the enemy, thearch-enemy, man. Cook dinners and rock cradles! They should see!

She went home. She felt so crushed that her muscles hardly obeyed herrelaxed nerves. 

When she had gone a little way, she suddenly turned round and retracedher footsteps. Supposing anybody found that paper! It would give heraway. 

She returned to the spot, and breaking off a hazel switch, dragged thepaper out from where it lay and carefully smoothed it. Then she raiseda piece of turf, hid the paper underneath and rolled a stone on thetop. It was a hope that lay buried there, and also a proof--of what?That she had committed a crime? She felt that she had. She had done awrong, she had shown herself naked before the other sex. 

From this day on a struggle went on in her heart. Ambition and fear ofpublicity strove within her, and she was unable to come to a decision. 

In the following autumn her father died. As he had been addicted togambling, and more often lost than won, he left debts behind him. Butin smart society these things are of no account. There was nonecessity for Helena to earn her living in a shop, for a hithertounknown aunt came forward and offered her a home. 

But her father's death wrought a complete change in her position. Nomore salutes; the officers of the regiment nodded to her in a friendlyfashion, the lieutenants asked her to dance. She saw plainly that therespect shown to her had not been shown to her personally, but merelyto her rank. She felt degraded and a lively sympathy for all subalternswas born in her; she even felt a sort of hatred for all those whoenjoyed her former privileges. Side by side with this feeling grew upa yearning for personal appreciation, a desire to win a positionsurpassing all others, although it might not figure in the Army list. 

She longed to distinguish herself, to win fame, and, (why not?) torule. She possessed one talent which she had cultivated to someextent, although she had never risen above the average; she played thepiano. She began to study harmony and talked of the sonata in G minorand the symphony in F major as if she had written them herself. Andforthwith she began to patronise musicians. 

Six months after her father's death, the post of a lady-in-waiting wasoffered to her. She accepted it. The rolling of drums and militarysalutes recommenced, and Helena gradually lost her sympathy withsubalterns. But the mind is as inconstant as fortune, and freshexperiences again brought about a change of her views. 

She discovered one day, and the day was not long in coming, that shewas nothing but a servant. She was sitting in the Park with theDuchess. The Duchess was crocheting. 

"I consider those blue stockings perfectly idiotic, " said the Duchess. 

Helena turned pale; she stared at her mistress. 

"I don't, " she replied. 

"I didn't ask your opinion, " replied the Duchess, letting her ball ofwool roll into the dust. 

Helena's knees trembled; her future, her position passed away beforeher eyes like a flash of lightning. She went to pick up the wool. Itseemed to her that her back was breaking as she stooped, and hercheeks flamed when the Duchess took the ball without a word of thanks. 

"You are not angry?" asked the Duchess, staring impertinently at hervictim. 

"Oh, no, Your Royal Highness, " was Helena's untruthful reply. 

"They say that you are a blue-stocking yourself, " continued theDuchess. "Is it true?"

Helena had a feeling as if she were standing nude before her tormentorand made no reply. 

For the second time the ball rolled into the dust. Helena pretendednot to notice it, and bit her lips to hold back the angry tears whichwere welling up in her eyes. "Pick up my wool, please, " said theDuchess. 

Helena drew herself up, looked the autocrat full in the face and said:

"I won't. "

And with these words she turned and fled. The sand gritted under herfeet, and little clouds of dust followed in the wake of her train. Shealmost ran down the stone steps and disappeared. 

Her career at court was ended; but a sting remained. Helena was madeto feel what it means to be in disgrace, and above all things what itmeans to throw up one's post. Society does not approve of changes andnobody would believe that she had voluntarily renounced the sunshineof the court. No doubt she had been sent away. Yes, it must be so, shehad been sent away. Never before had she felt so humiliated, soinsulted. It seemed to her that she had lost caste; her relationstreated her with coldness, as if they were afraid that her disgracemight be infectious; her former friends gave her the cold shoulderwhen they met her, and limited their conversation to a minimum. 

On the other hand, as she stooped from her former height, themiddle-classes received her with open arms. It was true, at firsttheir friendliness offended her more than the coldness of her ownclass, but in the end she preferred being first down below to beinglast up above. She joined a group of Government officials andprofessors who hailed her with acclamations. Animated by thesuperstitious awe with which the middle classes regard everybodyconnected with the court, they at once began to pay her homage. Shebecame their chosen leader and hastened to form a regiment. A numberof young professors enlisted at once and she arranged lectures forwomen. Old academic rubbish was brought out from the lumber-room, dusted and sold for new wares. In a dining-room, denuded of itsfurniture, lectures on Plato and Aristotle were given to an audiencewhich unfortunately held no key to this shrine of wisdom. 

Helena, in conquering these pseudo-mysteries felt the intellectualsuperior of the ignorant aristocracy. This feeling gave her anassurance which impressed people. The men worshipped her beauty andaloofness; but she never felt in the least moved in their company. Sheaccepted their homage as a tribute due to women and found itimpossible to respect these lackeys who jumped up and stood atattention whenever she passed. 

But in the long run her position as an unmarried woman failed tosatisfy her, and she noted with envious eyes the freedom enjoyed byher married sisters. They were at liberty to go wherever they liked, talk to whom they liked, and always had a footman in their husband tomeet them and accompany them on their way home. In addition, marriedwomen had a better social position, and a great deal more influence. With what condescension for instance, they treated the spinsters! Butwhenever she thought of getting married, the incident with her mareflashed into her mind and terror made her ill. 

In the second year the wife of a professor from Upsala, who combinedwith her official position great personal charm, appeared on thescene. Helena's star paled; all her worshippers left her to worshipthe new sun. As she no longer possessed her former social position, and the savour of the court had vanished like the scent on ahandkerchief, she was beaten in the fight. One single vassal remainedfaithful to her, a lecturer on ethics, who had hitherto not dared topush himself forward. His attentions were well received, for theseverity of his ethics filled her with unlimited confidence. He wooedher so assiduously that people began to gossip; Helena, however, tookno notice, she was above that. 

One evening, after a lecture on "The Ethical Moment in Conjugal Love"or "Marriage as a Manifestation of Absolute Identity, " for which thelecturer received nothing but his expenses and a grateful pressure ofhands, they were sitting in the denuded dining-room on theiruncomfortable cane chairs, discussing the subject. 

"You mean to say then, " said Helena, "that marriage is a relationshipof co-existence between two identical Egos?"

"I mean what I said already in my lecture, that only if there existssuch a relationship between two congruous identities, _being_ canconflow into _becoming_ of higher potentiality. "

"What do you mean by _becoming?_" asked Helena, blushing. 

"The post-existence of two egos in a new ego. "

"What? You mean that the continuity of the ego, which through thecohabitation of two analogous beings will necessarily incorporateitself into a becoming. .. . "

"No, my dear lady, I only meant to say that marriage, in profaneparlance, can only produce a new spiritual ego, which cannot bedifferentiated as to sex, when there is compatibility of souls. I meanto say that the new being born under those conditions will be aconglomerate of male and female; a new creature to whom both will haveyielded their personality, a unity in multiplicity, to use awell-known term, an _'hommefemme. '_ The man will cease to be man, thewoman will cease to be woman. "

"That is the union of souls!" exclaimed Helena, glad to havesuccessfullly navigated the dangerous cliffs. 

"It is the harmony of souls of which Plato speaks. It is true marriageas I have sometimes visualised it in my dreams, but which, unfortunately, I shall hardly be able to realise in actuality. "

Helena stared at the ceiling and whispered:

"Why shouldn't you, one of the elect, realise this dream?"

"Because she to whom my soul is drawn with irresistible longing doesnot believe in--h'm--love. "

"You cannot be sure of that. "

"Even if she did, she would always be tormented by the suspicion thatthe feeling was not sincere. Moreover, there is no woman in the worldwho would fall in love with me, no, not one. "

"Yes, there is, " said Helena, gazing into his glass eye. (He had aglass eye, but it was so well made, it was impossible to detect it. )

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure, " replied Helena. "For you are different to other men. Yourealise what spiritual love means, the love of the souls!"

"Even if the woman did exist, I could never marry her. "

"Why not?"

"Share a room with her!"

"That needn't be the case. Madame de Staël merely lived in the samehouse as her husband. "

"Did she?"

"What interesting topic are you two discussing?" asked the professor'swife, coming out of the drawing-room. 

"We were talking of _Laocoon_, " answered Helena, rising, from herchair. She was offended by the note of condescension in the lady'svoice. And she made up her mind. 

A week later her engagement to the lecturer was publicly announced. They decided to be married in the autumn and take up their abode atUpsala. 

A brilliant banquet, in celebration of the close of his bachelor life, was given to the lecturer on ethics. A great deal of wine had beenconsumed and the only artist the town boasted, the professor ofdrawing at the Cathedral School, had depicted in bold outlines thevictim's career up to date. It was the great feature of the wholeentertainment. Ethics was a subject of teaching and a milch cow, likemany others, and need not necessarily influence either the life of thecommunity, or the life of the individual. The lecturer had not been asaint, but had had his adventures like everybody else; these werepublic property, for he had had no reason to keep them dark. With acareless smile he watched his career, pictured in chalk and colours, accompanied by witty verses, unfolding itself before his eyes, butwhen at last his approaching bliss was portrayed in simple butpowerful sketches, he became deeply embarrassed, and the thought "IfHelena were to see that!" flashed like lightning through his brain. 

After the banquet, at which according to an old, time-honoured custom, he had drunk eight glasses of brandy, he was so intoxicated that hecould no longer suppress his fears and apprehensions. Among his hostswas a married man and to him the victim turned for counsel and advice. Since neither of them was sober, they chose, as the most secluded spotin the whole room, two chairs right in the centre, immediately underthe chandelier. Consequently they were soon surrounded by an eagerlylistening crowd. 

"Look here! You are a married man, " said the lecturer at the top ofhis voice, so as not to be heard by the assembly, as he fondlyimagined. "You must give me a word of advice, just one, only onelittle word of advice, for I am extremely sensitive to-night, especially in regard to this particular point. "

"I will, brother, " shouted his friend, "just one word, as you say, "and he put his arm round his shoulders that he might whisper to him;then he continued, screaming loudly: "Every act consists of threeparts, my brother: _Progresses, culmen, regressus_. I will speak toyou of the first, the second is never mentioned. Well, the initiative, so to speak, that is the man's privilege--your part! You must take theinitiative, you must attack, do you understand?"

"But supposing the other party does not approve of the initiative?"

The friend stared at the novice, taken aback; then he rose andcontemptuously turned his back on him. 

"Fool!" he muttered. 

"Thank you!" was all the grateful pupil could reply. 

Now he understood. 

On the following day he was on fire with all the strong drink he hadconsumed; he went and took a hot bath, for on the third day was to behis wedding. 

The wedding guests had departed; the servant had cleared the table;they were alone. 

Helena was comparatively calm, but he felt exceedingly nervous. Theperiod of their engagement had been enhanced by conversations onserious subjects. They had never behaved liked ordinary, every-dayfiancés, had never embraced or kissed. Whenever he had attempted thesmallest familiarity, her cold looks had chilled his ardour. But heloved her as a man loves a woman, with body and soul. 

They fidgeted about the drawing-room and tried to make conversation. But an obstinate silence again and again reasserted itself. Thecandles in the chandelier had burnt low and the wax fell in greasydrops on the carpet. The atmosphere was heavy with the smell of foodand the fumes of the wines which mingled with the voluptuous perfumeof carnations and heliotrope, exhaled by Helena's bridal bouquet thatlay on a side-table. 

At last he went up to her, held out his arms, and said in a voicewhich he hoped sounded natural:

"And now you are my wife!"

"What do you mean?" was Helena's brusque reply. 

Completely taken aback, he allowed his arms to drop to his sides. Buthe pulled himself together again, almost immediately, and said with aself-conscious smile:

"I mean to say that we are husband and wife. "

Helena looked at him as if she thought that he had taken leave of hissenses. 

"Explain your words!" she said. 

That was just what he couldn't do. Philosophy and ethics failed him;he was faced by a cold and exceedingly unpleasant reality. 

"It's modesty, " he thought. "She's quite right, but I must attack anddo my duty. "

"Have you misunderstood me?" asked Helena and her voice trembled. 

"No, of course not, but, my dear child, h'm--we--h'm. .. . "

"What language is that? Dear child? What do you take me for? What doyou mean? Albert, Albert!"--she rushed on without waiting for a reply, which she didn't want--"Be great, be noble, and learn to see in womensomething more than sex. Do that, and you will be happy and great!"

Albert was beaten. Crushed with shame and furious with his falsefriend who had counselled him wrongly, he threw himself on his kneesbefore her and stammered:

"Forgive me, Helena, you are nobler, purer, better than I; you aremade of finer fibre and you will lift me up when I threaten to perishin coarse matter. "

"Arise and be strong, Albert, " said Helena, with the manner of aprophetess. "Go in peace and show to the world that love and baseanimal passion are two very different things. Good-night!"

Albert rose from his knees and stared irresolutely after his wife whowent into her room and shut the door behind her. 

Full of the noblest and purest sentiments he also went into his room. He took off his coat and lighted a cigar. His room was furnished likea bachelor's room: a bed-sofa, a writing table, some book shelves, awashstand. 

When he had undressed, he dipped a towel into his ewer and rubbedhimself all over. Then he lay down on his sofa and opened the eveningpaper. He wanted to read while he smoked his cigar. He read an articleon Protection. His thoughts began to flow in a more normal channel, and he considered his position. 

Was he married or was he still a bachelor? He was a bachelor asbefore, but there was a difference--he now had a female boarder whopaid nothing for her board. The thought was anything but pleasant, butit was the truth. The cook kept house, the housemaid attended to therooms. Where did Helena come in? She was to develop her individuality!Oh, rubbish! he thought, I am a fool! Supposing his friend had beenright? Supposing women always behaved in this silly way under thesecircumstances? She could not very well come to him--he must go to her. If he didn't go, she would probably laugh at him to-morrow, or, worsestill, be offended. Women were indeed incomprehensible. He must makethe attempt. 

He jumped up, put on his dressing-gown and went into the drawing-room. With trembling knees he listened outside Helena's door. 

Not a sound. He took heart of grace, and approached a step or two. Blue flashes of lightning darted before his eyes as he knocked. 

No answer. He trembled violently and beads of perspiration stood onhis forehead. 

He knocked again. And in a falsetto voice, proceeding from a parchedthroat, he said:

"It's only I. "

No answer. Overwhelmed with shame, he returned to his room, puzzledand chilled. 

She was in earnest, then. 

He crept between the sheets and again took up the paper. 

He hadn't been reading long when he heard footsteps in the street whichgradually approached and then stopped. Soft music fell on his ear, deep, strong voices set in:

"Integer vitae sclerisque purus. .. . "

He was touched. How beautiful it was!

Purus! He felt lifted above matter. It was in accordance with the spiritof the age then, this higher conception of marriage. The current ofethics which penetrated the epoch was flowing through the youth of thecountry. .. . 

"_Nec venenatis. .. . _"

Supposing Helena had opened her door!

He gently beat time and felt himself as great and noble as Helenadesired him to be. 

_"Fusce pharetra!"_

Should he open the window and thank the undergraduates in the name ofhis wife?

He got out of bed. 

A fourfold peal of laughter crashed against the windowpanes at the verymoment he lifted his hand to draw up the blind. 

There could be no doubt, they were making fun of him!

Beside himself with anger he staggered back from the window andknocked against the writing-table. He was a laughing-stock. A fainthatred against the woman whom he had to thank for this humiliatingscene, began to stir within him, but his love acquitted her. He wasincensed against the jesters down below, and swore to bring thembefore the authorities. 

But again and again he reverted to his unpleasant position, furiousthat he had allowed himself to be led by the nose. He paced his roomuntil dawn broke in the East. Then he threw himself on his bed andfell asleep, in bitter grief over the dismal ending of hiswedding-day, which ought to have been the happiest day of his life. 

On the following morning he met Helena at the breakfast table. She wascold and self-possessed as usual. Albert, of course, did not mentionthe serenade. Helena made great plans for the future and talkedvolumes about the abolition of prostitution. Albert met her half-wayand promised to do all in his power to assist her. Humanity mustbecome chaste, for only the beasts were unchaste. 

Breakfast over, he went to his lecture. The serenade had roused hissuspicions, and as he watched his audience, he fancied that they weremaking signs to each other; his colleagues, too, seemed to congratulatehim in a way which offended him. 

A big, stout colleague, who radiated vigour and _joie de vivre_, stoppedhim in the corridor which led to the library, seized him by the collarand said with a colossal grin on his broad face, "Well?"

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, " was the indignant reply withwhich he tore himself away and rushed down stairs. 

When he arrived home, his flat was crowded with his wife's friends. Women's skirts brushed against his legs, and when he sat down in anarmchair, he seemed to sink out of sight into piles and piles ofwomen's clothes. 

"I've heard rumours of a serenade last night, " said the professor'swife. 

Albert grew pale, but Helena took up the gauntlet. 

"It was well meant, but they really might have been sober. Thisexcessive drinking among students is terrible. "

"What did they sing?" asked the professor's wife. 

"Oh! the usual songs: 'My life a sea, ' and so on, " replied Helena. 

Albert stared at her in amazement, but he couldn't help admiring her. 

The day went with gossip and discussions. Albert felt tired. Beenjoyed spending a few hours, after the daily toil was over, inpleasant conversation with women, but this was really too much. Andmoreover, he had to agree to everything they said, for whenever heattempted to express a contradictory opinion, they were down on him ina minute. 

Night fell; it was bedtime. Husband and wife wished one another goodnight and retired to their separate rooms. 

Again he was attacked by doubt and restlessness. He fancied that hehad seen a tender look on Helena's face, and he wasn't quite surewhether she hadn't squeezed his hand. He lit a cigar and unfolded hispaper. As soon as he began to read of every-day matters, he seemed tosee clearly. 

"It's sheer madness, " he said aloud, throwing the paper aside. 

He slipped on his dressing-gown and went into the drawing-room. 

Somebody was moving in Helena's room. 

He knocked. 

"Is that you, Louise?" asked a voice from inside. 

"No, it's only I, " he whispered, hardly able to speak. 

"What's the matter? What do you want?"

"I want to speak to you, Helena, " he answered, hardly knowing what hewas saying. 

The key turned in the lock. Albert could hardly trust his ears. Thedoor flew open. Helena stood on the threshold, still fully dressed. 

"What is it you want?" she asked. Then she noticed that he was in hisdressing-gown and that his eyes shone strangely. 

She stretched out her hand, pushed him away and slammed the door. 

He heard a thud on the floor and almost simultaneously loud sobs. 

Furious, but abashed, he returned to his room. She was in earnest, then! But this was certainly anything but normal. 

He lay awake all night, brooding, and on the following morning hebreakfasted alone. 

When he came home for lunch, Helena received him with an expression ofpained resignation. 

"Why do you treat me like that?" she asked. 

He apologised, with as few words as possible. Then he repented hiscurtness and climbed down. 

Thus matters stood for six months. He was tossed between doubt, rageand love, but his chain held. 

His face grew pale and his eyes lost their lustre. His temper hadbecome uncertain; a sullen fury smouldered beneath his outward calm. 

Helena found him changed, despotic, because he was beginning to opposeher, and often left the meetings to seek amusement elsewhere. 

One day he was asked to become a candidate for a professorial chair. He refused, believing that he had no chance, but Helena gave him nopeace until he complied with the conditions. He was elected. He neverknew the reason why, but Helena did. 

A short time after there was a by-election. 

The new professor, who had never dreamed of taking an active interestin public affairs, was nonplussed when he found himself nominated. Hissurprise was even greater when he was elected. He intended to decline, but Helena's entreaties and her argument that life in a big city waspreferable to an existence in a small provincial town induced him toaccept the mandate. 

They removed to Stockholm. 

During these six months the newly-made professor and member ofParliament had made himself acquainted with the new ideas which camefrom England and purposed to recreate society and the old standards ofmorality. At the same time he felt that the moment was not far offwhen he would have to break with his "boarder. " He recovered hisstrength and vigour in Stockholm, where fearless thinkers encouragedhim to profess openly the views which he had long held in secret. 

Helena, on the other hand, scented a favourable opportunity in thecounter-current and threw herself into the arms of the Church Party. This was too much for Albert and he rebelled. His love had grown cold;he found compensation elsewhere. He didn't consider himself unfaithfulto his wife for she had never claimed constancy in a relationshipwhich didn't exist. 

His friendly intercourse with the other sex aroused his manliness andmade him realise his degradation. 

His growing estrangement did not escape Helena. Their home-life becameunpleasant and every moment threatened to bring a catastrophe. 

The opening of Parliament was imminent. Helena became restless andseemed to have changed her tactics. Her voice was more gentle and sheappeared anxious to please him. She looked after the servants and sawthat the meals were served punctually. 

He grew suspicious and wondered, watched her movements and preparedfor coming events. 

One morning, at breakfast, Helena looked embarrassed and self-conscious. She played with her dinner napkin and cleared her throat several times. Then she took her courage in both her hands and made a plunge. 

"Albert, " she began, "I can count on you, can't I? You will serve theCause to which I have devoted my life?"

"What cause is that?" he asked curtly, for now he had the upper hand. 

"You will do something for the oppressed women, won't you?"

"Where are the oppressed women?"

"What? Have you deserted our great cause? Are you leaving us in thelurch?"

"What cause are you talking about?"

"The Women's Cause!"

"I know nothing about it. "

"You know nothing about it? Oh, come! You must admit that the positionof the women of the lower classes is deplorable. "

"No, I can't see that their position is any worse than the position ofthe men. Deliver the men from their exploiters and the women too willbe free. "

"But the unfortunates who have to sell themselves, and the scoundrelswho--"

"The scoundrels who pay! Has ever a man taken payment for a pleasurewhich both enjoy?"

"That is not the question! The question is whether it is just that thelaw of the land should punish the one and let the other go scotfree. "

"There is no injustice in that. The one has degraded herself until shehas become a source of infection, and therefore the State treats herasit treats a mad dog. Whenever you find a man, degraded to thatdegree, well, put him under police control, too. Oh, you pure angels, who despise men and look upon them as unclean beasts!. .. "

"Well, what is it? What do you want me to do?"

He noticed that she had taken a manuscript from the sideboard and heldit in her hand. Without waiting for a reply, he took it from her andbegan to examine it. "A bill to be introduced into Parliament! I'm tobe the man of straw who introduces it! Is that moral? Strictly speaking, is it honest?"

Helena rose from her chair, threw herself on the sofa and burst intotears. 

He, too, rose and went to her. He took her hand in his and felt herpulse, afraid lest her attack might be serious. She seized his handconvulsively, and pressed it against her bosom. 

"Don't leave me, " she sobbed, "don't go. Stay, and let me keep faithin you. "

For the first time in his life he saw her giving way to her emotions. This delicate body, which he had loved and admired so much, could bewarmed into life! Red, warm blood flowed in those blue veins. Bloodwhich could distil tears. He gently stroked her brow. 

"Oh!" she sighed, "why aren't you always good to me like that? Whyhasn't it always been so?"

"Well, " he answered, "why hasn't it? Tell me, why not?"

Helena's eyelids drooped. "Why not?" she breathed, softly. 

She did not withdraw her hand and he felt a gentle warmth radiatingfrom her velvety skin; his love for her burst into fresh flames, butthis time he felt that there was hope. 

At last she rose to her feet. 

"Don't despise me, " she said, "don't despise me, dear. "

And she went into her room. 

What was the matter with her? Albert wondered as he went up to town. Was she passing through a crisis of some sort? Was she only justbeginning to realise that she was his wife?

He spent the whole day in town. In the evening he went to the theatre. They played _Le monde où l'on s'ennuit_. As he sat and watched platoniclove, the union of souls, unmasked and ridiculed, he felt as if a veilof close meshed lies were being drawn from his reason; he smiled as hesaw the head of the charming beast peeping from underneath the card-boardwings of the stage-angel; he almost shed tears of amusement at his long, long self-deception; he laughed at his folly. What filth and corruptionlay behind this hypocritical morality, this insane desire foremancipation from healthy, natural instincts. It was the asceticteaching of idealism and Christianity which had implanted this germinto the nineteenth century. 

He felt ashamed! How could he have allowed himself to be duped all thistime!

There was still light in Helena's room as he passed her door on tip-toeso as not to wake her. He heard her cough. 

He went straight to bed, smoked his cigar and read his paper. He wasabsorbed in an article on conscription, when all of a sudden Helena'sdoor was flung open, and footsteps and screams from the drawing-roomfell on his ears. He jumped up and rushed out of his room, believingthat the house was on fire. 

Helena was standing in the drawing-room in her nightgown. 

She screamed when she saw her husband and ran to her room; on thethreshold she hesitated and turned her head. 

"Forgive me, Albert, " she stammered, "it's you. I didn't know that youwere still up. I thought there were burglars in the house. Please, forgive me. "

And she closed her door. 

What did it all mean? Was she in love with him?

He went into his room and stood before the looking-glass. Could anywoman fall in love with him? He was plain. But one loves with one'ssoul and many a plain man had married a beautiful woman. It was true, though, that in such cases the man had nearly always possessed wealthand influence. --Was Helena realising that she had placed herself in afalse position? Or had she become aware of his intention to leave herand was anxious to win him back?

When they met at the breakfast table on the following morning, Helenawas unusually gentle, and the professor noticed that she was wearing anew morning-gown trimmed with lace, which suited her admirably. 

As he was helping himself to sugar, his hand accidentally touched hers. 

"I beg your pardon, dear, " she said with an expression on her face which he had never seen before. She looked like a young girl. 

They talked about indifferent things. 

On the same day Parliament opened. 

Helena's yielding mood lasted and she grew more and more affectionate. 

The period allowed for the introduction of new bills drew to a close. 

One evening the professor came home from his club in an unusually gayframe of mind. He went to bed with his paper and his cigar. After awhile he heard Helena's door creak. Silence, lasting for a few minutes, followed. Then there came a knock at his door. 

"Who is there?" he shouted. 

"It's I, Albert, do dress and come into the drawing-room, I want tospeak to you. "

He dressed and went into the drawing-room. 

Helena had lighted the chandelier and was sitting on the sofa, dressedin her lace morning-gown. 

"Do forgive me, " she said, "but I can't sleep. My head feels sostrange. Come here and talk to me. "

"You are all unstrung, little girl, " said Albert, taking her hand inhis own. "You ought to take some wine. "

He went into the dining-room and returned with a decanter and twoglasses. 

"Your health, darling, " he said. 

Helena drank and her cheeks caught fire. 

"What's wrong?" he asked, putting his arm round her waist. 

"I'm not happy, " she replied. 

He was conscious that the words sounded dry and artificial, but hispassion was roused and he didn't care. 

"Do you know why you are unhappy?" he asked. 

"No. I only know one thing, and that is that I love you. "

Albert caught her in his arms and kissed her face. 

"Are you my wife, or aren't you?" he whispered hoarsely. 

"I am your wife, " breathed Helena, collapsing, as if every nerve inher body had snapped. 

"Altogether?" he whispered paralysing her with his kisses. 

"Altogether, " she moaned, moving convulsively, like a sleeperstruggling with the horrors of a nightmare. 

When Albert awoke, he felt refreshed, his head was clear and he wasfully conscious of what had happened in the night. He could thinkvigorously and logically like a man after a deep and restful sleep. The whole scene stood vividly before his mind. He saw the fullsignificance of it, unvarnished, undisguised, in the sober light ofthe morning. 

She had sold herself!

At three o'clock in the morning, intoxicated with love, blind toeverything, half insane, he had promised to introduce her bill. 

And the price! She had given herself to him calmly, coldly, unmoved. 

Who was the first woman who found out that she could sell her favour?And who was the woman who discovered that man is a buyer? Whoever shewas, she was the founder of marriage and prostitution. And they saythat marriages are made in heaven!

He realised his degradation and hers. She wanted to triumph over herfriends, to be the first woman who had taken an active share in themaking of her country's laws; for the sake of this triumph she hadsold herself. 

Well, he would tear the mask from her face. He would show her what shereally was. He would tell her that prostitution could never beabolished while women found an advantage in selling themselves. 

With his mind firmly made up, he got out of bed and dressed. 

He had to wait a little for her in the dining-room. He rehearsed thescene which would follow and pulled himself together to meet her. 

She came in calm, smiling, triumphant, but more beautiful than he hadever seen her before. A sombre fire burnt in her eyes, and he, who hadexpected that she would meet him with blushes and down-cast eyes, wascrushed. She was the triumphant seducer, and he the bashful victim. 

The words he had meant to say refused to come. Disarmed and humble hewent to meet her and kissed her hand. 

She talked as usual without the slightest indication that a new factorhad entered her life. 

He went to the House, fuming, with her bill in his pocket, and onlythe vision of the bliss in store for him, calmed his excited nerves. 

But when, in the evening, he knocked quite boldly at her door, itremained closed. 

It remained closed for three weeks. He cringed before her like a dog, obeyed every hint, fulfilled all her wishes--it was all in vain. 

Then his indignation got the better of him and he overwhelmed her witha flood of angry words. She answered him sharply. But when sherealised that she had gone too far, that his chain was wearing thin, she gave herself to him. 

And he wore his chain. He bit it, strained every nerve to break it, but it held. 

She soon learned how far she could go, and whenever he became restive, she yielded. 

He was seized with a fanatical longing to make her a mother. Hethought it might make a woman of her, bring out all that was good andwholesome in her. But the future seemed to hold no promise on thatscore. 

Had ambition, the selfish passion of the individual, destroyed thesource of life? He wondered. .. . 

One morning she informed him that she was going away for a few days tostay with her friends. 

When he came home on the evening of the day of her departure and foundthe house empty, his soul was tormented by a cruel feeling of loss andlonging. All of a sudden it became clear to him that he loved her withevery fibre of his being. The house seemed desolate; it was just as ifa funeral had taken place. When dinner was served he stared at hervacant chair and hardly touched his food. 

After supper he lit the chandelier in the drawing-room. He sat down inher corner of the sofa. He fingered her needlework which she had leftbehind--it was a tiny jacket for a stranger's baby in a newly-foundedcrèche. There was the needle, still sticking in the calico, just asshe had left it. He pricked his finger with it as if to find solace inthe ecstasy of pain. 

Presently he lighted a candle and went into her bedroom. As he stoodon the threshold, he shaded the flame with his hand and looked roundlike a man who is about to commit a crime. The room did not betray theslightest trace of femininity. A narrow bed without curtains; awriting-table, bookshelves, a smaller table by the side of her bed, asofa. Just like his own room. There was no dressing-table, but alittle mirror hung on the wall. 

Her dress was hanging on a nail. The lines of her body were clearlydefined on the thick, heavy serge. He caressed the material and hidhis face in the lace which trimmed the neck; he put his arm round thewaist, but the dress collapsed like a phantom. "They say the soul is aspirit, " he mused, "but then, it ought to be a tangible spirit, atleast. " He approached the bed as if he expected to see an apparition. He touched everything, took everything in his hand. 

At last, as if he were looking for something, something which shouldhelp him to solve the problem, he began to tug at the handles whichornamented the drawers of her writing-table; all the drawers werelocked. As if by accident he opened the drawer of the little table byher bedside, and hastily closed it again, but not before he had readthe title on the paper-cover of a small book and caught sight of a fewstrange-looking objects, the purpose of which he could guess. 

That was it then! _Facultative Sterility!_ What was intended for aremedy for the lower classes, who have been robbed of the means ofexistence, had become an instrument in the service of selfishness, thelast consequence of idealism. Were the upper classes so degeneratethat they refused to reproduce their species, or were they morallycorrupt? They must be both, for they considered it immoral to bringillegitimate children into the world, and degrading to bear childrenin wedlock. 

But he wanted children! He could afford to have them, and he consideredit a duty as well as a glorious privilege to pour his individuality intoa new being. It was Nature's way from a true and healthy egoism towardsaltruism. But she travelled on another road and made jackets for thebabies of strangers. Was that a better, a nobler thing to do? It stoodfor so much, and yet was nothing but fear of the burden of motherhood, and it was cheaper and less fatiguing to sit in the corner of acomfortable sofa and make little jackets than to bear the toil and broilof a nursery. It was looked upon as a disgrace to be a woman, to havea sex, to become a mother. 

That was it. They called it working for Heaven, for higher interests, for humanity, but it was merely a pandering to vanity, to selfishness, to a desire for fame or notoriety. 

And he had pitied her, he had suffered remorse because her sterilityhad made him angry. She had told him once that he deserved "the contemptof all good and honest men" because he had failed to speak of sterilewomen with the respect due to misfortune; she had told him that theywere sacred, because their sorrow was the bitterest sorrow a womancould have to bear. 

What, after all, was this woman working for? For progress? For thesalvation of humanity? No, she was working against progress, againstfreedom and enlightenment. Hadn't she recently brought forward a motionto limit religious liberty? Wasn't she the author of a pamphlet on theintractability of servants? Wasn't she advocating greater severity inthe administration of the military laws? Was she not a supporter of theparty which strives to ruin our girls by giving them the same miserableeducation which our boys receive?

He hated her soul, for he hated her ideas. And yet he loved her? Whatwas it then that he loved?

Probably, he reflected, compelled to take refuge in philosophy, probably the germ of a new being, which she carries in her womb, butwhich she is bent on killing. 

What else could it be?

But what did she love in him? His title, his position, his influence?

How could these old and worn-out men and women rebuild society?

He meant to tell her all this when she returned home; but in hisinmost soul he knew all the time that the words would never be said. He knew that he would grovel before her and whine for her favour; thathe would remain her slave and sell her his soul again and again, justas she sold him her body. He knew that that was what he would do, forhe was head over ears in love with her. 

UNMARRIED AND MARRIED

The young barrister was strolling on a lovely spring evening throughthe old Stockholm Hop-Garden. Snatches of song and music came from thepavilion; light streamed through the large windows and lit up theshadows cast by the great lime trees which were just bursting intoleaf. 

He went in, sat down at a vacant table near the platform and asked fora glass of punch. 

A young comedian was singing a pathetic ballad of a _Dead Rat_. Then ayoung girl, dressed in pink, appeared and sang the Danish song: _Thereis nothing so charming as a moonshine ride. _ She was comparativelyinnocent looking and she addressed her song to our innocent barrister. He felt flattered by this mark of distinction, and at once startednegotiations which began with a bottle of wine and ended in afurnished flat, containing two rooms, a kitchen and all the usualconveniences. 

It is not within the scope of this little story to analyse the feelingsof the young man, or give a description of the furniture and the otherconveniences. It must suffice if I say that they were very good friends. 

But, imbued with the socialistic tendencies of our time, and desirousof having his lady-love always under his eyes, the young man decidedto live in the flat himself and make his little friend his housekeeper. She was delighted at the suggestion. 

But the young man had a family, that is to say, his family looked uponhim as one of its members, and since in their opinion he was committingan offence against morality, and casting a slur on their good name, hewas summoned to appear before the assembled parents, brothers andsisters in order to be censured. He considered that he was too old forsuch treatment and the family tie was ruptured. 

This made him all the more fond of his own little home, and hedeveloped into a very domesticated husband, excuse me, lover. Theywere happy, for they loved one another, and no fetters bound them. They lived in the happy dread of losing one another and therefore theydid their utmost to keep each other's love. They were indeed one. 

But there was one thing which they lacked: they had no friends. Society displayed no wish to know them, and the young man was notasked to the houses of the "Upper Ten. "

It was Christmas Eve, a day of sadness for all those who once had afamily. As he was sitting at breakfast, he received a letter. It wasfrom his sister, who implored him to spend Christmas at home, with hisparents. The letter touched upon the strings of old feelings and puthim in a bad temper. Was he to leave his little friend alone onChristmas Eve? Certainly not! Should his place in the house of hisparents remain vacant for the first time on a Christmas Eve? H'm! Thiswas the position of affairs when he went to the Law Courts. 

During the interval for lunch a colleague came up to him and asked himas discreetly as possible:

"Are you going to spend Christmas Eve with your family?"

He flared up at once. Was his friend aware of his position? Or whatdid he mean?

The other man saw that he had stepped on a corn, and added hastily, without waiting for a reply:

"Because if you are not, you might spend it with us. You know, perhaps, that I have a little friend, a dear little soul. "

It sounded all right and he accepted the invitation on condition thatthey should both be invited. Well, but of course, what else did hethink? And this settled the problem of friends and Christmas Eve. 

They met at six o'clock at the friend's flat, and while the two "oldmen" had a glass of punch, the women went into the kitchen. 

All four helped to lay the table. The two "old men" knelt on the floorand tried to lengthen the table by means of boards and wedges. Thewomen were on the best of terms at once, for they felt bound togetherby that very obvious tie which bears the great name of "public opinion. "They respected one another and saved one another's feelings. Theyavoided those innuendoes in which husbands and wives are so fondof indulging when their children are not listening, just as if theywanted to say: "We have a right to say these things now we aremarried. "

When they had eaten the pudding, the barrister made a speech praisingthe delights of one's own fireside, that refuge from the world andfrom all men: that harbour where one spends one's happiest hours inthe company of one's real friends. 

Mary-Louisa began to cry, and when he urged her to tell him the causeof her distress, and the reason of her unhappiness, she told him in avoice broken by sobs that she could see that he was missing his motherand sisters. 

He replied that he did not miss them in the least, and that he shouldwish them far away if they happened to turn up now. 

"But why couldn't he marry her?"

"Weren't they as good as married?"

"No, they weren't married properly. "

"By a clergyman? In his opinion a clergyman was nothing but a studentwho had passed his examinations, and his incantations were puremythology. "

"That was beyond her, but she knew that something was wrong, and theother people in the house pointed their fingers at her. "

"Let them point!"

Sophy joined in the conversation. She said she knew that they were notgood enough for his relations; but she didn't mind. Let everybody keephis own place and be content. 

Anyhow, they had friends now, and lived together in harmony, which ismore than could be said of many properly constituted families. The tiewhich held them together remained intact, but they were otherwiseunfettered. They continued being lovers without contracting any badmatrimonial habits, as, for example, the habit of being rude to oneanother. 

After a year or two their union was blest with a son. The mistress hadthereby risen to the rank of a mother, and everything else wasforgotten. The pangs which she had endured at the birth of the baby, and her care for the newly born infant, had purged her of her oldselfish claims to all the good things of the earth, including themonopoly of her husband's love. 

In her new role as mother she gave herself superior little airs withher friend, and showed a little more assurance in her intercourse withher lover. 

One day the latter came home with a great piece of news. He had methis eldest sister in the street and had found her well informed on alltheir private affairs. She was very anxious to see her little nephewand had promised to pay them a call. 

Mary-Louisa was surprised, and at once began to sweep and dust theflat; in addition she insisted on a new dress for the occasion. Andthen she waited for a whole week. The curtains were sent to thelaundry, the brass knobs on the doors of the stoves were made toshine, the furniture was polished. The sister should see that herbrother was living with a decent person. 

And then she made coffee, one morning at eleven o'clock, the time whenthe sister would call. 

She came, straight as if she had swallowed a poker, and gave Mary-Louisaa hand which was as stiff as a batting staff. She examined the bed-roomfurniture, but refused to drink coffee, and never once looked hersister-in-law in the face. But she showed a faint, though genuine, interest in the baby. Then she went away again. 

Mary-Louisa in the meantime had carefully examined her coat, pricedthe material of her dress and conceived a new idea of doing her hair. She had not expected any great display of cordiality. As a start, thefact of the visit was quite sufficient in itself, and she soon let thehouse know that her sister-in-law had called. 

The boy grew up and by and by a baby sister arrived. Now Mary-Louisa began to show the most tender solicitude for the futureof the children, and not a day passed but she tried to convince theirfather that nothing but a legal marriage with her would safeguard theirinterests. 

In addition to this his sister gave him a very plain hint to theeffect that a reconciliation with his parents was within the scope ofpossibility, if he would but legalise his liaison. 

After having fought against it day and night for two years, heconsented at last, and resolved that for the children's sake themythological ceremony should be allowed to take place. 

But whom should they ask to the wedding? Mary-Louisa insisted on beingmarried in church. In this case Sophy could not be invited. That wasan impossibility. A girl like her! Mary-Louisa had already learnt topronounce the word "girl" with a decidedly moral accent. He remindedher that Sophy had been a good friend to her, and that ingratitude wasnot a very fine quality. Mary-Louisa, however, pointed out thatparents must be prepared to sacrifice private sympathies at the altarof their children's prospects; and she carried the day. 

The wedding took place. 

The wedding was over. No invitation arrived from his parents, but afurious letter from Sophy which resulted in a complete rupture. 

Mary-Louisa was a wedded wife, now. But she was more lonely than shehad been before. Embittered by her disappointment, sure of her husbandwho was now legally tied to her, she began to take all those libertieswhich married people look upon as their right. What she had onceregarded in the light of a voluntary gift, she now considered atribute due to her. She entrenched herself behind the honourable titleof "the mother of his children, " and from there she made her sallies. 

Simple-minded, as all duped husbands are, he could never grasp whatconstituted the sacredness in the fact that she was the mother of_his_ children. Why his children should be different from otherchildren, and from himself, was a riddle to him. 

But, with an easy conscience, because his children had a legal mothernow, he commenced to take again an interest in the world which he hadto a certain extent forgotten in the first ecstasy of his love-dream, and which later on he had neglected because he hated to leave his wifeand children alone. 

These liberties displeased his wife, and since there was no necessityfor her to mince matters now, and she was of an outspoken disposition, she made no secrets of her thoughts. 

But he had all the lawyer's tricks at his fingers' ends, and was neverat a loss for a reply. 

"Do you think it right, " she asked, "to leave the mother of yourchildren alone at home with them, while you spend your time at apublic house?"

"I don't believe you missed me, " he answered by way of a preliminary. 

"Missed you? If the husband spends the housekeeping money on drink, the wife will miss a great many things in the house. "

"To start with I don't drink, for I merely have a mouthful of food anddrink a cup of coffee; secondly, I don't spend the housekeeping moneyon drink, for you keep it locked up: I have other funds which I spend'on drink. '"

Unfortunately women cannot stand satire, and the noose, made in fun, was at once thrown round his neck. 

"You do admit, then, that you drink?"

"No, I don't, I used your expression in fun. "

"In fun? You are making fun of your wife? You never used to do that!"

"You wanted the marriage ceremony. Why are things so different now?"

"Because we are married, of course. "

"Partly because of that, and partly because intoxication has thequality of passing off. "

"It was only intoxication in your case, then?"

"Not only in my case; in your case, too, and in all others as well. Itpasses off more or less quickly. "

"And so love is nothing but intoxication as far as a man isconcerned!"

"As far as a woman is concerned too!"

"Nothing but intoxication!"

"Quite so! But there is no reason why one shouldn't remain friends. "

"One need not get married for that!"

"No; and that's exactly what I meant to point out. "

"You? Wasn't it you who insisted on our marriage?"

"Only because you worried me about it day and night three long years. "

"But it was your wish, too!"

"Only because you wished it. Be grateful to me now that you've gotit!"

"Shall I be grateful because you leave the mother of your childrenalone with them while you spend your time at the public-house?"

"No, not for that, but because I married you!""You really think I ought to be grateful for that?"

"Yes, like all decent people who have got their way!"

"Well, there is no happiness in a marriage like ours. Your familydoesn't acknowledge me!"

"What have you got to do with my family? I haven't married yours?"

"Because you didn't think it good enough!"

"But mine was good enough for you. If they had been shoemakers, youwouldn't mind so much. "

"You talk of shoemakers as if they were beneath your notice. Aren'tthey human beings like everybody else?"

"Of course they are, but I don't think you would have run after them. "

"All right! Have your own way. "

But it was not all right, and it was never again all right. Was it dueto the fact of their being married, or was it due to something else?Mary-Louisa could not help admitting in her heart that the old timeshad been better times; they had been "jollier" she said. 

He did not think that it was only owing to the fact that their marriagehad been legalised for he had observed that other marriages, too, werenot happy. And the worst of it all was this: when one day he went tosee his old friend and Sophy, as he sometimes did, behind his wife'sback, he was told that there was an end to that matter. And they hadnot been married. So it could not have been marriage which was to blame. 

A DUEL

She was plain and therefore the coarse young men who don't know how toappreciate a beautiful soul in an ugly body took no notice of her. Butshe was wealthy, and she knew that men run after women for the sake oftheir wealth; whether they do it because all wealth has been createdby men and they therefore claim the capital for their sex, or on othergrounds, was not quite clear to her. As she was a rich woman, shelearned a good many things, and as she distrusted and despised men, she was considered an intellectual young woman. 

She had reached the age of twenty. Her mother was still alive, but shehad no intention to wait for another five years before she became herown mistress. Therefore she quite suddenly surprised her friends withan announcement of her engagement. 

"She is marrying because she wants a husband, " said some. 

"She is marrying because she wants a footman and her liberty, " saidothers. 

"How stupid of her to get married, " said the third; "she doesn't knowthat she will be even less her own mistress than she is now. "

"Don't be afraid, " said the fourth, "she'll hold her own in spite ofher marriage. "

What was he like? Who was he? Where had she found him?

He was a young lawyer, rather effeminate in appearance, with broadhips and a shy manner. He was an only son, brought up by his motherand aunt. He had always been very much afraid of girls, and he detestedthe officers on account of their assurance, and because they were thefavourites at all entertainments. That is what he was like. 

They were staying at a watering place and met at a dance. He had comelate and all the girls' programmes were full. A laughing, triumphant"No!" was flung into his face wherever he asked for a dance, and amovement of the programme brushed him away as if he were a buzzingfly. 

Offended and humiliated he left the ball-room and sat down on theverandah to smoke a cigar. The moon threw her light on the lime-treesin the Park and the perfume of the mignonette rose from the flowerbeds. 

He watched the dancing couples through the windows with the impotentyearning of the cripple; the voluptuous rhythm of the waltz thrilledhim through and through. 

"All alone and lost in dreams?" said a voice suddenly. "Why aren't youdancing?"

"Why aren't you?" he replied, looking up. 

"Because I am plain and nobody asked me to, " she answered. 

He looked at her. They had known each other for some time, but he hadnever studied her features. She was exquisitely dressed, and in hereyes lay an expression of infinite pain, the pain of despair and vainrevolt against the injustice of nature; he felt a lively sympathy forher. 

"I, too, am scorned by everybody, " he said. "All the rights belong tothe officers. Whenever it is a question of natural selection, right ison the side of the strong and the beautiful. Look at their shouldersand epaulettes. .. . "

"How can you talk like that!"

"I beg your pardon! To have to play a losing game makes a man bitter!Will you give me a dance?"

"For pity's sake?"

"Yes! Out of compassion for me!"

He threw away his cigar. 

"Have you ever known what it means to be marked by the hand of fate, and rejected? To be always the last?" he began again, passionately. 

"I have known all that! But the last do not always remain the last, "she added, emphatically. "There are other qualities, besides beauty, which count. "

"What quality do you appreciate most in a man?"

"Kindness, " she exclaimed, without the slightest hesitation. "For thisis a quality very rarely found in a man. "

"Kindness and weakness usually go hand in hand; women admirestrength. "

"What sort of women are you talking about? Rude strength has had itsday; our civilisation has reached a sufficiently high standard to makeus value muscles and rude strength no more highly than a kind heart. "

"It ought to have! And yet--watch the dancing couples!"

"To my mind true manliness is shown in loftiness of sentiment andintelligence of the heart. "

"Consequently a man whom the whole world calls weak and cowardly. .. . "

"What do I care for the world and its opinion!"

"Do you know that you are a very remarkable woman?" said the younglawyer, feeling more and more interested. 

"Not in the least remarkable! But you men are accustomed to regardwomen as dolls. .. . "

"What sort of men do you mean? I, dear lady, have from my childhoodlooked up to woman as a higher manifestation of the species man, andfrom the day on which I fell in love with a woman, and she returned mylove, I should be her slave. "

Adeline looked at him long and searchingly. 

"You are a remarkable man, " she said, after a pause. 

After each of the two had declared the other to be a remarkablespecimen of the species man, and made a good many remarks on thefutility of dancing, they began to talk of the melancholy influence ofthe moon. Then they returned to the ball-room and took their place ina set of quadrilles. 

Adeline was a perfect dancer and the lawyer won her heart completelybecause he "danced like an innocent girl. "

When the set was over, they went out again on the verandah and satdown. 

"What is love?" asked Adeline, looking at the moon as if she expectedan answer from heaven. 

"The sympathy of the souls, " he replied, and his voice sounded likethe whispering breeze. 

"But sympathy may turn to antipathy; it has happened frequently, "objected Adeline. 

"Then it wasn't genuine! There are materialists who say that therewould be no such thing as love if there weren't two sexes, and theydare to maintain that sensual love is more lasting than the love ofthe soul. Don't you think it low and bestial to see nothing but sex inthe beloved woman?"

"Don't speak of the materialists!"

"Yes, I must, so that you may realise the loftiness of my feelings fora woman, if ever I fell in love. She need not be beautiful; beautysoon fades. I should look upon her as a dear friend, a chum. I shouldnever feel shy in her company, as with any ordinary girl. I shouldapproach her without fear, as I am approaching you, and I should say:'Will you be my friend for life?' I should be able to speak to herwithout the slightest tremor of that nervousness which a lover issupposed to feel when he proposes to the object of his tenderness, because his thoughts are not pure. "

Adeline looked at the young man, who had taken her hand in his, withenraptured eyes. 

"You are an idealist, " she said, "and I agree with you from the verybottom of my heart. You are asking for my friendship, if I understandyou rightly. It shall be yours, but I must put you to the test first. Will you prove to me that you can pocket your pride for the sake of afriend?"

"Speak and I shall obey!"

Adeline took off a golden chain with a locket which she had beenwearing round her neck. 

"Wear this as a symbol of our friendship. "

"I will wear it, " he said, in an uncertain voice; "but it might makethe people think that we are engaged. "

"And do you object?"

"No, not if you don't! Will you be my wife?"

"Yes, Axel! I will! For the world looks askance at friendship betweenman and woman; the world is so base that it refuses to believe in thepossibility of such a thing. "

And he wore the chain. 

The world, which is very materialistic at heart, repeated the verdictof her friends:

"She marries him in order to be married; he marries her because hewants a wife. "

The world made nasty remarks, too. It said that he was marrying herfor the sake of her money; for hadn't he himself declared thatanything so degrading as love did not exist between them? There wasno need for friends to live together like married couples. 

The wedding took place. The world had received a hint that they wouldlive together like brother and sister, and the world awaited with amalicious grin the result of the great reform which should putmatrimony on another basis altogether. 

The newly married couple went abroad. 

When they returned, the young wife was pale and ill-tempered. Shebegan at once to take riding-lessons. The world scented mischief andwaited. The man looked as if he were guilty of a base act and wasashamed of himself. It all came out at last. 

"They have _not_ been living like brother and sister, " said the world. 

"What? Without loving one another? But that is--well, what is it?"

"A forbidden relationship!" said the materialists. 

"It is a spiritual marriage!"

"Or incest, " suggested an anarchist. 

Facts remained facts, but the sympathy was on the wane. Real life, stripped of All make-believe, confronted them and began to takerevenge. 

The lawyer practised his profession, but the wife's profession waspractised by a maid and a nurse. Therefore she had no occupation. Thewant of occupation encouraged brooding, and she brooded a great dealover her position. She found it unsatisfactory. Was it right that anintellectual woman like her should spend her days in idleness? Onceher husband had ventured to remark that no one compelled her to livein idleness. He never did it again. 

"She had no profession. "

"True; to be idle was no profession. Why didn't she nurse the baby?"

"Nurse the baby? She wanted a profession which brought in money. "

"Was she such a miser, then? She had already more than she knew how tospend; why should she want to earn money?"

"To be on an equal footing with him. "

"That could never be, for she would always be in a position to whichhe could never hope to attain. It was nature's will that the woman wasto be the mother, not the man. "

"A very stupid arrangement!"

"Very likely! The opposite might have been the case, but that wouldhave been equally stupid. "

"Yes; but her life was unbearable. It didn't satisfy her to live forthe family only, she wanted to live for others as well. "

"Hadn't she better begin with the family? There was plenty of time tothink of the others. "

The conversation might have continued through all eternity; as it wasit only lasted an hour. 

The lawyer was, of course, away almost all day long, and even when hewas at home he had his consulting hours. It drove Adeline nearly mad. He was always locked in his consulting-room with other women whoconfided information to him which he was bound to keep secret. Thesesecrets formed a barrier between them, and made her feel that he wasmore than a match for her. 

It roused a sullen hatred in her heart; she resented the injustice oftheir mutual relationship; she sought for a means to drag him down. Come down he must, so that they should be on the same level. 

One day she proposed the foundation of a sanatorium. He said all hecould against it, for he was very busy with his practice. But onfurther consideration he thought that occupation of some sort might bethe saving of her; perhaps it would help her to settle down. 

The sanatorium was founded; he was one of the directors. 

She was on the Committee and ruled. When she had ruled for six months, she imagined herself so well up in the art of healing that sheinterviewed patients and gave them advice. 

"It's easy enough, " she said. 

Then it happened that the house-surgeon made a mistake, and shestraightway lost all confidence in him. It further happened that oneday, in the full consciousness of her superior wisdom, she prescribedfor a patient herself, in the doctor's absence. The patient had theprescription made up, took it and died. 

This necessitated a removal to another centre of activity. But itdisturbed the equilibrium. A second child, which was born about thesame time, disturbed it still more and, to make matters worse, arumour of the fatal accident was spreading through the town. 

The relations between husband and wife were unlovely and sad, forthere had never been any love between them. The healthy, powerfulnatural instinct, which does not reflect, was absent; what remainedwas an unpleasant liaison founded on the uncertain calculations of aselfish friendship. 

She never voiced the thoughts hatched behind her burning brow aftershe had discovered that she was mistaken in believing that she had ahigher mission, but she made her husband suffer for it. 

Her health failed; she lost her appetite and refused to go out. Shegrew thin and seemed to be suffering from a chronic cough. The husbandmade her repeatedly undergo medical examinations, but the doctors wereunable to discover the cause of her malady. In the end he became soaccustomed to her constant complaints that he paid no more attentionto them. 

"I know it's unpleasant to have an invalid wife, " she said. 

He admitted in his heart that it was anything but pleasant; had heloved her, he would neither have felt nor admitted it. 

Her emaciation became so alarming, that he could not shut his eyes toit any longer, and had to consent to her suggestion that she shouldconsult a famous professor. 

Adeline was examined by the celebrity. "How long have you been ill?"he asked. 

"I have never been very strong since I left the country, " she replied. "I was born in the country. "

"Then you don't feel well in town?"

"Well? Who cares whether I feel well or not?" And her face assumed anexpression which left no room for doubt: she was a martyr. 

"Do you think that country air would do you good?" continued theprofessor. 

"Candidly, I believe that it is the only thing which could save mylife. "

"Then why don't you live in the country?"

"My husband couldn't give up his profession for my sake. "

"He has a wealthy wife and we have plenty of lawyers. "

"You think, then, that we ought to live in the country?"

"Certainly, if you believe that it would do you good. You are notsuffering from any organic disease, but your nerves are unstrung;country air would no doubt benefit you. "

Adeline returned home to her husband very depressed. 

"Well?"

"The professor had sentenced her to death if she remained in town. "

The lawyer was much upset. But since the fact that his distress wasmainly caused by the thought of giving up his practice was veryapparent, she held that she had absolute proof that the question ofher health was a matter of no importance to him. 

"What? He didn't believe that it was a matter of life and death?Didn't he think the professor knew better than he? Was he going to lether die?"

He was not going to let her die. He bought an estate in the countryand engaged an inspector to look after it. 

As a sheriff and a district-judge were living on the spot, the lawyerhad no occupation. The days seemed to him as endless as they wereunpleasant. Since his income had stopped with his practice, he wascompelled to live on his wife's money. In the first six months he reada great deal and played "Fortuna. " In the second six months he gave upreading, as it served no object. In the third he amused himself bydoing needle-work. 

His wife, on the other hand, devoted herself to the farm, pinned upher skirts to the knees and went into the stables. She came into thehouse dirty, and smelling of the cow-shed. She felt well and orderedthe labourers about that it was a pleasure to hear her, for she hadgrown up in the country and knew what she was about. 

When her husband complained of having nothing to do, she laughed athim. 

"Find some occupation in the house. No one need ever be idle in ahouse like this. "

He would have liked to suggest some outside occupation, but he had notthe courage. 

He ate, slept, and went for walks. If he happened to enter the barn orthe stables, he was sure to be in the way and be scolded by his wife. 

One day, when he had grumbled more than usual, while the children hadbeen running about, neglected by the nurse, she said:

"Why don't you look after the children? That would give you somethingto do. "

He stared at her. Did she really mean it?

"Well, why shouldn't he look after the children? Was there anythingstrange in her suggestion?"

He thought the matter over and found nothing strange in it. Henceforthhe took the children for a walk every day. 

One morning, when he was ready to go out, the children were notdressed. The lawyer felt angry and went grumbling to his wife; of theservants he was afraid. 

"Why aren't the children dressed?" he asked. 

"Because Mary is busy with other things. Why don't you dress them?You've nothing else to do. Do you consider it degrading to dress yourown children?"

He considered the matter for a while, but could see nothing degradingin it. He dressed them. 

One day he felt inclined to take his gun and go out by himself, although he never shot anything. 

His wife met him on his return. 

"Why didn't you take the children for a walk this morning?" she askedsharply and reproachfully. 

"Because I didn't feel inclined to do so. " "You didn't feel inclined?Do you think I want to work all day long in stable and barn? One oughtto do _something_ useful during the day, even if it does go againstone's inclination. "

"So as to pay for one's dinner, you mean?"

"If you like to put it that way! If I were a big man like you, Ishould be ashamed to be lying all day long on a sofa, doing nothing. "

He really felt ashamed, and henceforth he established himself thechildren's nurse. He never failed in his duties. He saw no disgrace init, yet he was unhappy. Something was wrong, somewhere, he thought, but his wife always managed to carry her point. 

She sat in the office and interviewed inspector and overseer; shestood in the store-room and weighed out stores for the cottagers. Everybody who came on the estate asked for the mistress, nobody everwanted to see the master. 

One day he took the children past a field in which cattle weregrazing. He wanted to show them the cows and cautiously took them upto the grazing herd. All at once a black head, raised above the backsof the other animals, stared at the visitors, bellowing softly. 

The lawyer picked up the children and ran back to the fence as hard ashe could. He threw them over and tried to jump it himself, but wascaught on the top. Noticing some women on the other side, he shouted:

"The bull! the bull!"

But the women merely laughed, and went to pull the children, whoseclothes were covered with mud, out of the ditch. 

"Don't you see the bull?" he screamed. 

"It's no bull, sir, " replied the eldest of the women, "the bull waskilled a fortnight ago. "

He came home, angry and ashamed and complained of the women to hiswife. But she only laughed. 

In the afternoon, as husband and wife were together in the drawing-room, there was a knock at the door. 

"Come in!" she called out. 

One of the women who had witnessed the adventure with the bull camein, holding in her hand the lawyer's gold chain. 

"I believe this belongs to you, M'm, " she said hesitatingly. 

Adeline looked first at the woman and then at her husband, who staredat the chain with wide-open eyes. 

"No, it belongs to your master, " she said, taking the proffered chain. "Thank you! Your master will give you something for finding it. "

He was sitting there, pale and motionless. 

"I have no money, ask my wife to give you something, " he said, takingthe necklet. 

Adeline took a crown out of her big purse and handed it to the woman, who went away, apparently without understanding the scene. 

"You might have spared me this humiliation!" he said, and his voiceplainly betrayed the pain he felt. 

"Are you not man enough to take the responsibility for your words andactions on your own shoulders? Are you ashamed to wear a present Igave you, while you expect me to wear yours? You're a coward! And youimagine yourself to be a man!"

Henceforth the poor lawyer had no peace. Wherever he went, he metgrinning faces, and farm-labourers and maid-servants from the saferetreat of sheltered nooks, shouted "the bull! the bull!" whenever hewent past. 

Adeline had resolved to attend an auction and stay away for a week. She asked her husband to look after the servants in her absence. 

On the first day the cook came and asked him for money for sugar andcoffee. He gave it to her. Three days later she came again and askedhim for the same thing. He expressed surprise at her having alreadyspent what he had given her. 

"I don't want it all for myself, " she replied, "and mistress doesn'tmind. "

He gave her the money. But, wondering whether he had made a mistake, he opened his wife's account book and began to add up the columns. 

He arrived at a strange result. When he had added up all the poundsfor a month, he found it came to a lispound. 

He continued checking her figures, and the result was everywhere thesame. He took the principal ledger and found that, leaving the highfigures out of the question, very stupid mistakes in the additions hadbeen made. Evidently his wife knew nothing of denominate quantities ordecimal fractions. This unheard of cheating of the servants mustcertainly lead to ruin. 

His wife came home. After having listened to a detailed account of theauction, he cleared his throat, intending to tell his tale, but hiswife anticipated his report:

"Well, and how did you get on with the servants?"

"Oh! very well, but I am certain that they cheat you. "

"Cheat me!"

"Yes; for instance the amount spent on coffee and sugar is too large. "

"How do you know?"

"I saw it in your account book. "

"Indeed! You poked your nose into my books?"

"Poked my nose into your books? No, but I took it upon me to checkyour. .. . "

"What business was it of yours?"

"And I found that you keep books without having the slightestknowledge of denominate quantities or decimal fractions. "

"What? You think I don't know?"

"No, you don't! And therefore the foundations of the establishment areshaky. Your book-keeping is all humbug, old girl!"

"My book-keeping concerns no one but myself. "

"Incorrect book-keeping is an offence punishable by law; if you arenot liable, then I am. "

"The law? I care a fig for the law!"

"I daresay! But we shall get into its clutches, if not you, then mostcertainly I! And therefore I am going to be book-keeper in the future. "

"We can engage a man to do it. "

"No, that's not necessary! I have nothing else to do. "

And that settled the matter. 

But once the husband occupied the chair at the desk and the peoplecame to see _him_, the wife lost all interest in farming andcattle-breeding. 

A violent reaction set in; she no longer attended to the cows andcalves, but remained in the house. There she sat, hatching freshplots. 

But the husband had regained a fresh hold on life. He took an eagerinterest in the estate and woke up the people. Now he held the reins;managed everything, gave orders and paid the bills. 

One day his wife came into the office and asked him for a thousandcrowns to buy a piano. 

"What are you thinking of?" said the husband. "Just when we are goingto re-build the stables! We haven't the means to buy a piano. "

"What do you mean?" she replied. "Why haven't we got the means? Isn't mymoney sufficient?"

"Your money?"

"Yes, my money, my dowry. "

"That has now become the property of the family. "

"That is to say yours?"

"No, the family's. The family is a small community, the only one whichpossesses common property which, as a rule, is administered by thehusband. "

"Why should he administer it and not the wife?"

"Because he has more time to give to it, since he does not bearchildren. "

"Why couldn't they administer it jointly?"

"For the same reason that a joint stock company has only one managingdirector. If the wife administered as well, the children would claimthe same right, for it is their property, too. "

"This is mere hair-splitting. I think it's hard that I should have toask your permission to buy a piano out of my own money. "

"It's no longer your money. "

"But yours?"

"No, not mine either, but the family's. And you are wrong when you saythat you 'have to ask for my permission'; it's merely wise that youshould consult with the administrator as to whether the position ofaffairs warrants your spending such a large sum on a luxury. "

"Do you call a piano a luxury?"

"A new piano, when there is an old one, must be termed a luxury. Theposition of our affairs is anything but satisfactory, and therefore itdoesn't permit you to buy a new piano at present, but _I_, personally, can or will have nothing to say against it. "

"An expenditure of a thousand crowns doesn't mean ruin. "

"To incur a debt of a thousand crowns at the wrong time may be thefirst step towards ruin. "

"All this means that you refuse to buy me a new piano?"

"No, I won't say that. The uncertain position of affairs. .. . "

"When, oh! when will the day dawn on which the wife will manage herown affairs and have no need to go begging to her husband?"

"When she works herself. A man, your father, has earned your money. The men have gained all the wealth there is in the world; therefore itis but just that a sister should inherit less than her brother, especially as the brother is born with the duty to provide for awoman, while the sister need not provide for a man. Do youunderstand?"

"And you call that justice? Can you honestly maintain that it is?Ought we not all to share and share alike?"

"No, not always. One ought to share according to circumstances andmerit. The idler who lies in the grass and watches the mason buildinga house, should have a smaller share than the mason. "

"Do you mean to insinuate that I am lazy?"

"H'm! I'd rather not say anything about that. But when I used to lieon the sofa, reading, you considered me a loafer, and I well rememberthat you said something to that effect in very plain language. "

"But what am I to do?"

"Take the children out for walks. "

"I'm not constituted to look after the children. "

"But there was a time when I had to do it. Let me tell you that awoman who says that she is not constituted to look after children, isn't a woman. But that fact doesn't make a man of her, by any means. What is she, then?"

"Shame on you that you should speak like that of the mother of yourchildren!"

"What does the world call a man who will have nothing to do withwomen? Isn't it something very ugly?"

"I won't hear another word!"

And she left him and locked herself into her room. 

She fell ill. The doctor, the almighty man, who took over the care ofthe body when the priest lost the care of the soul, pronounced countryair and solitude to be harmful. 

They were obliged to return to town so that the wife could have propermedical treatment. 

Town had a splendid effect on her health; the air of the slums gavecolour to her cheeks. 

The lawyer practised his profession and so husband and wife had foundsafety-valves for their temperaments which refused to blend. 

HIS SERVANT OR DEBIT AND CREDIT

Mr. Blackwood was a wharfinger at Brooklyn and had married MissDankward, who brought him a dowry of modern ideas. To avoid seeing hisbeloved wife playing the part of his servant, Mr. Blackwood had takenrooms in a boarding house. 

The wife, who had nothing whatever to do, spent the day in playingbilliards and practising the piano, and half the night in discussingWomen's Rights and drinking whiskies and sodas. 

The husband had a salary of five thousand dollars. He handed over hismoney regularly to his wife who took charge of it. She had, moreover, a dress allowance of five hundred dollars with which she did as sheliked. 

Then a baby arrived. A nurse was engaged who, for a hundred dollars, took upon her shoulders the sacred duties of the mother. 

Two more children were born. 

They grew up and the two eldest went to school. But Mrs. Blackwood wasbored and had nothing with which to occupy her mind. 

One morning she appeared at the breakfast table, slightly intoxicated. 

The husband ventured to tell her that her behaviour was unseemly. 

She had hysterics and went to bed, and all the other ladies in thehouse called on her and brought her flowers. 

"Why do you drink so much whisky?" asked her husband, as kindly aspossible. "Is there anything which troubles you?"

"How could I be happy when my whole life is wasted!"

"What do you mean by wasted? You are the mother of three children andyou might spend your time in educating them. "

"I can't be bothered with children. "

"Then you ought to be bothered with them! You would be benefiting thewhole community and have a splendid object in life, a far morehonourable one, for instance, than that of being a wharfinger. "

"Yes, if I were free!"

"You are freer than I am. I am under your rule. You decide how myearnings are to be spent. You have five hundred dollars pin money tospend as you like; but I have no pin money. I have to make anapplication to the cash-box, in other words, to you, whenever I wantto buy tobacco. Don't you think that you are freer than I am?"

She made no reply; she tried to think the question out. 

The upshot of it was that they decided to have a home of their own. And they set up house-keeping. 

"My dear friend, " Mrs. Blackwood wrote a little later on to a friendof hers, "I am ill and tired to death. But I must go on suffering, forthere is no solace for an unhappy woman who has no object in life. Iwill show the world that I am not the sort of woman who is content tolive on her husband's bounty, and therefore I shall work myself todeath. .. . "

On the first day she rose at nine o'clock and turned out her husband'sroom. Then she dismissed the cook and at eleven o'clock she went outto do the catering for the day. 

When the husband came home at one o'clock, lunch was not ready. It wasthe maid's fault. 

Mrs. Blackwood was dreadfully tired and in tears. The husband couldnot find it in his heart to complain. He ate a burnt cutlet and wentback to his work. 

"Don't work so hard, darling, " he said, as he was leaving. 

In the evening his wife was so tired that she could not finish herwork and went to bed at ten o'clock. 

On the following morning, as Mr. Blackwood went into his wife's roomto say good morning to her, he was amazed at her healthy complexion. 

"Have you slept well?" he asked. 

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you are looking so well. "

"I--am--looking--well?"

"Yes, a little occupation seems to agree with you. "

"A little occupation? You call it little? I should like to know whatyou would call much. "

"Never mind, I didn't mean to annoy you. "

"Yes, you did. You meant to imply that I wasn't working hard enough. And yet I turned out your room yesterday, just as if I were ahouse-maid, and stood in the kitchen like a cook. Can you deny that Iam your servant?"

In going out the husband said to the maid:

"You had better get up at seven in future and do my room. Yourmistress shouldn't have to do your work. "

In the evening Mr. Blackwood came home in high spirits but his wifewas angry with him. 

"Why am I not to do your room?" she asked. 

"Because I object to your being my servant. "

"Why do you object?"

"The thought of it makes me unhappy. "

"But it doesn't make you unhappy to think of me cooking your dinnerand attending to your children?"

This remark set him thinking. 

He pondered the question during the whole of his tram journey toBrooklyn. 

When he came home in the evening, he had done a good deal of thinking. 

"Now, listen to me, my love, " he began, "I've thought a lot about yourposition in the house and, of course, I am far from wishing that youshould be my servant. I think the best thing to do is this: You mustlook upon me as your boarder and I'll pay for myself. Then you'll bemistress in the house, and I'll pay you for my dinner. "

"What do you mean?" asked his wife, a little uneasy. 

"What I say. Let's pretend that you keep a boarding-house and that I'myour boarder. We'll only pretend it, of course. "

"Very well! And what are you going to pay me?"

"Enough to prevent me from being under an obligation to you. It willimprove my position, too, for then I shall not feel that I am kept outof kindness. "

"Out of kindness?"

"Yes; you give me a dinner which is only half-cooked, and then you goon repeating that you are my servant, that is to say, that you areworking yourself to death for me. "

"What are you driving at?"

"Is three dollars a day enough for my board? Any boarding-house willtake me for two. "

"Three dollars ought to be plenty. "

"Very well! Let's say a thousand dollars per annum. Here's the moneyin advance!"

He laid a bill on the table. 

It was made out as follows:

 Rent 500 dollars Nurse's wages 100 " Cook's wages 150 " Wife's maintenance 500 " Wife's pin money 500 " Nurse's maintenance 300 " Cook's maintenance 300 " Children's maintenance 700 " Children's clothes 500 " Wood, light, assistance 500 "

 4. 500 dollars

"Divide this sum by two, since we share expenses equally, that leaves2025 dollars. Deduct my thousand dollars and give me 1025 dollars. Ifyou have got the money by you, all the better. "

"Share expenses equally?" was all the wife could say. "Do you expectme to pay you, then?"

"Yes, of course, if we are to be on a footing of equality. I pay forhalf of your and the children's support. Or do you want me to pay thewhole? Very well, that would mean that I should have to pay you 4050dollars plus 1000 dollars for my board. But I pay separately for rent, food, light, wood and servants' wages. What do I get for my threedollars a day for board? The preparation of the food? Nothing else butthat for 4050 dollars? Now, if I subtract really half of this sum, that is to say, my share of the expenses, 2025 dollars, then thepreparation of my food costs me 2025 dollars. But I have already paidthe cook for doing it; how, then, can I be expected to pay 2025 dollars, plus 1000 dollars for food?"

"I don't know. "

"Neither do I. But I know that I owe you nothing after paying for thewhole of your support, the children's support and the servants'support; the servants who do your work, which, in your opinion, isequal, or superior, to mine. But even if your work should really beworth more, you must remember that you have another five hundreddollars in addition to the household expenses, while I have nothing. "

"I repeat that I don't understand your figures!"

"Neither do I. Perhaps we had better abandon the idea of theboarding-house. Let's put down the debit and credit of theestablishment. Here's the account, if you'd like to see it. "

 To Mrs. Blackwood for assistance in the house, and to Mrs. Blackwood's cook and nursemaid:

 Rent and maintenance 1000 dollars Clothes 500 " Amusements 100 " Pin money (by cash) 500 " Her children's maintenance 1200 " Her children's education 600 " On account of the maids who do her work 850 "

 4570 dollars

 Paid M. Blackwood, _Wharfinger_

"Oh! It's too bad of you to worry your wife with bills!"

"With counter-bills! And even that one you need not pay, for I pay allbills. "

The wife crumpled up the paper. 

"Am I to pay for your children's education, too?"

"No, I will, and I shall, and I will also pay for your children'seducation. You shall not pay one single farthing for mine. Is thatbeing on a footing of equality? But I shall deduct the sum for themaintenance of my children and servants: then you will still have 2100dollars for the assistance you give to my servants. Do you want anymore bills?"

She wanted no more; never again. 

THE BREADWINNER

He wakes up in the morning from evil dreams of bills which have becomedue and copy which has not been delivered. His hair is damp with coldperspiration, and his cheeks tremble as he dresses himself. He listensto the chirruping of the children in the next room and plunges hisburning face into cold water. He drinks the coffee which he has madehimself, so as not to disturb the nursery maid at the early hour ofeight o'clock. Then he makes his bed, brushes his clothes, and sitsdown to write. 

The fever attacks him, the fever which is to create hallucinations ofrooms he has never seen, landscapes which never existed, people whosenames cannot be found in the directory. He sits at his writing tablein mortal anguish. His thoughts must be clear, pregnant andpicturesque, his writing legible, the story dramatic; the interestmust never abate, the metaphors must be striking, the dialoguebrilliant. The faces of those automata, the public, whose brains he isto wind up, are grinning at him; the critics whose good-will he mustenlist, stare at him through the spectacles of envy; he is haunted bythe gloomy face of the publisher, which it is his task to brighten. Hesees the jurymen sitting round the black table in the centre of whichlies a Bible; he hears the sound of the opening of prison doors behindwhich free-thinkers are suffering for the crime of having thought boldthoughts for the benefit of the sluggards; he listens to the noiselessfootfall of the hotel porter who is coming with the bill. .. . 

And all the while the fever is raging and his pen flies, flies overthe paper without a moment's delay at the vision of publisher orjurymen, leaving in its track red lines as of congealed blood whichslowly turn to black. 

When he rises from his chair, after a couple of hours, he has onlyenough strength left to stumble across the room. He sinks down on hisbed and lies there as if Death held him in his clutches. It is notinvigorating sleep which has closed his eyes, but a stupor, a longfainting fit during which he remains conscious, tortured by thehorrible thought that his strength is gone, his nervous systemshattered, his brain empty. 

A ring at the bell of the private hotel! _Voilà le facteur_! The mailhas arrived. 

He rouses himself and staggers out of his room. A pile of letters ishanded to him. Proofs which must be read at once; a book from a youngauthor, begging for a candid criticism: a paper containing acontroversial article to which he must reply without delay, a requestfor a contribution to an almanac, an admonishing letter from hispublisher. How can an invalid cope with it all?

In the meantime the children's nurse has got up and dressed thechildren, drunk the coffee made for her in the hotel kitchen, andeaten the rolls spread with honey which have been sent up for her. After breakfast she takes a stroll in the park. 

At one o'clock the bell rings for luncheon. All the guests are assembledin the dining-room. He, too, is there, sitting at the table by himself. 

"Where is your wife?" he is asked on all sides. 

"I don't know, " he replies. 

"What a brute!" is the comment of the ladies, who are still in theirmorning gowns. 

The entrance of his wife interrupts the progress of the meal, and thehungry guests who have been punctual are kept waiting for the secondcourse. 

The ladies enquire anxiously whether his, wife has slept well andfeels refreshed? Nobody asks him how he feels. There is no need toenquire. 

"He looks like a corpse, " says one of the ladies. 

And she is right. 

"Dissipation, " says another. 

But that is anything but true. He takes no part in the conversation, for he has nothing to say tothese women. But his wife talks for two. While he swallows his food, his ears are made to listen to rich praise of all that is base, andvile abuse of all that is noble and good. 

When luncheon is over he takes his wife aside. 

"I wish you would send Louisa to the tailor's with my coat; a seam hascome undone and I haven't the time to sew it up myself. "

She makes no reply, but instead of sending the coat by Louisa, shetakes it herself and walks to the village where the tailor lives. 

In the garden she meets some of her emancipated friends who ask herwhere she is going. 

She replies, truthfully enough, that she is going to the tailor's forher husband. 

"Fancy sending her to the tailor's! And she allows him to treat herlike a servant!"

"While he is lying on the bed, taking an after-dinner nap! A nicehusband!"

It is quite true, he is taking an after dinner nap, for he issuffering from anaemia. 

At three o'clock the postman rings again; he is expected to answer aletter from Berlin in German, one from Paris in French, and one fromLondon in English. 

His wife, who has returned from the tailor's and refreshed herselfwith a cognac, asks him whether he feels inclined to make an excursionwith the children. No, he has letters to write. 

When he has finished his letters, he goes out for a stroll beforedinner. He is longing for somebody to talk to. But he is alone. Hegoes into the garden and looks for the children. 

The stout nurse is sitting on a garden seat, reading Mrs. Leffler's_True Women_ which his wife has lent her. The children are bored, theywant to run about or go for a walk. 

"Why don't you take the children for a walk, Louisa?" he asks. 

"Mistress said it was too hot. "

His wife's orders!

He calls to the children and walks with them towards the high road;suddenly he notices that their hands and faces are dirty and theirboots in holes. 

"Why are the children allowed to wear such boots?" he asks Louisa. 

"Mistress said. .. . "

His wife said!

He goes for a walk by himself. 

It is seven o'clock and dinner-time. The ladies have not yet returnedto the hotel. The two first courses have been served when they arrivewith flushed faces, talking and laughing loudly. 

His wife and her friend are in high spirits and smell of cognac. 

"What have you been doing with yourself all day, daddy?" she asks herhusband. 

"I went for a walk with the children. "

"Wasn't Louisa there?"

"Oh! yes, but she was otherwise engaged. "

"Well, I don't think it's too much to ask of a man to keep an eye onhis own children, " says the friend. 

"No, of course not, " answers the husband. "And therefore I scoldedLouisa for allowing the children to run about with dirty faces andworn-out boots. "

"I never come home but I am scolded, " says the wife; "You spoil everylittle pleasure I have with your fault-finding. "

And a tiny tear moistens her reddened eyelids. The friend and all therest of the ladies cast indignant glances at the husband. 

An attack is imminent and the friend sharpens her tongue. 

"Has anybody here present read Luther's views on the right of a woman?"

"What right is that?" asks his wife. 

"To look out for another partner if she is dissatisfied with the oneshe has. "

There is a pause. 

"A very risky doctrine as far as a woman's interests are concerned, "says the husband, "for it follows that in similar circumstances a manis justified in doing the same thing. The latter happens much morefrequently than the former. "

"I don't understand what you mean, " says the wife. 

"That's neither Luther's fault nor mine, " answers the husband. "Justas it is not necessarily the husband's fault if he doesn't get on withhis wife. Possibly he would get on excellently with another woman. "

A dead silence follows; the diners rise from their chairs. 

The husband retires to his own room. His wife and her friend leave thedining-room together and sit down in the pavilion. 

"What brutality!" exclaims the friend. "How can you, a sensitive, intelligent woman, consent to be the servant of that selfish brute?"

"He has never understood me, " sighs the wife. Her satisfaction in beingable to pronounce these damning words is so great, that it drowns thememory of a reply which her husband has given her again and again:

"Do you imagine that your thoughts are so profound that I, a man witha subtle brain, am unable to fathom them? Has it never occurred to youthat it may be your shallowness which prevents you from understandingme?"

He sits down in his room, alone. He suffers from remorse, as if he hadstruck his mother. But she struck the first blow; she has struck himblow after blow, for many years, and never once before has heretaliated. 

This coarse, heartless, cynical woman, in whose keeping he confidedhis whole soul with all its thoughts and emotions, was conscious ofhis superiority, and therefore she humiliated him, dragged him down, pulled him by the hair, covered him with abuse. Was it a crime that hestruck back when she publicly taunted him? Yes--he felt as guilty asif he had murdered his dearest friend. 

The twilight of the warm summer night deepens and the moon rises. 

The sound of music from the drawing-room floats through his window. Hegoes into the garden and sits down under a walnut tree. Alone! Thechords of the piano blend with the words of the song:

 When the veil of night was drawn And crowded earth, mysterious sea Became one sweet, enchanted ground For us, until the starless dawn Dissolved the failing moon--then we In one long ecstasy were bound. Now, I, alone in silence and in pain Weep for the ache of well-remembered bliss, For you who never can return again, For you, my spring time, for your love, your kiss. 

He strolls through the garden and looks through the window. There shesits, his living poem, which he has composed for his own delight. Shesings with tears in her voice. The ladies on the sofas look at oneanother significantly. 

But behind the laurel bushes on a garden seat two men are sitting, smoking, and chatting. He can hear what they say. 

"Nothing but the effect of the cognac. "

"Yes, they say that she drinks. "

"And blame the husband for it. "

"That's a shame! She took to drinking in Julian's studio. She wasgoing to be an artist, you know, but she didn't succeed. When theyrejected her picture at the exhibition, she threw herself at the headof this poor devil and married him to hide her defeat. "

"Yes, I know, and made his life a burden until he is but the shadow ofhis former self. They started with a home of their own in Paris, andhe kept two maids for her; still she called herself his servant. Although she was mistress over everything, she insisted that she wasbut his slave She neglected the house, the servants robbed them rightand left, and he saw their home threatened with ruin without beingable to move a finger to avert it. She opposed every suggestion hemade; if he wanted black, she wanted white. In this way she broke hiswill and shattered, his nerves. He broke up his home and took her to aboarding-house to save her the trouble of housekeeping and enable herto devote herself entirely to her art. But she won't touch a brush andgoes out all day long with her friend. She has tried to come betweenhim and his work, too, and drive him to drink, but she has not managedit; therefore she hates him, for he is the better of the two. "

"But the husband must be a fool, " remarks the other man. 

"He is a fool wherever his wife is concerned, but he is no exceptionto the rule. They have been married for twelve years and he is stillin love with her. The worst of it is that he is a strong man, whocommanded the respect of Parliament and Press, is breaking up. Italked to him this morning; he is ill, to say the least. "

"Yes; I heard that she tried to have him locked up in a asylum, andthat her friend did everything in her power to assist her. "

"And he works himself to death, so that she can enjoy herself. "

"Do you know why she treats him so contemptuously? Because he cannotgive her all the luxury she wants. 'A man who cannot give his wife allshe wants, ' she said the other day at dinner, 'ce n'est pas grand'chose. ' I believe that she counted on his booming her as an artist. Unfortunately his political views prevent him from being on good termswith the leading papers, and, moreover, he has no friends in artisticcircles; his interests lie elsewhere. "

"I see; she wanted to make use of him for her own ends; when heresisted she threw him over; but he serves his purpose as a breadwinner. "

 Now, I, alone in silence and in pain, Weep for the ache of well-remembered bliss. .. . 

comes her voice from the drawing-room. 

"Bang!" the sound came from behind the walnut tree. It was followed bya snapping of branches and a crunching of sand. 

The talkers jumped to their feet. 

The body of a well-dressed man lay across the road, with his headagainst the leg of a chair. 

The song stopped abruptly. The ladies rushed into the garden. Thefriend poured a few drops of eau de Cologne which she held in herhand, on the face of the prostrate man. 

When she realised that it was no fainting fit, she started back. "Horrible!" she exclaimed, putting her hand up to her face. 

The elder of the two men, who was stooping over; the dead body, lookedup. 

"Be silent, woman!" he exclaimed. 

"What a brute!" said the friend. 

The dead man's wife fainted, but was caught in the arms of her friendand tenderly nursed by the rest of the women. 

"Send for a doctor!" shouted the elder of the two men. "Run!"

Nobody took any notice; everybody was busy with the unconscious wife. 

"To bring such grief on his wife! Oh! what a man! What a man!" sobbedthe friend. 

"Has no one a thought for the dying man? All this' fuss because a womanhas fainted! Give her some brandy, that will revive her!"

"The wretched man has deserved his fate!" said the friend emphatically. 

"He indeed deserved a better fate than to fall into your, hands alive. Shame on you, woman, and all honour to the breadwinner!"

He let the hand of the dead man go and rose to his, feet. 

"It's all over!" he said.