For a moment she was completely stunned; staring at him all agape, she couldn’t think of a word to say, even forgetting to put down her glass. This went on for a whole minute. Then she collected herself, threw him a furious glance imbued with all her inner tumult, from a pair of eyes that gave him a crushing answer, and abruptly turned her back on him. She slammed her glass down on a table by the door as she left. She disappeared into the hall.
She didn’t seem to remember that Mr. Reinert and the teacher were still sitting in the same place, waiting for her.
Nagel sat down again. His shoulders started twitching anew, and he repeatedly clutched his head. He sat all hunched up. When Martha came he jumped up, a grateful look brightened his face, and he put out a chair for her.
“How kind you are, how kind!” he said. “Sit down. I’ll be so attentive, I’ll tell you a world of stories if you like. You won’t believe how much fun I can get up if you’ll just sit down. Come on, please! You may leave whenever you wish, and I’ll have to come along, don’t you think? I won’t do you any harm, no, never! Look, you will have a tiny little drink now, won’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll tell you something amusing and make you laugh again. I’m so glad you came back; good heavens, how wonderful it is to hear you laugh, you who are always so serious! It wasn’t such great fun in the hall, eh? Let’s rather stay here awhile; it’s so hot in there, too. So, sit down!”
Martha hesitated, but did sit down.
And now Nagel speaks without letup, relating funny little stories and adventures one after the other; he jabbers on about this and that, feverishly and at a forced pace, fearful that she might leave if he stopped. The effort makes him flushed, he gets confused and, at his wits’ end, clutches his head trying to pick up the thread of his story; but Martha finds him amusing even then and laughs innocently. She’s anything but bored, her old heart swells, and she’s even moved to put in a word herself. How strangely warm and naive she was! When he said—and didn’t she agree?—that life was wretched past comprehension, she replied, “Let’s drink to that!”—this woman who eked out a meager living year after year by selling eggs in the marketplace, so that life ... No, it wasn’t so bad, often it was good!
Often life was good, she said!
“Oh, you’re certainly right about that,” he replied.... “But now we have to watch the tableaux! Let’s stand here in the doorway, then we can sit down again whenever you like. Can you see from there? If not, I’ll take you on my arm.”
She laughed and shook her head admonishingly.
As soon as he caught sight of Dagny on the stage, his mirth subsided, his eyes became fixed in a stare, and he saw nobody but her. He followed the direction of her glance, looked her up and down, observed her expression, and noticed that the rose on her bosom was bobbing up and down, up and down. She was standing at the very back of the thick cluster of people and was easily recognizable despite the painstaking disguise. Miss Andresen, as the queen, sat in the middle of the stage. The whole scene, bathed in red light, was a rebus-like arrangement of people and armor that Dr. Stenersen had put together with great effort and sacrifice.
“It’s beautiful!” Martha whispered.
“Hm.... What is beautiful?” he said.
“Up there, can’t you see? What are you looking at?”
“Yes, it’s beautiful.”
And not to arouse her suspicion that he was only looking at one spot, a single point of the whole scene, he began asking her who each of the performers was, though he barely listened to her answers. They didn’t move until the red light was on the verge of going out and the curtain came down.
And now the five tableaux followed one another at a few minutes’ interval. At twelve o’clock Martha and Nagel were still standing in the doorway, watching the last tableau. When it was finally over and the music started up afresh, they returned to their table and talked. Kind as she was, she became more and more compliant and no longer spoke of leaving.
A couple of young ladies came around with notebooks in their hands selling raffle tickets—for dolls, rocking chairs, embroideries, a tea service, and a mantel clock. There was commotion everywhere, people were letting themselves go and talked loudly; the multitude of voices in the hall and the adjacent rooms produced a roar reminiscent of a stock exchange. The bazaar would go on until two in the morning.
Miss Andresen again settled at Nagel’s table. Oh, she was so tired, so tired! Yes, thanks a lot, she would gladly take a glass, half a glass! Shouldn’t she fetch Dagny, too?
And she fetched Dagny. Miniman also came along.
At this point something happens. A table tips over nearby, cups and glasses fall on the floor, and Dagny gives a small cry, nervously clutching Martha’s arm. Afterward she laughed at herself and apologized, her face flushed with emotion. She was extremely agitated and laughed fitfully; her eyes glittered. She had put on her outdoor things and was ready to go home; she was only waiting for the teacher, who was to be her escort as usual.
But the teacher, who was still sitting with Mr. Reinert and hadn’t left his chair for over an hour, was getting rather intoxicated.
“I’m sure Mr. Nagel will walk you home, Dagny,” Miss Andresen said.
Dagny burst out laughing. Miss Andresen looked at her in surprise.
“No,” Dagny replied, “I don’t dare walk with Mr. Nagel anymore. He’s so full of whims. Between you and me, he even asked me for a rendezvous once. It’s the truth! ‘Under a tree,’ he said, ‘a big aspen, it stands in such and such a place’! No, Mr. Nagel is too unpredictable for me! Just now he solemnly pressed me for a pair of shirts which my fiance is supposed to have promised Grøgaard at one time. And Grøgaard himself has no idea what it’s all about! Isn’t that so, Grøgaard? Ha-ha-ha, it’s all very odd!”
With that she quickly got up, still laughing, and went over to the teacher, to whom she said a few words. Evidently she was trying to make him come along.
Miniman had become very uneasy. He attempted to say something, to explain himself, but got confused and gave up. He looked from one to the other with anxious eyes. Even Martha was surprised and afraid; Nagel spoke to her, whispering a few soothing words, and proceeded to fill their glasses. Miss Andresen quickly broached the subject of the bazaar: what a big crowd despite the rainy weather! Oh, it was going to bring in a lot of money, there weren’t terribly many expenses....
“Who was that attractive woman who played the harp?” Nagel asked, “the one with the Byronic mouth and a silver arrow in her hair?”
She was a stranger, in town on a visit. Was she that attractive?
Yes, he thought she was attractive. And he asked several questions about her, though everybody could see that his mind was elsewhere. What was he up to? Why had that angry frown suddenly appeared on his forehead? Slowly he turned his glass.
Then Dagny returned and tarried once more. As she stands behind Miss Andresen’s chair buttoning her gloves, she again opens her mouth, saying in her clear, lovely voice, “What did you really mean by asking me for that rendezvous, Mr. Nagel? What was your purpose? Tell me, will you.”
“Oh, but Dagny!” Miss Andresen whispers, rising. Miniman also rises. They are all very unpleasantly affected. Nagel looked up; his face didn’t betray much emotion, but they all noticed that he let go of his glass and wrung his hands, breathing rapidly. What would he do? What was the meaning of that faint smile, replaced at once by seriousness. To everyone’s surprise, he replied in a calm voice, “Why I asked you for that rendezvous? Miss Kielland, wouldn’t you rather I spare you the explanation? I have caused you enough trouble as it is. I’m sorry about that, and God knows I would do anything to have it undone. But surely you understand why I asked you to meet me; I have made no secret of it, though I ought to have done so. You must show me some mercy. There’s nothing more I can say....”
He fell silent. Nor did she say anything more; evidently she had expected a different answer from him. Finally the teacher appeared, just in time to break up
this painful scene; he was very drunk and could barely stand on his legs.
Dagny took his arm and walked out.
From now on those who still remained of the small party became far more lively; they all breathed more easily, and Martha laughed for joy at nothing and clapped her hands. Now and then, when she realized that she might be laughing too much, she turned red and checked herself, looking around at the others to see whether they had noticed. This charming confusion, which was repeated time and again, sent Nagel into raptures and made him commit many tomfooleries just to hold her attention. Thus he hit on playing “Old Man Noah” on a cork that he placed between his teeth.
In the meantime Mrs. Stenersen had joined them. She declared she wouldn’t budge until it was all over; there was still a number left, a performance by two turners that she simply had to see. She invariably held out to the end; the night was so long, it was always so dreary to come home and find herself alone. But shouldn’t they go in and watch the two turners?
And they all went into the hall.
As they sit there, a tall bearded man comes walking down the center aisle. He is carrying a violin case in his hand. It’s the organist; he had performed his numbers and was ready to leave. Pausing to say hello, he immediately starts a conversation with Nagel about the violin. Sure enough, Miniman had been to see him and offered to buy it, but that was out of the question; it was an heirloom, so dear to him that he regarded it just as a little person. It even had his name on it. Anybody could see it was no ordinary violin.... And he carefully opens the case.
There lies the delicate dark-brown instrument, neatly packed in pink silk, its strings swathed in cotton wool.
It looked nice, didn’t it? And the three initials in tiny little Cape rubies here at the upper end of the fingerboard stood for Gustav Adolf Christensen. No, it would be wrong to sell a thing like that! What would then be left to be happy about on days when time hung heavy on one’s hands? It was something else if it was only a question of trying it out for a moment, making a stroke or two—.
No, Nagel didn’t want to try it out.
All the same, by now the organist had taken the instrument completely out of its case, and while the two turners were doing their final springs and the public applauded around the hall, he went on talking about this remarkable violin, which had been handed down through three generations. It was light as a feather—“feel it yourself, go on and hold it....”
And Nagel, too, thought it was light as a feather. But once he had gotten hold of the violin, he began turning it around and fingering the strings. With the air of a semi-connoisseur, he said, “It’s a Mittelwalder, I see.” But its being a Mittelwalder wasn’t difficult to find out, since it was evident from a printed label on the back of the sound box. So why this air of being a connoisseur? Then, when the turners were gone and nobody applauded anymore, he rises; without speaking, not a word, he puts out his hand for the bow. The next moment, as they are all about to get up from their seats and leave the hall, with noise and loud conversation all around, he suddenly begins to play, little by little commanding general silence. This small broad-shouldered man who appeared in the middle of the hall in a loud yellow suit, struck everybody with amazement. And what did he play? A ballad, a barcarole, a dance, a Hungarian dance by Brahms, a passionate potpourri—playing with a raw, swelling sound that penetrated everywhere. As he tilted his head sharply to one side, the entire scene took on an air of near-mystery, what with his sudden unscheduled appearance in the middle of the dimly lighted hall, his conspicuous exterior, and a bewildering, frenzied finger technique which produced the image of a wizard. He went on for several minutes, with the public still motionless in their seats; then, standing stock-still, with only his arm moving and his head tilted as before, he switched to a weighty, powerful pathos, a fortissimo passage with the force of a fanfare. Having turned up so unexpectedly, catching even the program committee off guard, he took these ordinary townspeople and peasants by storm. They couldn’t figure it out—in their eyes this performance became much better than it actually was, better than everything else, that’s how excellent it seemed, though he was playing with reckless vehemence. But after four or five minutes had elapsed, he suddenly produced some ghastly strokes, a desperate howl, a sound of woe so intolerable, so shocking, that nobody knew any longer where he was going; he made three or four such strokes and then abruptly broke off. He removed the violin from under his chin and ceased playing.
A full minute passed before people collected themselves; finally they burst into a wild applause, which went on and on, mingled with cries of bravo—some jumped on their seats and shouted bravo. The organist accepted his violin with a deep bow, patted it with his hand and put it gently down; then he took Nagel’s hand and thanked him repeatedly. In the midst of the general pandemonium, Dr. Stenersen came rushing up, grabbed Nagel by the arm and exclaimed, “God damn it, man, you do play, despite everything—despite everything!”
Miss Andresen, sitting next to him, was still looking at him, quite flabbergasted. “Why, you told us you couldn’t play!” she said.
“And I can’t,” he replied, “not much, nothing worth speaking of, and I frankly admit it. If you only knew how false, how little authentic, it was! But I made it look very authentic, didn’t I? Heh-heh-heh, one has to make the world sit up and take notice, one mustn’t cramp one’s style! ... But shouldn’t we get back to our drinks? And, please, ask Miss Gude to join us!”
They returned to their tables. Everyone was still taken up with this mysterious person who had so dazzled them; even Mr. Reinert paused for a moment and told him in passing, “I want to thank you for being so kind as to invite me to a bachelor party at your place the other evening. I couldn’t come, I was engaged; but I’m very grateful, it was awfully kind of you.”
“But why did you make those terrible strokes at the end?” Miss Andresen asked.
“I don’t really know,” Nagel replied. “But that’s how it turned out. I wanted to catch a devil by the tail.”
Dr. Stenersen again came up to offer his compliments, and once more Nagel replied that his playing was sheer farce, humbug, full of cheap effects; if they only knew how mediocre it was! The double fingerings were false, oh yes, most of them were a bit off key, he was quite aware of it but couldn’t do any better-he’ d been out of practice for so long.2
More and more stragglers came by their table; they sat there to the very last minute, while people were streaming out. By the time they got up to go, the lights in the hall were being turned out. It was two-thirty in the morning.
Nagel leaned over to Martha and whispered, “I’ll have to walk you home, don’t you think? I want to tell you something.”
He hastened to pay his bill, said good night to Miss Andresen and followed Martha out. She had no coat, only an umbrella, which she tried to hide because it was so full of holes. As they left, Nagel noticed that Miniman was watching them with a pained, lingering look in his eyes. His face was even more twisted than usual.3
They went straight to Martha’s house. Nagel peered about him, but there was no one to be seen. “If you let me come in for a moment, I would be very grateful,” he said.
She hesitated. “It’s so late,” she said.
“You know I’ve promised never to hurt you in any way. I must talk to you.”
She opened the door.
Once inside, she lighted a candle, while he again hung something before the window. He remained silent until she was ready for him, whereupon he said, “So, did you enjoy yourself this evening?”
“Yes, thank you!” she replied.
“Well, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. Come and sit a little closer. You mustn’t be afraid of me, will you promise me that? Good, let’s shake hands on it.”
She gave him her hand, and he didn’t relinquish it.
“Now, you don’t believe I’m a liar, do you, that I would lie to you? I want to tell you something. So you don’t believe I would lie to you??
??
“No.”
“Good. I’ll explain it all to you eventually, don’t worry.... But how firm is your belief in me? I mean, how far are you prepared to go in your belief? Rubbish! What nonsense I’m talking! But, you see, it is a rather difficult matter. Would you believe me, for instance, if I told you I’m very—that I’m really very fond of you? Well, you must’ve noticed that yourself. But what if I went a bit further, I mean ... In short, I simply want to ask you to be my wife. Yes, my wife, there I’ve said it. Not just my sweetheart, but my wife.... God help me, how you take on! No, no, let me keep your hand; I can explain myself far better than that, it’ll all be perfectly clear. Now, consider the possibility that you’re hearing correctly: that I’m simply, and without any beating around the bush, proposing to you, and also that I really mean every word I say—consider this possibility first and then allow me to continue. Good! How old are you? O-o-h, I wasn’t going to ask about that; but I’m twenty-nine myself, well beyond the age of fluttering frivolity. You may be four, five, six years older, that doesn’t mean—”
“I’m twelve years older,” she says.
“Twelve years older!” he exclaims, delighted that she’s paying attention, that she isn’t losing her head completely. “So, you’re twelve years older, that’s splendid, it’s simply grand! You don’t think, do you, that twelve years is an obstacle? Why, you must be mad! But however that may be—even if you were three times twelve years older, what difference would it make, as long as I’m in love with you and mean every word that passes my lips at this moment? I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, well, not that long, but for several days anyway, that’s the truth; for heaven’s sake, believe me, I implore you. I’ve been thinking about it for a number of days and spent sleepless nights because of it. You have such strange eyes, I was drawn by them from the moment I saw you; I could be drawn to the world’s end by a pair of eyes. Once an old man, alas, dragged me around a forest for half a night by his eyes alone. The man was possessed—. Well, that’s another story. But your eyes have affected me. Do you remember the day you were standing here in the middle of the room watching me as I passed by? You didn’t turn your head, you only followed me with your eyes, I’ll never forget it. But once I met you and had a chance to talk to you, I was also moved by your smile. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody laugh with such heartfelt warmth as you; but that’s something you don’t know about, which is just the wonder and the beauty of it, that you don’t know about it.... Oh, what frightful drivel I’m talking. I can hear it well enough, but I have the feeling that I must talk continuously, otherwise you won’t believe me, and that makes me confused.4 If only you didn’t sit there like that, about to take off—I mean, ready to get up and go—I would do better right away. Please let me hold your hand again, then I’ll be sure to speak more lucidly. There, thank you! ... You see, all I really want from you is what I’ve just told you, nothing more; I have no ulterior motives. So what have I said that you find so disconcerting? You can’t fathom how I came up with this crazy idea, you can’t understand that I—that I—really want to, right? And you don’t think it possible, that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”