Chapter 4
“Olsen, Olsinis, Olsini, Olsinem, Olsen! Olsine,” — conjugated Johannes Ortvedt.Markus Olvarius Markussen laughed in high glee. “Yes, that is right!” he said, “Olsen goes after the third! Olsen, Olsinis — ha-ha-ha! Ortvedt is a man with ideas!”
Daniel did not like to be conjugated, but he laughed as good naturedly as he could; he knew it was useless to be angry. “And there is Olsen the second!” shouted Markus Olivarius Markussen, who was also a man with ideas.
In came a young, tall fellow with stooped shoulders and a long neck, face flushed with tuberculosis. “No, thanks,” he said with a deep voice that would not have expected from such a thin fellow, “You shall regret this! ‘the second’ I’m too tall to be, you see.” He dropped his book, took Daniel under the arm, and dragged him to the middle of the floor with him, singing with such a cracking voice and big theatrical gestures.
“I – am – Olsen the first, Olsen the
first, Olsen the first;
He – is – Olsen the second, Olsen the
second, Olsen the second –
– Both are wise men.”Markus Olivarius Markussen laughed in great glee. Johannes Ortvedt joined in; his eyes laughed, and his beard laughed, and the whole man laughed; for he knew that Markussen will now come with the conjugation.
And Markussen came with the conjugation. After this, could Mr. Olsen the first conjugate “Olsen”?
More and more came. One by one, two by two, just woken up and pale, looking tired; sleepiness was in their eyes; many said: “phew”! I am so tired in the head today.” And for each arrival, the rtvedske conjugation was repeated, and Markus Olivarius Markusen laughed in great glee.
The “academic quarter” (1) was nearly over, the boys came in groups. Some sat down at their places silent and remote, opened a book, locked inside himself; the other groups gathered around.
“Olsines” and the big conjugation. There comes Hans Haugum. “Haugum! Haugum! should the whole group in chorus; but Olsen the first had caught Daniel up from the floor and shouted to the class with his unbelievable bass voice; “Gentlemen! Here presented to the chattering assembly, that you, one for all and all for one, applaud and accept Olsen the second of the dynasty Grisenburg as my legal and illegal last name in all ways —” He didn’t go any further. “Yes, this Olsen!” said Haugum; he turned to Daniel and asked him if he did not have a farm name that he could use. Daniel remembered his old Sourbread trouble, m-no he said, the farm name was quite useless. “What was the name of the farm?” asked Haugum. Daniel squirmed “oh...” “He is not named Tamperud where I come from?” asked Olsen the first; everyone laughed. “No,” smiled Daniel; he wondered at these easterners who would say such things. “No, let us hear,” said Haugum; he wondered at this westerner who was so slow in responding. “The farm is named Sørbrød” said Daniel, “Sørbrød, that is strange. Do the people over there say Sørbrød?” “Folks –; they say ... “ – “Folks said Sørbraut,” butted in Markus Olvarius; he could speak country speech. “Yes,” said Daniel; “they say Sørbraut.” “So, the farm is named Sørbraut then,” concluded Haugum, “and should that not be good enough?” – “Sørbraut?” asked Daniel with huge eyes? Of course! Sørbraut! “Sørbraut is a good named,” decided Markus Olivarius, “but Sørbrød – ha-ha-ha-ha! Søerbrøzz” – he mimicked in Danish –, “Sourbread”, lightly laughed Johannes Ortvedt. Daniel blushed, but recovered when he then saw that no one noticed it. Markus Olivarius talked knowingly about Norwegian farm names and Danish district judges; but Haugum went on. Sørbraut was a good and Norwegian name that he should use; – “isn’t that so, Rud?” he shouted to one who had just come in and still stood and laid his books down. “Is the farm named Sørbraut?” asked Rud. “Yes!” “So, is there also a Nordbraut?” They looked at Daniel, “yes,” he said, “but a long way off...” “That is the same,” decided Rud; “Braut is the name of the farm; and Braut he should be named.” Rud sat down amid general approval. Daniel though to himself afterwards that “Daniel Braut” sounded nice; and he should take that name, he said – “if that’s the way it goes.”“Hoh-oh-oh! Is that so?” broke out with great noise and a hollow, gasping laughter from “the dark corner” where Aslak Fjordan had his place, “like Don Pedro then? Don Pedro de Monsen, o-oh-oh! – who changed names everytime he moved; so when they should give the bills of Monsen, he was named Larsen; and when the bills were on Larsen, then he was named Rabbestad; and when there came bills for Rabbestad, so he was named Monsen again – hoh-oh-oh-oh!” But Aslak Fjorden did not go on.
The door opened wide. And in came, big and vigorous in his long blue overcoat, serious as a senator, but with a bright gaze coming forth through grey blue, wise eyes behind eyeglasses, tall, broad, and balding, bright with spirit and wit, – “The Old Man”.
At his heels came a row of boys that came late. It was surely those who belonged to the “bottom of the barrel”, and who were alway absent; but in the latin class they came, for then there was “so much fun”. The Old Man stood firmly where he was and looked at them There came Isak Abrahamsen Opgjorden in his mohair coat with a head tangled like a crow’s nest; he had been drunk, and had not washed himself; he had forgotten his books; “you are getting undone,” said the Old Man, “like the old horse in the mountain, he!” There came the two young gentlemen Wall and Presler, freshly ironed and stiff, with top hats, lorgnettes, cigars, walking canes; they smartly lifted their hat for the “principal”, made a leap over to the desks and sat down at their places amid thundering applause. “Ha, ha ha” said the Old Man. There came Lars Risvold, a lovely quarrier’s stone, with a back like a barn door and arms like oak, square and big, steady like a chopping block; and finally, Bernt Bruvik, shining with soap washing; he lightly bowed to the Old Man, but soon understood that he been out too long.
The Old Man went to the door and locked it. Many a sinner were startled, there he sat; for now the lads remembered that it was today that the Old Man should have the money for October.
“Yes, now, boys, now you must be kind to an old man!” he said in his joking way, almost tearfully. It was not eassy to be me either, he said. There were enough of them who wanted to go to his school and the learning courses and become respectable, and receive a thorough grounding in Livius – “oh, Livius, boys!” – but so it was those shillings, you know. Yes-yes; they had certainly been nice to him all of those who could, but, dammit, that was necessary too. He was an old poor man; and today – “do you know what happened to me today, boys!” – Yes, today, that devil shot himself, the Old Man had received “a visit”, – a visit by two black clad, polite men ... “and you know well, boys, what it means to get a visit from two black clad polite men in the morning? And if you don’t know, so by god, you will never know of it. Have you the money, boys?”
The boys laughed. And they who had the money came up with them. Pockets and purses were turned inside out; one found two dalar; another found three; some were rich and came up with the full five; and the Old One gathered everything he got as if he were afraid they would take it away. But those who did not have anything clammed up and tried to hide themselves. Or they stood up and excused themselves the best they could.
Among the last there was one that impressed Daniel by the way he excused hmself; it was Bernt Bruvik. He told at story that was believable and reasonable, confident that he would manage with an honest face and trusting eyes, that one came to thank him for his good words, whether he believed him or not.
Daniel envied this boy the gift to hold up himself but he thought mainly about the Old Man. If people could take money matters as he did, so would the world be so far from difficult to handle as it is.
The Old Man opened the door again; the latin lesson was continued.
Latin lessons like these were something Daniel had never dreamt of; the laint was directly full of spirit. Yes, the grammar itself had life. It was as Haugum said that the Old Man was a wizard.
Today he took hold of Mr. Presler’s walking stick and set himself to playing with it; he used the stick like a bow, and with the other hand he played along the neck of an imaginary fiddle a fine folk dance. And so he sang, “Amo - amas - amat - amamus - amatis - amant!” The boys sang with him, all who could do it with some seriousness. “Shall we do it one more time?” “Oh, yes, Amo, amas, amat! amamus, amatis, amant!” But when the boys would do it themselves, the Old Man sat and “accompanied”, and so it ended up in a mess. “No, I shall do it again”, he said, and he continued anew. And when this did not help, he threw away “the bow”, gripped his nose with a finger and read “amo” in a voice and a face alight so that the boys screamed with laughter.
He had “tricks” and countless gimmicks. But how many he had and how strange they are, he always made out something outof it. That was a “method” that nobody had before or after his time; as the method was.the man, and the man was a genius. And whether this went well or did not with his boys, they never talked with such warm sentiments as they did with Old Heltberg.
In the grammar lesson they needed help with Madvid. “Other buns” there should be, “when one day I write my own wonderful grammar that lives in a drawer in my divine cabinet, such that there will be a new era in this darkened land,” the Old Man prophesied in the language of Homer; they would soon receive an excerpt of this grammar. Meanwhile they should manage with the grammar they received in these lessons. It was a grammar like what the bards used. Sagas and pictures came like a parade; about “geniuses in language” who had come to the world and created mother tongues; about prepositions that once “stood nicely in the barn stalls”, but when they later broke out, so was everything like a Babel confusion, or else were word divisions that were not ten of but three of, “forever” there are three!” Everything was in three’s; there was even a wise man who went mad because he saw that everything was three; and now the trilogy is the highest philosophical truth.
But when he talked of the old writers, he was at his best. It was like he was a flame, crackling with spirit and images, and parables came eloquently and joy so brave and so bright like a comedy of Shakespeare.
But he was Norwegian; and Daniel was elated with how well he got the latin to fit perfectly with the Nordic spirit. When he told of “the young Cæsar” who came, saw and conquered Gallia, that ugliness which was the people’s lack of refinement, like a cow up in the hill, then that was when they felt so much at home, thought Daniel.
But he could also be classical, like the time when he told of his beloved Hortas and about life in his dearest place. There life was ideal! With crowns made of vine leaves, they lay on the table by a flowing spring and drank the pearly drops to the sound of the lyre; “that was different from like up at Romerike and growing potatoes, that, Simon Husmo!”
Today he took Livius with Lars Risvold; then they saw that he was in a good mood. Lars Risvold was a kind boy but knew nothing. He was one of those bright villagers who came in here and strugglying year in and year out but did not get anywhere; ate up and wasted first the little they owned and then everything that their family and kinfolk could prove, and finally every shilling they cold borrow, as they were regarded at home as big lights and at the church where they stood as number.
Most of these ended up at “The Factory”. For today, the lesson on Livius was about Lartem Porsinnam. “This is exactly something for you, Lars,” said the Old Man; “what is Lartem i nominative?” But Lars could not manage it. And the old Man moaned, “She is great today; she was the troll magic he was always fighting--lack of refinement. Yes, yes,” he added, “Now is also the worst time. When she comes in from the mountains in the autumn, then she is fat, and then she is mooing, ‘Oh, but, the devil take me, I am not in the least afraid to go in to the stall!” He straigtened up and he continued with Livius.
But then Lars translated Consilium as a folk assembly. The Old Man stood up. He hobbled across the floor, twisted himself and moaned. “Oh, God, help me, poor man. It is not possible for me to live in this world.” If you happen, Lars, to hear that there came into the city a man named Krag, and that you came down the street and saw a crow sitting on horseshit, will you so kindly take off your cap and greet the crow and say ‘how do you do, honorable Mr. Krag, welcome to the city?’ No. But that is what you are doing here, Lars! You are taking the crow for Krag, Lars! Remember this, Lars, Consilium with s is not the same as Concilium with c. Oh, me, poor man! Oh, these chaps who can’t learn anything. I might as well get myself a place at Mangelsgården at once!” And he he continued with a tearful voice and loud moaning. “What is consilium with s, Lars?” What is consilium with s, Lars Risvold? Consilium with s, that is a group of people seeking counsel together, Lars Risvold! That is collectively seeking counsel, Lars! Remember that now and don’t let an old man starve to death for your sake! But Consilium with c , “he said firmly, “that is senate, that is a people’s assembly, that is where Cicero talks with Catilina and Cato against Carthage, do you remember that, Lars Risvold? Yes, sit down now, Lars! Oh! oh!” Sit down now and be ashamed, Lars, because you -- oh! oh! oh!” -- the Old Man got an asthmatic fit and coughed as if he would choke -- “could not distinguish between - oh! oh! oh!” . The cough overcame the old man.
Another came up and it went better. But when they down further in the page, there stod: nisi, quanta vi civitates libertatem expetunt, tanta regna reges defendant -- then he stood helpless; he took tanta for regna. (2)Then the Old Man got up again, “Listen, my kind Halvor Mosebø! If you went on a road and met first a fine lady and then a student, and then a pig, and you immediately after found a fine silk parasol lying on the road, would you take the parasol to the pig and say, “Excuse me, your honor, you have lost your parasol? No, Halvor, you wouldn’t be so stupid. You will hasten down the street until you meet the young lady, and so you shall bow and be pleasant; excuse me, Miss, but you have lost your umbrella! Of course you would, Halvor. But here you go to the pig with the parasol, take tanta for regna because regna stands closest. But tanta belongs to vi; quanta vi, Halvor Mosebø!” The boys laughed, but they understood. And they could not easily forget such a lesson.
At last the Old Man went into the content of what “Tarkvinius Superbus or Tarkvinius Bigmouth” had said, and gave a lecture about Rome and Roman politics, which was the most spirited that Daniel had heard in his time. Finally, he got up and waved his hand, “Now we are finished,” he said solemnly. “Now we are, by God! -- comletely finished, now we can continue.” And he sat down and went through the lesson for the next day.
Daniel lived in an attic at Aker street. The room was not small, but it had a low slanting roof; the small windows opened through the low roof. There were enough edges and corners and Daniel had a view that consisted of a couple of house roofs and some chimneys. But he liked it here. The room was comfortable and cozy, and the limited view made him feel safe and well hidden.
In a way he also liked the city. It was not as he had though; it was small and everything was mostly gray; as far as Homansby area, it was unbelievably as simple as everywhere else. But for Daniel everything was new and therefore wonderful. The only portion of big street that the city had ran from the Storting building to the royal palace was delightful with all the shops and trees and the royal casteway up like a broad wall, so that he did not miss his own marble dreams so much yet. (3)
It was probably how a big city looks like. Those who were responsible for the city buildings surely knew how it should be.
The dream about going somewhere big and wonderful was quickly disappearing. He saw nothing that reminded him of a fairytale. People looked very ordinary and if he, now and then, saw a nice carriage, he knew that inside sat nobody more important than a big merchant.
But one thing annoyed him: people were smug about it all. He .thought that they secretly laughed at him; and if he went into a shop or if he wanted a quarter pound of snuff at a tobacco shop, it seemed that the men at the bar and the ladies at the cigar counter looked proud and smug, such that he was both shy and tonguetied. It was becaue he couldn’t yet speak the city dialect well enough. But that should come soon.
The only fun he had was when on Sunday afternoons at dusk, he could be with Haugum and Aslak Fjordan and stroll up and down “Karl Johan” [street]. Then he felt free and like a small happy boy, he walked and stared at all the fine folk who moved in and out of the row of houses like fish under a riverbank. Now and then, there were finaly dressed girls — they looked like real young ladies—who looked at him with such eyes that he felt warm at the roots of his heart; and then the old fairytale dreams rose up in him again. But the young laides always went their own way and he never heard anything from them.
It was seldom that he could take a stroll because they have such an unreasonable load at the Factory, that one has to read day and night if one were to catch up with the lessons. Besides, Daniel had learned to smoke; it went with being a student. And so he sat most of the time at the “studio flat” and read; smoked and read so that he got a pain in the head. It was tough, but it was manly; as he could feel that he was studying. Proudly he wrote home that he read so that it almost ruined his health.
Daniel had two friends from the old das—Ole Bentsen and Peter Dirk, who were now in the highest grade. Peter Dirk looked almost as he had always been, modest and nice. But Ole Bentsen had grown pious. He had come to live with a pious shoemaker, said Johannes Ortvedt; “and he had understood that he could live for half the cost if he converted himself; so, naturally, he became a convert,” said Johannes. Daniel could see that Ole Bentsen had a different touch. The quiet chubby face had matured and looked serious; and the small cold gray eyes tried to look affectionate. And Daniel soon understood that Ole Bentsen had thoughts about saving him also. It was uncomfortable. Daniel would not convert himself without first tasting the ideal life of a student; but that he thought so was something he did not dare admit. When Ole Bentsen started saying that the time to repent is well nigh, then Daniel would seem to be in a bad state. Finally, Bentsen gave up on him when he saw that he had come under the influence of Hans Haugum; which gladdened Daniel.
The winter was long and the lessons were tough. One could read day and night but even then, it was hopeless to catch up. Daniel was tired. Oh, that everything in the world is so heavy! Truly, there was enough of schoolwork with all its hard tasks: it was punishment for our sins.
After a time, he noticed which teachers he could “take easy” and so he took it easy with them. Not learning was something he had kown before, and he was absent from their lectures; if others did so, he might as well. He comforted himself that he had to do it.A blend of like and unlike flock it was that he had come up with. Mostly they were boys from the farm and sons of the poor; but here and there one could see sons of the affluent, like those who have been expelled from the latin school or those who for some reason found it more opportune to hit this “direct roat to the examination.” Here sat fresh, green 16-year olds together with experienced bearded guys and bald at 30; respectable schoolmasters sat together with happy sailors, pious men like Ole Bentsen sat down with profligates and madmen who did not have anything else to do but look for fun. If one viewed the whole flock as one, it had something of a worried and lost look; a touch of burden and worries, of bad days or night life; many were badly dressed with dirty collars and cuffs, with the bottom of the trousers trodded by the heels, with worn shoes, with ill fitting hats: at the fireplace sat a boy with his winter coat on even when it was glowing hot; the thing was that the boy had a hole in his pants in a place ... where one should not have a hole; and which he could not hide in any other way. Many looked starved; and those who tried to catch up went about locked into themselves, heavy and tired because of staying up all night and working too hard, so they they were not completely themselves. The longer it lasted, the heavier it went; there was less and less of good mood and jokes. “Class Spirt” that has never been strong died out, the flock broke up into smaller flocks, and they who had no flock went about alone.
Mostly they talked about how little money they had. “The one who has a coin collection!” — this theme went from morning till evening. But when they touched “a big question”, politics, nationality, belief, they could be warm and hot. From the beginning, they had gravitated into groups of opinion; there were the liberals and radicals, there were “norwegians” and “norwegian-Norwegians”, cosmopolitans and dialect advocates. In addition, there was a flock of “no opinons”, like those “who did not care about politics”. In truth, there was a difference of opinons; there were pietists, wholly among seminarians; and about Jens Rud and a couple others were said to be the “new rationalists.” But among those in the highest grade, there would be people who did not believe in anything.
But they managed as best they could. It was not easy. They came to the city young and knowing little; lost their childhood faith and had nothing to put in its stead; and couldn’t always carry such a loss. There were a lot of such rumors. Haugum said something about a Rødberg who had broken away from everything; but even worse, according to Ortvedt, was poor Olai Juberg who was one of the good guys. He looked so calm and proper that one should believe he was an innocent mother’s son, but in the most quiet waters were the worst monsters. Now he goes about with a bald head and a pale face and was surely quite ruined. Daniel was afraid to hear such things; had sent a secret prayer to God that such would not happen to him.
One of the classmates he came to like best was Hans Haugum. He was a full grown man, that Haugum; he had been a school teacher for several years. He was in to everything that was of the “popular religious movement”; in his company, Daniel rediscovered a lot of what he had learned from chaplain Hirsch and still lived by. But he did not dare show himself intense in his “popular” belief, as this was not what the capitalist Finsen or the grocer Helle would have liked .
The majority of these were people who borrowed money or were helped. One or the other managed to support themselves—Haugum, for example, had saved a little bit from his school teacher years—or had a rich father to help, like Jens Rud. Most of them led a life of poverty, “some with four dalar a month and some with nothing”, as it was said; Daniel had respect for these “hunger artists” who were to be envied. He began to slowly understand that it was not pleasant to be in debt even if the creditors were nice people.
Some of them who lived on loans had a less respectable reputation; it sometimes went completely wrong with them. Now and then they were totally empty; crawled to the priests and kind folks and invented stories and lied; and later squandred what they received; among others who were more or less “drifting” were certainly Rødberg as was mentioned.
Everyone agreed that it was best to support himself. The only thing was that it took quite a long time before reaching the goal and it takes a heavy toll on one’s health.
Were Haugum a leader of the popular religious folk, one could then say that Jens Rud was a leader of the radicals. For a long time, Daniel believed that Jens Rud was the son of a priest. He did not look like the son of a farmer; he did not have the broad, powerful image as they did; his face especially was too fine and the mouth was well formed. Finally Daniel found out that Jens Rud was the son of a big farmer up at Romerike. Even so, he could be a radical. Yes, he was a dialect advocate! (4)
Halvor Mosebø belonged to Rud’s group; a small, slouching, pale boy from a valley in Telemark with a beak nose and a pair of dark gray sulky eyes that seemed small under the thick sagging lids; but there were moments when a light flashed at the corner of the eyes; as Halvor Mosebø had a smart head. Daniel felt animosity because he knew more history than Daniel did, which made Daniel take to reading more history again. Besides “Sven Dufva”, Per Brageland, a tall guy with a neck bent all the time with two clear, frightened gazelle eyes, and innocent and kind “bookworm”, belonged to these ants who stayed silent and labored, stayed silent and labored, dug into book after book, from one examination to another, until they were given a call to be a priest nortward or southward somewhere, only because they have become so old or had a wife and children to support. About Per Brageland, Jens Rud said that “a bad head he had, but the heart, it was good”, and since then he had been named Sven Dufva. (5)
At last, they counted Markus Olivarius Markussen as belonging to “the Ruds”; mainly because he was a dialect advocate; he was a broad-shouldered fair-hared man from Trøndelag (mid-Norway), eager and fairly bright, idealistic, quick to laugh, a lively soul. He and Halvor Mosebø shared a room; and they argued and laughed; and argued and drank beer, and in all tried to keep their hopes up.
The profligates were to be found among those who have no opinions, said Haugum. There was Isak Abrahamsen Opjorden, who was taken home from school, and there was Bent Bu, a fellow who was seldom seen. Olsen the first and Simon Husmo both had their “beer bouts”; but there was worse in between. Bernt Bruvik who “always have the same opinion as the one he talks with”, went after all the serving girls he met, and every time he caught one, “he was away from school for eight days, according to the grapevine.
Now and then, Daniel got a letter from Tarald Ruste telling him that he has to save. Because saved is saved, and the country was poor; and the civil servants lived too richly. Lias wrote once and said that everything was in shambles, and that he could hardly make ends meet. Nobody wrote about the only thing that Daniel cared about: Inga. Daniel wrote twice to Judit and tried to get her to tell about what is happending down at the bellman’s farm, but the dolt did not get the hint.
The money he got was hardly enough to survive on. Sometimes the money envelopes were so small that he had to borrow. But it was not so bad; he knew he could pay. And he was always saved. The nicest people to ask for money were those who came from east Norway; those from the west were more cautious.
One day Jens Rud came with cordial greetings from chaplain Hirsch. Daniel blushed. “Do you know chaplain Hirsch?” he asked. “Yes, he is married to my sister,” answered Jens. “Oh, so?”. But Daniel felt encouraged with the greeting, and he promised himself that he should not forget his old teacher.
Spring came later here than at home. It started in March, with warm sunshine and clear sky; but then came april winter and when it ends, the warmth creeps up to the hills, and then May came with the cold northwind that lasted a long while. Yes, at last June comes with its white sun and its thick mists over the fjord and the colorful hills. And the summer bloomed in one night.
But then it becomes too hot. In the city it was like a bakery oven that one could hardly breathe.
Daniel could hardly wait for the summer holiday but it did come. It was then that it seemed all the strange birds at Heltberg’s Factory had flown away, and Daniel didn’t wait a moment longer. It would be amusing to come home as a man of Kristiania.
Inga Holm was paler now and more grown-up, but not less sweet. It was a touch of mild longing, an aura of soft dreaming that enveloped her like the veil of a hulder. (6 )But why was she so pale, this young maiden? Did she grieve? Did she walk around with a longing for which there is no word? Could she not sleep at night because of thoughts about a friend? And Daniel felt his heart furiously beating with sweet streams of such a thought; maybe it was him that she pined for in secret. But... if there was another. And was that not possible?
Then it was grey and cold around Daniel. And inside his chest it was likewise gray cold and empty, with small, knife-life pains.
When he went to church, he now sat at the schoolmaster’s chair, as a recognition of his having climbed up from the plebian class. And he sat there, showing off for Inga Holm, from a distance as in the old days. But one Sunday, there came an unexpected and wonderful thing; when the mass was ended, old bellman Holm and asked him home to dinner. (7)Daniel blushed red and was spellbound. “Thank you, thank you”, he said. Could it be Inga herself who ...! Together with one of the oldest school teachers, he followed the bellman home, with a trembling chest.
Old Holm was satisfied with Daniel. The boy was as he had always been, as far as he could see, except for the language, of course. He had kept the healthy foundation that he got from home; and he had not become a snob. He agreed with the bellman in everything; old Holm was very proud to be in the company of a man who could soon be called a student.
Mon’s school teacher was quiet most of the time. Now and then he came up with a little question about something or other that he had long wanted to ask from educated people. Daniel answered graciously about what he knew and also of what he did not know, and bellman Holm and Mon’s school teacher wondered how great his wisdom was. But it was mostly Hans Haugum’s wisdom that Daniel repeated.
He became silent when they arrived at the bellman’s farm. Everything was so strange; there lay a mist, a pall over everything; as if everything stared at him and thanked him for the last meeting, or drew awaw in dismay. But an old hen went cackling and puffing her chest and clearly said again and again: suitor? suitor? suitor?
Daniel blushed and felt warm. But he went in, greeted the old mother; and it went well. He greeted Inga; but it didn’t go well. He was unable to look at her; there was a sort of cloud before his eyes, or he simply couldn’t bring himself to look up. But the worst was that he could not say a word. He stood and was silent like a big fool. He was angry at himself.
At the dinner table, he was more sure of himself, as he had gotten a glass of beer. And so he was prattling east and west; he told, invented and borrowed stories and he lied; it was just about one thing: that Inga should find it amusing. But in his own ears what he said was like an empty whirring.
After dinner it was the smoking pipe. It was good that he had learned how to smoke; he was sitting with the bellman far into the evening. Inga sat such that he couldn’t see her from his rocking chair, but he knew that she was inside and it was cozy in here. A pleasant living room such as this one he had never seen. And such a garden with such flowers, and with leaves that quivered in the summer wind like a sweet whispering that is not of this world.
But Daniel had other places to visit. He had to go to the sheriff and there he ought to be not too little of a “Jaabæk”. There was no way out of it, as sheriff Ruste had been so good to him. And next Sunday he had to go to the grocer. There it would be even worse. There would be a dinner party and he must sit where everybody could see him and be exhibited. ”Hm, our protegé”, said the grocer. “We are supporting him a bit. We are helping him through, you see. Just a farmer’s boy but with good aptitudes”, add the principal. “No manners, as you can see; but that would improve,” Daniel was sweating. And it was not improved when one of the guests who wanted to be “pleasant” by flattering the grocer for his kindness, and urged Daniel to be grateful to such a “benevolent” man. Daniel lost his appetite completely. During the rest of the dinner, Daniel sat and picked at his food and listened with only half an ear, while a priest and a public clerk cursed the life of Jaabæk and whined about how meager it had been for the civil servants.
As soon as they had left the table, Daniel wanted to escape. But he could not manage it. He should “please, have coffee.” Besides, the grocer said that it would teach him proper manners in such fine company, so he could then learn social graces. Daniel had “to join in”, because grocer Helle had a use for his protegé. He was asked about this and that; and when then went into politics, the same “pleasant” guest, the reverend Ring, said that he hoped that Daniel was not a Jaabæk man. Daniel “had not thought much about politics,” and that, said the reverend Ring was right; the grocer meant also that the youth should refrain from such things. “But Jaabæk man he will not become,” added the grocer with a smile. “So much confidence have I in this boy!”
With Finsen it was another matter; Finsen did not care about politics. But he wanted to know if Daniel had found his Savior; it was not easy to get away from this either. At last he got a long lecture about seeking the Savior in his youth. And then Finsen came with his own idea: if Daniel might want think about the mission. “This is not to say, dear friend, that I am putting pressure on you about this,” said Mr. Finsen, but... he would be able to help Daniel with so much pleasure if the Good Lord turned him towards mission work. Wouldn’t it be wonderful and great to join in building the Christian church in Zulu land? Wouldn’t it be such blessed work to bring the message of salvation out into the world to them who are still in darkness and in the shade of death? Daniel was speechless. Then he thought of an idea that might save him: “Mother doesn’t want me to,” he said. Thus he escaped. And he thought he had done well. His mother thought the same when he told her about it.
When he was back in Kristiana that autumn, he heard that the grocer Helle had played out his cards. Daniel was worried but not disheartened. Then he was rid of that guardian. But immediately after, he received a letter from the sheriff that he must make do with less money than before, his gladness ebbed.
At the school everything went as before. But four of the boys were out: Wall, Presler, Simon Husmon, and Bernt Bruvik. The latter, they said, had married the daughter of a rich butcher and he would become a merchant. But two new ones have arrived; two who had failed the examination. One was named Gregus Johnsen, a long pale fellow whom they said was a poet; he had even written a poem that was published in “The Post.” The other was old Wonder Bø. His name was really Underbø, but he had been popularly known and ”rebaptized” as such, because he had “for almost a generation” been around and continued failing to graduate. But no matter how long he had been failing and how bad it went for him, he kept on going and kept on going, resilient as a rubber ball. Now he was advanced in years so, for fun, they told him that he had a son who was a student, and was studying with his father “at examination time” in order to “help the young man through.” Everybody believed that Wonder Bø would go just like a new “Jersusalem’s shoemaker” and keep on failing till the end of time.
More than ever Daniel nurtured his beloved maiden in his lonely dreams. He revived again and again the hour of sunshine in the bellman’s farm; and from that he made long fairy tales that always ended in a white priest’s farm. But as autumn went by, these dreams became less fervent.That autumn, a new servant girl came to the house. She was from western Norway and her name was Berta Maria. She was a decent girl, good-hearted and kind, with a soft face that was round and smiling and as tempting as a pancake. Daniel looked at this girl and liked her. He did not dare speak to her, but he likes looking at her. Soon he also began thinking about her when he did not see her.
He did not want anything from her! But if he had enough of Bruvik’s tricks, he would made her acquaintance in all decency and honor, because it had become more pleasant in his studio room. But Daniel did not have any of Bruvik’s tricks. He did not even dare offer Berta Maria a ticket to the theater.
Even so, he was happy that she was here. Eventually he thought of her as much as he did of Inga. It was a different thing, as Berta Maria was mrely a servant girl, and Inga Holm was the ideal. But still he wondered why she was so much in his thoughts.
It was impossible for Daniel to manage on the money he received; he started getting into small debts. For the summer he needed new clothes too. He wrote to the sheriff about this, but he did not get any reply. Finally, there came a letter, but it was from Finsen. And this letter wrote that the Lord in his mercy had called the sheriff home to Him. And Finsen said that the old man had died peacefully. He had no doubt that this soul had been saved, and for this we, Daniel not least of all, should praise the Lord.
Yes, Daniel could join in that praise. But how about the new clothes, then? Finsen did not write a word about it. On the contrary, he wrote that he was now the only one helping Daniel and that he should hold out until the final examination and after that, the Good Lord, must take over. Throughout the autumn, Finsen would support a boy at the mission school, and more than that he could not afford.
Daniel went cold. It seemed to be destined that when he had reached high enough to become a student, it was only to come down to the absolute bottom again.
NOTES
(1) academic quarter: the first 15 minutes of class as the time within which the teacher arrives at the classroom without being considered late is known a the academic quarter; students make it a point to be in class before the end of this quarter.
(2) nisi, quanta vi civitates libertatem expetunt, tanta regna reges defendant— if the kings will not defend their kingdoms as powerfully as the farmer class seeks freedom ....
(3) Storting: Parliament of Norway; "ting" means assembly "stor" means big; "storting " means grand or great assembly
(4) dialect advocate - a person who advocates the use of nynorsk instead of the Danish-based riksmål.
(5) “a bad head he had, but the heart, it was good” is a line from a Finnish poem “Tales of Ensign Staal” by Johan Ludvig Runeberg that characerized the soldier Sven Dufva
(6) hulder: in norsk folktales, a hulder is a beautiful woman with a tail who seduce men that will marry them. It is said that when a hulder comes to the church for the wedding, her tail disappears and she becomes human; but if she does not marry, then the man goes with her to her abode under the earth and becomes a part of that unknown world.(7) bellman: assistant to the priest