Shallow Soil | Page 4

gloves and handkerchiefs, of bobbing hats and swinging canes, glides down the street along which carriages drive with ladies and gentlemen in stylish attire.
Several young gentlemen have taken their accustomed stand at "The Corner." They form a circle of acquaintances--a couple of artists, a couple of authors, a business man, an undefinable--comrades all. They are dressed variously: some have already dispensed with their overcoats, others wear long ulsters with turned-up collars as in midwinter. Everybody knows "the clique."
Some join it while others depart; there remain a young, corpulent artist by the name of Milde, and an actor with a snub nose and a creamy voice; also Irgens, and Attorney Grande of the prominent Grande family. The most important, however, is Paulsberg, Lars Paulsberg, the author of half a dozen novels and a scientific work on the Atonement. He is loudly referred to as the Poet, even though both Irgens and Ojen are present.
The Actor buttons his ulster tightly and shivers.
"No--spring-time is a little too chilly to suit me," he says.
"The contrary here!" exclaims the Attorney. "I could shout all the time; I am neighing inwardly; my blood sings a hunting chorus!" And the little stooping youth straightens his shoulders and glances secretly at Paulsberg.
"Listen to that!" says the Actor sarcastically. "A man is a man, as the eunuch said."
"What does that remark signify?"
"Nothing, God bless you! But you in your patent leathers and your silk hat hunting wolves--the idea appealed to my sense of humour."
"Ha, ha! I note the fact that Norem has a sense of humour! Let us duly appreciate it."
They spoke with practised ease about everything, had perfect control over their words, made quick sallies, and were skilled in repartee.
A number of cadets were passing.
"Did you ever see anything as flabby as these military youths!" said Irgens. "Look at them; they do not walk past like other mortals, they stalk past!"
Both Irgens and the Artist laughed at this, but the Attorney glanced quickly at Paulsberg, whose face remained immovable. Paulsberg made a few remarks about the Art Exhibition and was silent.
The conversation drifted to yesterday's performance in Tivoli, and from there to political subjects. Of course, they could refuse to pass all financial bills, but--And perhaps there was not even a sufficient majority to defeat the government budget. It certainly looked dubious-- rotten--They cited quotations from leading parliamentarians, they proposed to put the torch to the Castle and proclaim the republic without delay. The Artist threatened a general revolt of the labouring classes. "Do you know what the Speaker told me in confidence? That he never, never would agree to a compromise--rather let the Union sink or swim! 'Sink or swim,' these were his very words. And when one knows the Speaker--"
Still Paulsberg did not say anything, and as the comrades were eager to hear his opinion, the Attorney finally ventured to address him:
"And you, Paulsberg, you don't say a word?"
Paulsberg very seldom spoke; he had kept to himself and to his studies and his literary tasks, and lacked the verbal facility of his comrades. He smiled good-naturedly and answered:
"'Let your communication be Yea, yea, and Nay, nay,' you know!" At this they all laughed loudly. "But otherwise," he added, "apart from that I am seriously considering going home to my wife."
And Paulsberg went. It was his wont to go when he said he would.
But after Paulsberg's departure it seemed as if they might as well all go; there was no reason to remain now. The Actor saluted and disappeared; he hurried off in order to catch up with Paulsberg. The Painter threw his ulster around himself without buttoning it, drew up his shoulders, and said:
"I feel rotten! If a fellow could only afford a little dinner!"
"You must try and strike a huckster," said Irgens. "I struck one for a brandy this morning."
"I am wondering what Paulsberg really meant by that remark," said the Attorney. "'Your communication shall be Yea, yea, and Nay, nay'; it is evident it had a deeper meaning."
"Yes, very evident," said Milde. "Did you notice, he laughed when he said it; something must have amused him."
Pause.
A crowd of promenaders were sauntering continually up and down the street, back and forth, laughing and talking.
Milde continued:
"I have often wished that we had just one more head like Paulsberg's here in Norway."
"And why, pray?" asked Irgens stiffly.
Milde stared at him, stared at the Attorney, and burst into a surprised laugh.
"Listen to that, Grande! He asks why we need another head like Paulsberg's in this country!"
"I do," said Irgens.
But Grande did not laugh either, and Milde was unable to understand why his words failed to provoke mirth. He decided to pass it off; he began to speak about other things.
"You said you struck a huckster for brandy; you have got brandy, then?"
"As for me, I place Paulsberg so