“Did you. …”
“Hold your tongue and do as I tell you! She’ll be jealous and ask you whether you were present. Of course you weren’t, for there was no party. You’ll both express discontent, become good friends and slander me; I know you’re an expert at it. But you must praise my wife. Do you understand?”
“No; not quite.”
“Well, it’s not necessary that you should; all you’ve got to do is to carry out my orders. Another thing—tell Nyström that I’ve grown so proud that I don’t want to have anything more to do with him. Tell him that straight out; you’ll be speaking the truth for once! No! Hold on! We’ll postpone that! You’ll go to him, speak of the importance of next Thursday; paint for him the great advantages, the many benefits, the brilliant prospects, and so on. You understand me!”
“I understand.”
“Then you take the manuscript to the printers’ and—then. …”
“We’ll kick him out!”
“If you like to call it that, I have no objection.”
“And am I to read the verses to your guests and distribute them?”
“Hm—yes! And another thing! Try to meet my brother; find out all you can about his circumstances and friends! Make up to him, worm yourself into his confidence—the latter’s an easy job—become his friend! Tell him that I’ve cheated him, tell him that I am proud, and ask him how much he’ll take for changing his name.”
A tinge of green, representing a blush, spread over Levin’s pale face.
“That’s ugly,” he said.
“What? And besides—one thing more! I’m a business man and I like order in all my transactions. I guarantee such and such a sum; I must pay it—that’s clear!”
“Oh, no!”
“Don’t talk rubbish! I have no security in case of death. Just sign this bond made out to the holder and payable at sight. It’s merely a formality.”
At the word “holder” a slight tremor shook Levin’s body, and he seized the pen hesitatingly, although he well knew that retreat was impossible. In imagination he saw a row of shabby, spectacled men, carrying canes in their hands, their breast-pockets bulging with stamped documents; he heard knocking at doors, running on stairs, summonses, threats, respite; he heard the clock on the town hall striking as the men shouldered their canes and led him—with clogged feet—to the place of execution, where he himself was finally released, but where his honour as a citizen fell under the executioner’s axe amid the delighted shouts of the crowd. He signed. The audience was over.
X
The Newspaper Syndicate “Grey Bonnet”
For forty years Sweden had worked for the right which every man obtains when he comes of age. Pamphlets had been written, newspapers founded, stones thrown, suppers eaten and speeches made; meetings had been held, petitions had been presented, the railways had been used, hands had been pressed, volunteer regiments had been formed; and so, in the end, with a great deal of noise, the desired object had been attained. Enthusiasm was great and justifiable. The old birchwood tables at the Opera Restaurant were transformed into political tribunes; the fumes of the reform-punch attracted many a politician, who, later on, became a great screamer; the smell of reform cigars excited many an ambitious dream which was never realized; the old dust was washed off with reform soap; it was generally believed that everything would be right now; and after the tremendous uproar the country lay down and fell asleep, confidently awaiting the brilliant results which were to be the outcome of all this fuss.
It slept for a few years, and when it awoke it was faced by a reality which suggested a miscalculation. There were murmurs here and there; the statesmen who had recently been lauded to the skies were now criticized. There were even, among the students, some who discovered that the whole movement had originated in a country which stood in very close relationship to the promoter of the Bill, and that the original could be found in a well-known handbook. But enough of it! Characteristic of these days was a certain embarrassment which soon took the form of universal discontent or, as it was called, opposition. But it was a new kind of opposition; it was not, as is generally the case, directed against the government, but against Parliament. It was a Conservative opposition including Liberals as well as Conservatives, young men as well as old; there was much misery in the country.
Now it happened that the newspaper syndicate Grey Bonnet, born and grown up under Liberal auspices, fell asleep when it was called upon to defend unpopular views—if one may speak of the views of a syndicate. The directors proposed at the General Meeting that certain opinions should be changed, as they had the effect of decreasing the number of subscribers, necessary to the continuance of the enterprise. The General Meeting agreed to the proposition, and the Grey Bonnet became a Conservative paper. But there was a but, although it must be confessed that it did not greatly embarrass the syndicate; it was necessary to have a new chief editor to save the syndicate from ridicule; that no change need be made so far as the invisible editorial staff was concerned, went without saying. The chief editor, a man of honour, tendered his resignation. The editorial management, which had long been abused on account of its red colour, accepted it with pleasure, hoping thereby, without further trouble, to take rank as a better class paper. There only remained the necessity of finding a new chief editor. In accordance with the new programme of the syndicate, he would have to possess the following qualifications: he must be known as a perfectly trustworthy citizen;
