hand with a folded newspaper. 5 There were no rings on her long white fingers. Nagel scrutinized her on the sly. Good God, how lovely she was tonight! In this light, against the background of the dark wall, her thick blond braid looked even more blond. When she was sitting down, her figure had a touch of buxomness, which disappeared when she stood up. She had a light, swinging walk, as if she used to skate a lot. 6
Nagel got up and walked over to her. 7
She had allowed her deep-blue eyes to rest on him for a moment, and he exclaimed at once, without thinking, “Good Lord, how beautiful you are!”
She was completely bewildered by such directness; she was all agape and didn’t know where to turn. Then she whispered, “Please, be reasonable!”
Shortly afterward she rose and walked over to the piano, where she began to leaf through some music, her cheeks flaming red.
The doctor, who was itching to talk politics, suddenly asked the gathering, “Have you read today’s papers? Look at Morgenbladet —it’s a damn shame what they print these days! It’s not fit reading for educated people anymore, just vulgar talk and abusive language from beginning to end.”
But since he wasn’t contradicted, the doctor couldn’t get anywhere. Being aware of that, Hansen, the lawyer, remarked, slyly and genially, “Shouldn’t we say there are faults on both sides?” 8
“Oh, but really!” the doctor cried, jumping up. “You aren’t saying, are you, that—”
The table was set. The company entered the dining room, while the doctor went on jabbering. The conversation continued at the table. Nagel, who had been seated between the hostess and Miss Olsen, the young daughter of the chief of police, didn’t take part in it. By the time they broke up from the table, they were already deep into European politics. They had expressed their opinions of the Czar, Constans, and Parnell, and when they finally came to the Balkan Question, the drunk teacher had another opportunity to throw himself upon Serbia. He had just read the Statistische Monatschrift; the conditions there were terrible, the schools completely neglected....
“There is one thing which makes me extremely happy,” the doctor said, his eyes quite moist, “namely, that Gladstone is still alive. Fill your glasses, gentlemen, and we’ll drink a toast to Gladstone, yes, to Gladstone, that great and pure democrat, a man of the present and the future.”
“Wait a moment, let us too be in on it!” cried his wife. And she filled the women’s glasses with wine, filled them to overflowing in her eagerness, and passed the tray around with trembling hands.
Then they all drank the toast.
“Well, isn’t he a real man, though!” the doctor went on, smacking his tongue. “Poor fellow, he has had a cold for a while, but hopefully it will pass. There’s no living politician I would be so reluctant to lose as Gladstone. Goodness, when I think of him he appears like a lighthouse in front of me, sending its beams all over the world! ... You look so preoccupied, Mr. Nagel, don’t you agree?”
“Beg your pardon? Of course, I completely agree with you.”
“Of course. Well, there are many things about Bismarck too that impress me, 9 but Gladstone!”
The doctor was still not being contradicted, 10 everybody knew about his blessed chatter. In the end the conversation so flagged that the doctor proposed a game of cards to pass the time. Who would like to play? But at that point Mrs. Stenersen called from the other end of the room, “Well, I never! Do you know what Mr. Ølien has just been telling me? Mr. Nagel, you haven’t always thought as highly of Gladstone as this evening, have you? Mr. Øien once heard you in Kristiania—was it in the Workers’ Association?—where you thoroughly reviled Gladstone. A fine one you are! Is this really true? Oh, just you dare, just you dare!”
Mrs. Stenersen said this in good faith, smiling and holding her finger up in jest. She
Nagel got up and walked over to her. 7
She had allowed her deep-blue eyes to rest on him for a moment, and he exclaimed at once, without thinking, “Good Lord, how beautiful you are!”
She was completely bewildered by such directness; she was all agape and didn’t know where to turn. Then she whispered, “Please, be reasonable!”
Shortly afterward she rose and walked over to the piano, where she began to leaf through some music, her cheeks flaming red.
The doctor, who was itching to talk politics, suddenly asked the gathering, “Have you read today’s papers? Look at Morgenbladet —it’s a damn shame what they print these days! It’s not fit reading for educated people anymore, just vulgar talk and abusive language from beginning to end.”
But since he wasn’t contradicted, the doctor couldn’t get anywhere. Being aware of that, Hansen, the lawyer, remarked, slyly and genially, “Shouldn’t we say there are faults on both sides?” 8
“Oh, but really!” the doctor cried, jumping up. “You aren’t saying, are you, that—”
The table was set. The company entered the dining room, while the doctor went on jabbering. The conversation continued at the table. Nagel, who had been seated between the hostess and Miss Olsen, the young daughter of the chief of police, didn’t take part in it. By the time they broke up from the table, they were already deep into European politics. They had expressed their opinions of the Czar, Constans, and Parnell, and when they finally came to the Balkan Question, the drunk teacher had another opportunity to throw himself upon Serbia. He had just read the Statistische Monatschrift; the conditions there were terrible, the schools completely neglected....
“There is one thing which makes me extremely happy,” the doctor said, his eyes quite moist, “namely, that Gladstone is still alive. Fill your glasses, gentlemen, and we’ll drink a toast to Gladstone, yes, to Gladstone, that great and pure democrat, a man of the present and the future.”
“Wait a moment, let us too be in on it!” cried his wife. And she filled the women’s glasses with wine, filled them to overflowing in her eagerness, and passed the tray around with trembling hands.
Then they all drank the toast.
“Well, isn’t he a real man, though!” the doctor went on, smacking his tongue. “Poor fellow, he has had a cold for a while, but hopefully it will pass. There’s no living politician I would be so reluctant to lose as Gladstone. Goodness, when I think of him he appears like a lighthouse in front of me, sending its beams all over the world! ... You look so preoccupied, Mr. Nagel, don’t you agree?”
“Beg your pardon? Of course, I completely agree with you.”
“Of course. Well, there are many things about Bismarck too that impress me, 9 but Gladstone!”
The doctor was still not being contradicted, 10 everybody knew about his blessed chatter. In the end the conversation so flagged that the doctor proposed a game of cards to pass the time. Who would like to play? But at that point Mrs. Stenersen called from the other end of the room, “Well, I never! Do you know what Mr. Ølien has just been telling me? Mr. Nagel, you haven’t always thought as highly of Gladstone as this evening, have you? Mr. Øien once heard you in Kristiania—was it in the Workers’ Association?—where you thoroughly reviled Gladstone. A fine one you are! Is this really true? Oh, just you dare, just you dare!”
Mrs. Stenersen said this in good faith, smiling and holding her finger up in jest. She
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