Diary of a Pilgrimage [13]
a trip through the fiords last summer.
Of course, the man did not understand; but I am accustomed to witnessing the confusion of foreigners when addressed in their native tongue, and so forgave him--especially as, the victuals being well within reach, language was a matter of secondary importance.
I took two cups of coffee, as usual--one for B., and one for myself- -and, bringing them to the table, looked round for B. I could not see him anywhere. What had become of him? I had not seen him, that I could recollect, for hours. I did not know where I was, or what I was doing. I had a hazy knowledge that B. and I had started off together--whether yesterday or six months ago, I could not have said to save my life--with the intention, if I was not mistaken, of going somewhere and seeing something. We were now somewhere abroad-- somewhere in Norway was my idea; though why I had fixed on Norway is a mystery to me to this day--and I had lost him!
How on earth were we ever to find each other again? A horrible picture presented itself to my mind of our both wandering distractedly up and down Europe, perhaps for years, vainly seeking each other. The touching story of Evangeline recurred to me with terrible vividness.
Something must be done, and that immediately. Somehow or another I must find B. I roused myself, and summoned to my aid every word of Scandinavian that I knew.
It was no good these people pretending that they did not understand their own language, and putting me off that way. They had got to understand it this time. This was no mere question of coffee and rolls; this was a serious business. I would make that waiter understand my Scandinavian, if I had to hammer it into his head with his own coffee-pot!
I seized him by the arm, and, in Scandinavian that must have been quite pathetic in its tragic fervour, I asked him if he had seen my friend--my friend B.
The man only stared.
I grew desperate. I shook him. I said:
"My friend--big, great, tall, large--is he where? Have you him to see where? Here?"
(I had to put it that way because Scandinavian grammar is not a strong point with me, and my knowledge of the verbs is as yet limited to the present tense of the infinitive mood. Besides, this was no time to worry about grace of style.)
A crowd gathered round us, attracted by the man's terrified expression. I appealed to them generally. I said:
"My friend B.--head, red--boots, yellow, brown, gold--coat, little squares--nose, much, large! Is he where? Him to see--anybody-- where?"
Not a soul moved a hand to help me. There they stood and gaped!
I repeated it all over again louder, in case anybody on the outskirts of the mob had not heard it; and I repeated it in an entirely new accent. I gave them every chance I could.
They chatted excitedly among themselves, and, then a bright idea seemed to strike one of them, a little more intelligent-looking than the rest, and he rushed outside and began running up and down, calling out something very loudly, in which the word "Norwegian" kept on occurring.
He returned in a few seconds, evidently exceedingly pleased with himself, accompanied by a kindly-looking old gentleman in a white hat.
Way was made in the crowd, and the old gentleman pressed forward. When he got near, he smiled at me, and then proceeded to address to me a lengthy, but no doubt kindly meant, speech in Scandinavian.
Of course, it was all utterly unintelligible to me from beginning to end, and my face clearly showed this. I can grasp a word or two of Scandinavian here and there, if pronounced slowly and distinctly; but that is all.
The old gentleman regarded me with great surprise. He said (in Scandinavian, of course):
"You speak Norwegian?"
I replied, in the same tongue:
"A little, a very little--VERY."
He seemed not only disappointed, but indignant. He explained the matter to the crowd, and they all seemed indignant.
WHY everybody should be indignant with me I could not comprehend. There are plenty of people who do not understand
Of course, the man did not understand; but I am accustomed to witnessing the confusion of foreigners when addressed in their native tongue, and so forgave him--especially as, the victuals being well within reach, language was a matter of secondary importance.
I took two cups of coffee, as usual--one for B., and one for myself- -and, bringing them to the table, looked round for B. I could not see him anywhere. What had become of him? I had not seen him, that I could recollect, for hours. I did not know where I was, or what I was doing. I had a hazy knowledge that B. and I had started off together--whether yesterday or six months ago, I could not have said to save my life--with the intention, if I was not mistaken, of going somewhere and seeing something. We were now somewhere abroad-- somewhere in Norway was my idea; though why I had fixed on Norway is a mystery to me to this day--and I had lost him!
How on earth were we ever to find each other again? A horrible picture presented itself to my mind of our both wandering distractedly up and down Europe, perhaps for years, vainly seeking each other. The touching story of Evangeline recurred to me with terrible vividness.
Something must be done, and that immediately. Somehow or another I must find B. I roused myself, and summoned to my aid every word of Scandinavian that I knew.
It was no good these people pretending that they did not understand their own language, and putting me off that way. They had got to understand it this time. This was no mere question of coffee and rolls; this was a serious business. I would make that waiter understand my Scandinavian, if I had to hammer it into his head with his own coffee-pot!
I seized him by the arm, and, in Scandinavian that must have been quite pathetic in its tragic fervour, I asked him if he had seen my friend--my friend B.
The man only stared.
I grew desperate. I shook him. I said:
"My friend--big, great, tall, large--is he where? Have you him to see where? Here?"
(I had to put it that way because Scandinavian grammar is not a strong point with me, and my knowledge of the verbs is as yet limited to the present tense of the infinitive mood. Besides, this was no time to worry about grace of style.)
A crowd gathered round us, attracted by the man's terrified expression. I appealed to them generally. I said:
"My friend B.--head, red--boots, yellow, brown, gold--coat, little squares--nose, much, large! Is he where? Him to see--anybody-- where?"
Not a soul moved a hand to help me. There they stood and gaped!
I repeated it all over again louder, in case anybody on the outskirts of the mob had not heard it; and I repeated it in an entirely new accent. I gave them every chance I could.
They chatted excitedly among themselves, and, then a bright idea seemed to strike one of them, a little more intelligent-looking than the rest, and he rushed outside and began running up and down, calling out something very loudly, in which the word "Norwegian" kept on occurring.
He returned in a few seconds, evidently exceedingly pleased with himself, accompanied by a kindly-looking old gentleman in a white hat.
Way was made in the crowd, and the old gentleman pressed forward. When he got near, he smiled at me, and then proceeded to address to me a lengthy, but no doubt kindly meant, speech in Scandinavian.
Of course, it was all utterly unintelligible to me from beginning to end, and my face clearly showed this. I can grasp a word or two of Scandinavian here and there, if pronounced slowly and distinctly; but that is all.
The old gentleman regarded me with great surprise. He said (in Scandinavian, of course):
"You speak Norwegian?"
I replied, in the same tongue:
"A little, a very little--VERY."
He seemed not only disappointed, but indignant. He explained the matter to the crowd, and they all seemed indignant.
WHY everybody should be indignant with me I could not comprehend. There are plenty of people who do not understand