Mysteries - Knut Hamsun [88]
“You still don’t have a vest, do you?”
“No, but that’s not necessary. I’m no lord, I assure you I don’t need a vest.”
Dr. Stenersen had broken his glasses and was now wearing a pince-nez without a cord, which was constantly slipping off.
“Say what you will,” he said, “we’re certainly living in a time of liberation. Just look at the election. And compare it to the previous election.”
Everyone was drinking steadily; the teacher was already speaking in monosyllables, and that was an unfailing sign. Hansen, the lawyer, who had doubtless had a few drinks before he came, began as usual to contradict the doctor and make a nuisance of himself.
For his part, Hansen was a socialist, rather advanced, if he might say so. He wasn’t very pleased with the election. What sort of liberation did it represent, could anyone tell him that? Oh, go to hell! A nice time of liberation they were having! Wasn’t even a man like Gladstone waging a wretched war against Parnell on moral grounds, on ridiculously beefy moral grounds? Oh, go to hell!
“How can you talk such damn nonsense?” the doctor yelled instantly. “Mustn’t there be morality in things?” If people heard there was no morality in things, how many would dare rise to the bait? You had to trick and fool people to make them progress, and you constantly had to honor morality. The doctor strongly supported Parnell, but if Gladstone found him to be impossible, it was only fair to assume that he knew what he was doing. Of course, he would make an exception of Mr. Nagel, his honorable host, who couldn’t even forgive Gladstone his clear conscience. “Ha-ha-ha, good Lord! ... By the way, Mr. Nagel, you aren’t very fond of Tolstoy either, are you? I was told by Miss Kielland that you also had some scruples about recognizing him.”
Nagel, who was talking to Øien, quickly turned and replied, “I don’t recall having spoken to Miss Kielland about Tolstoy. I recognize him as a great writer and as a philosophical fool....”2 But after a moment he added, “We have to feel free to express ourselves rather broadly this evening, if it suits us, don’t you think? After all, there are only men present, and we are in a bachelor’s quarters. Shall we agree on that? The way I feel right now, I could show my teeth and growl.”
“Please yourself!”3 the doctor replied, offended. “Tolstoy a fool!”
“Yes, yes, let’s express our opinions,” the teacher shouted all of a sudden. He had just reached the critical stage of his inebriation and would henceforth stick at nothing. “Go the whole hog, Doctor, or we’ll throw you out. Everyone has his own opinion; Stocker, for instance, is a blessed villain. I shall prove it—prove it!”
Everyone laughed at this, and it was a little while before they could again talk about Tolstoy. He was a great writer and a great mind.
Nagel suddenly flushed. “A great mind he is not. His mind is, both in its kind and quality, as flatly common as it can possibly be, and4 his teaching isn’t a hairsbreadth deeper than the hallucinations of the Salvation Army. A Russian without his noble birth, without that old aristocratic name, without Tolstoy’s million rubles in ready cash, would hardly have become so famous by teaching a few peasants to patch a pair of boots.... But5 come, let’s rather be merry awhile. Skoal, Mr. Grøgaard!”
At brief intervals, Nagel took the opportunity of clinking glasses with Miniman; in effect, he paid great attention to him all evening. He again reverted to the nonsensical tales he had spun when they last saw each other and asked Miniman to forget about them.
“As for me, I won’t be astounded by anything coming from you,” the doctor said. He drew himself up.
“Occasionally I have an inclination to contradict,” Nagel continued, “and this evening I’m particularly bent on doing so. It’s partly due to a couple of unpleasant experiences that hit me rather hard the day before yesterday, partly to