 Part 3, CHAPTER X and XI, OF THE POWER OF A LIE, by Johan Boye, translated by Jesse Muir, Ms. Levervox recording is in the public domain. CHAPTER X After the sweets came coffee, and the conversation was soon being carried on through clouds of tobacco smoke. Do you know who Norby is like? said Fruth Order to her neighbor, who was the Magistrate. The Magistrate looked up with his cigar in his mouth and answered, No, at least, yes. Don't you see he's like Garibaldi? Well, now you say it, said the Magistrate. All down the table the talk was exclusively of Norby. It came naturally. Two farmers told of the king's last journey through the district, when Norby quietly went up and took him by the hand and bade him welcome to the district. Einar had to tell the bailiff's wife about his grandfather. Ingeborg was questioned about her mother. The Magistrate praised the old man for his skill in the game of Boston. An estate administrator told about a probate case in which Norby was arbitrator, and how clever he was in bringing people to reason. The doctor sat and talked about the shape of the old man's head, and especially the sign of race in the forehead. There was a buzz of homage in the form of little sympathetic touches unearthed from the memories of all present and held up to view. And at last the old man was raised higher and higher, born as it were, by all that was wept, said, sung, and felt there this evening, elevated upon a golden cloud of sympathy and admiration. Einar alone had grown coldly serious at the pastor's speech, and various questions thronged in upon him. Through all the rosy clouds that enveloped this table, he seemed to get a glimpse into something different. The best feelings and ideals of every one seemed to have met this evening to pay homage to his father. And he could no longer dare to think whether his father were the guilty one or not. But if—could it be—that the most sacred human feelings and ideals were completely blind, so that they could just as easily lend themselves to glorify a crime, a black lie? Could it be? Surely not. Was it no guarantee when people's words were glowing with the whole warmth of their heart, when their eyes were wet and their voice trembled with emotion? Was that so? Surely not. But if—was it no excuse to have done a thing in all good faith? For the fact remained that if people crowned the criminal and threw the innocent into prison, good faith was the most terrible thing of all. For it committed its bad actions with divine good conscience, and every one laid down their arms before it. Was it so? And did all such forces as God, one's country, philanthropy, Christianity, lend themselves as garments to adorn the wrongdoer and honor the lie? No, no. It must not, could not be so. But that was why there was so much wrong done in the world—the wet eyes, the warm tones, the glowing hearts, always formed a defensive covering for that which was bad. Was it so? And what about himself? Had not his best feelings for his parents made him a— He dared not think the word. It must not, it could not be so. He involuntarily wished there were strong drink in his glass, and that he could drink himself into a happy mood with wine as the others did with their speeches. He raised his glass and tried to smile at Ingeborg. She raised hers in return, while she thought, Thank God that Einar was undeceived! Suddenly someone said, Oh, look out there! Several rose from the table and went to the windows. Against the dark fjord there reflected the starry sky, a gleaming rocket rose into the air, while another was already raining down in fiery sparks of many colors. A new one rose, and in its first brilliant blaze Laura could be seen bareheaded and in her silk dress, and by her side the bailiff's son. There were several exclamations, and Ingeborg said, Oh, indeed! That was why Laura had a headache and had to go out. A fresh rocket blazed up and illuminated the two standing in the dark, just as Laura took hold of the young man's arm to draw him a little way from the rocket. It was her first tender care for him. Then it was dark once more about them, while the fiery sparks rained down from the sky, reflected all the time in the dark still fjord, into which they finally fell. Look! cried those at the windows. Oh, look! Oh, that was lovely! Both blue and red! And all the time momentary flashes of light gleamed upon the two young people, who stood there and sent up bright messengers into the sky in the still evening. When at last this was over the lamps in the hall were suddenly extinguished. A tittering was heard, and a few indignant ladies' voices. But suddenly a curtain was drawn aside and revealed a Norwegian mountain landscape illuminated by paraffin lamps. Goodness me! thought Einar. Are we going to have that old play that everybody knows? But all at once a young girl in Norwegian costume came forward and began to talk to an old man. It was Einar gazed in perplexity. It was she. It was the doctor's young daughter. That was why she had not been at the dinner, then. She had perhaps been rehearsing up to the last moment. Sore and despondent and disturbed as Einar was already, this surprise threw him into the greatest agitation. His heart beat, and something warm began to run through his limbs. There she was, and how lovely she was in that dress. And gradually the oil lamps turned into sunshine, and the ridiculous decorations into actual wood and mountain, and the good patriotic moral of the play acted upon him with a wonderful power. But when the young girl went off the stage the peace seemed to lose its interest, and he turned to Fruthora with the question whether there was to be dancing afterwards. Yes, she said. Good! He would ask the doctor whether his daughter might stay if he promised to see her home. Perhaps it might turn out a wonderful evening for him yet. CHAPTER XI Knut Norby drove home through the still night, with Merit and Ingeborg, as the other two stayed on for the dancing. A golden moon had risen above the hills in the east, and shone upon the waving corn fields and the calm fjord. It was such good weather just now for the crops that had promised to be a good harvest. And as Knut sat there he was filled with a gentle peace, and felt a desire to thank God. As they passed the churchyard he looked in involuntarily. Who could tell how soon he might be lying there? It was better to make good use of the time while one had it. Lars Clevin lay there now, he who so wanted to lie quiet in his grave. Well, God grant he might have peace! And there lay the dairy-maid in her freshly made grave, and was perhaps dreaming now in the early morning that she had to get up to go to the cows. A warm wind sighed on the leafy slopes, and brought a scent of fermenting hay from the lofts above. Mountains and lake lay in a great calm peace. Thank God! said Ingeborg, looking up at the stars, and they all three sat with the same feeling, and words were unnecessary. When at length they drove into the yard Knut saw that the flag was still up. The servants had forgotten to take it down. But Norby did not get angry now, he could take it down himself. When he called for someone to take the horse, no one came. Have they all gone to bed? said Morit, a little out of humour. Oh, well, said Norby, it's not much to be wondered at. They have to be up in the morning. And he began to unharness the horse himself. When at length he came up to the bedroom, Morit already lay yawning in bed, but Norby began to pace up and down the floor, with his thumbs hooked into the armholes of his waistcoat. He was in far too good humour to go to bed at once. Ah, well, said Morit quietly, this can be an example to others, and encourage people to be patient and enduring. Yes, said Norby, stopping at the window, where he could see the fjord in the moonlight. The main thing is to act honourably and uprightly. In a little while, he said, I don't know how it is, but I seem to have been away from Norby for a long time, and only to have properly come home again now. Dear me, yes, yawned, Morit, but it has been a hard time. Norby still looked out over the lake in the moonlight. There must have been some purpose in it all, he said. I may often have acted with too great severity, but now I think it will be better for everyone in the district. I shall do my part at any rate. His wife did not answer. Presumably she was too tired. When at last Norby got into bed, he folded his hands and said a couple of verses of a hymn. He felt so near to God, and the respect and sympathy of the whole district now shown into his conscience, but he would thank God for it all. But there is one thing I can't understand, he thought after a while, and that is how people can stand like Vaungan with a calm face, then lie in court. And help those who have no more conscience than to do it. End of Part 3, Chapters 10 and 11. End of The Power of a Lie by Johann Boyer, translated by Jesse Muir, recording by Lee Smalley.