As Falk was walking home one rainy September evening and turning into Count-Magni-Street, he saw to his amazement that his windows were lit up. When he was near enough to be able to cast a glance into his room from below, he noticed on the ceiling the shadow of a man which seemed familiar, although he could not place it. It was a despondent-looking shadow, and the nearer he came the more despondent it looked.

On entering his room he saw Struve sitting at his writing-table with his head on his hands. His clothes were soaked with rain and clung heavily to his body; there were little puddles on the floor which slowly drained off through the chinks. His hair hung in damp strands from his head, and his usually English whiskers fell like stalactites on his damp coat collar. He had placed his black hat beside him on the table; it had collapsed under its own weight, and the wide crape band which it was wearing suggested that it was mourning for its lost youth.

"Good evening," said Falk. "This is an unexpected honour."

"Don't jeer at me," begged Struve.

"And why not? I see no reason why I should spare you."

"I see! You're done!"

"Yes! I shall turn Conservative too, before long. You're in mourning, I see; I hope I may congratulate you."

"I've lost a little son."

"Then I'll congratulate him! But what do you want here? You know I despise you! I expect you do yourself. Don't you?"

"Of course I do! But isn't life bitter enough without our unnecessarily embittering it still further? If God, or Providence, is amused at it, need it follow that man should equally degrade himself?"

"That sounds reasonable and does you honour. Won't you put on my dressing-gown while you are drying your clothes? You must be cold."

"Thank you! But I mustn't stay."

"Oh! Stay a little while! It will give us a chance of having things out."

"I don't like talking about my misfortunes."

"Then talk about your crimes!"

"I haven't committed any!"

"Oh, yes, you have! You have committed great crimes! You have put your heavy hand on the oppressed; you have kicked the wounded; you have sneered at the wretched. Do you remember the last strike when you were on the side of power?"

"The side of the law, brother!"

"Haha! The law! Who has dictated the law which governs the life of the poor man, you fool! The rich man! That is to say, the master made the law for the slave."

"The law was dictated by the whole nation and the universal sense of right. God gave the law."

"Save your big words when you talk to me. Who wrote the law of 1734? Mr. Kronstedt! Who is responsible for the law of corporal punishment? Colonel Sabelman—it was his Bill, and his friends, who formed the majority at that time, pushed it through. Colonel Sabelman is not the nation and his friends are not the universal sense of right. Who is responsible for the law concerning joint stock companies? Judge Svindelgren. Who is responsible for the new Parliamentary laws? Assessor Vallonius. Who has written the law of 'legal protection,' that is to say the protection of the rich from the just claims of the poor? Wholesale merchant grocer. Don't talk to me! I know your claptrap. Who has written the new law of succession? Criminals! The forest laws? Thieves! The law relating to bills of private banks? Swindlers! And you maintain that God has done it? Poor God!"

"May I give you a piece of advice, bought with my own experience, advice which will be useful to you all your life? If you want to escape self-immolation, a fate which in your fanaticism you are fast approaching, change your point of view as soon as possible. Take a bird's-eye view of the world, and you will see how small and insignificant everything is. Start with the conviction that the whole world is a rubbish heap; that men are the refuse, no better than egg-shells, carrot stalks, cabbage leaves, rags; then nothing will take you by surprise, you will never lose an illusion; but, on the contrary, you will be filled with a great joy whenever you come across a fine thought, a good action; try to acquire a calm contempt of the world—you needn't be afraid of growing callous."

"I have not yet attained to that point of view, it's true, but I have a contempt for the world. But that is my misfortune; for directly I hear of a single act of generosity or kindness, I love humanity again, and overrate my fellowmen, only to be deceived afresh."

"Be more selfish! Let the devil take your fellowmen!"

"I'm afraid I can't."

"Try another profession; join your brother; he seems to get on in this world. I saw him yesterday at the church council of the Parish of St. Nicholas."

"At the church council?"

"Yes; that man has a future. The pastor primarius nodded to him. He'll soon be an alderman, like all landed proprietors."

"What about the 'Triton'?"

"They work with debentures now; but your brother hasn't lost anything by it, even though he hasn't made anything. No, he's other fish to fry!"

"Don't let us talk of that man."

"But he's your brother!"

"That isn't his merit! But now tell me what you want."

"My boy's funeral is to-morrow, and I have no dress-coat...."

"I'll lend you mine."

"Thank you, brother. You're extricating me from an awkward position. That was one thing, but there is something else, of a rather more delicate nature...."

"Why come to me, your enemy, with your delicate confidences? I'm surprised...."

"Because you are a man of heart."

"Don't build on that any longer! But go on."

"How irritable you've grown! You're not the same man; you used to be so gentle."

"We discussed that before! Speak up!"

"I want to ask you whether you would come with me to the churchyard."

"I? Why don't you ask one of your colleagues from the Grey Bonnet?"

"There are reasons. I don't see why I shouldn't tell you. I'm not married."

"Not married! You! The defender of religion and morality, have broken the sacred bonds!"

"Poverty, the force of circumstances! But I'm just as happy as if I were married! I love my wife and she loves me, and that's all. But there's another reason. The child has not been baptized; it was three weeks old when it died, and therefore no clergyman will bury it. I don't dare to tell this to my wife, because she would fret. I've told her the clergyman would meet us in the churchyard; I'm telling you this to prevent a possible scene. She, of course, will remain at home. You'll only meet two other fellows; one of them, Levi, is a younger brother of the director of the 'Triton,' and one of the employÉs of that society. He's a decent sort, with an unusually good head and a still better heart. Don't laugh, I can see that you think I've borrowed money from him—and so I have—he's a man you'll like. The other one is my old friend, Dr. Borg, who treated the little one. He is very broad-minded, a man without any prejudices; you'll get on with him! I can count on you, can't I? There'll be four of us in the coach, and the little coffin, of course."

"Very well, I'll come."

"There's one more thing. My wife has religious scruples and is afraid that the little one won't go to heaven because he died without baptism. She asks everybody's opinion on the subject, so as to ease her mind."

"But what about the Augsburg Confession?"

"It's not a question of confessions."

"But in writing to your paper, you always uphold the official faith."

"The paper is the affair of the syndicate; if it likes to cling to Christianity, it may do so for all I care! My work for the syndicate is a matter apart. Please agree with my wife if she tells you that she believes that her child will go to heaven."

"I don't mind denying the faith in order to make a human heart happy, particularly as I don't hold it. But you haven't told me yet where you live."

"Do you know where the White Mountains are?"

"Yes! Are you living in the spotted house on the mountain rock?"

"Do you know it?"

"I've been there once."

"Then perhaps you know Ygberg, the Socialist, who leads the people astray? I am the landlord's deputy—Smith owns the property—I live there rent free on condition that I collect the rents; whenever the rents are not forthcoming, the people talk nonsense which he has put into their heads about capital and labour, and other things which fill the columns of the Socialistic press."

Falk did not reply.

"Do you know Ygberg?"

"Yes, I do. But won't you try on my dress-coat now?"

Struve tried it on, put his own damp coat over it, buttoned it up to the chin, lit the chewed-up end of his cigar, impaled on a match, and went.

Falk lighted him downstairs.

"You've a long way to go," he said, merely to say something.

"The Lord knows it! And I have no umbrella."

"And no overcoat. Would you like my winter coat?"

"Many thanks. It's very kind of you."

"You can return it to me by and by."

He went back to his room, fetched the overcoat and gave it to Struve, who was waiting in the entrance hall. After a brief good-night they parted.

Falk found the atmosphere in his room stifling; he opened the window. The rain was coming down in torrents, splashing on the tiles and running down into the dirty street. Tattoo sounded in the barracks opposite; vespers were being sung in the lodgment; fragments of the verses floated through the open window.

Falk felt lonely and tired. He had been longing to fight a battle with a representative of all he regarded as inimical to progress; but the enemy, after having to some extent beaten him, had fled. He tried to understand clearly what the quarrel was about, but failed in his effort; he was unable to say who was right. He asked himself whether the cause he served, namely, the cause of the oppressed, had any existence. But at the next moment he reproached himself with cowardice, and the steady fanaticism which glowed in him burst into fresh flames; he condemned the weakness which again and again had induced him to yield. Just now he had held the enemy in his hand, and not only had he not shown him his profound repugnance, but he had even treated him with kindness and sympathy; what would he think of him?

There was no merit in this good nature, as it prevented him from coming to a firm decision; it was nothing but moral laxity, making him incapable of taking up a fight which seemed more and more beyond him. He realized that he must extinguish the fire under the boilers; they would not be able to stand the pressure, as no steam was being used. He pondered over Struve's advice, and brooded until his mind was chaos in which truth and lies, right and wrong, danced together in complete harmony; his brain in which, owing to his academic training, all conceptions had been so neatly pigeon-holed, would soon resemble a pack of well-shuffled cards.

He succeeded beyond expectation in working himself into a state of complete indifference; he looked for fine motives in the actions of his enemies, and gradually it appeared to him that he had all along been in the wrong; he felt reconciled to the existing order of things, and ultimately came to the fine conclusion that it was quite immaterial whether the whole was black or white. Whatever was, had to be; he was not entitled to criticize it. He found this mood pleasant, it gave him a feeling of restfulness to which he had been a stranger all those years during which he had made the troubles of humanity his own.

He was enjoying this calm and a pipe of strong tobacco, when a maid servant brought him a letter just delivered by the postman. It was from Olle Montanus and very long. Parts of it seemed to impress Falk greatly.

My dear fellow, [it ran,]

Although Lundell and I have now finished our work and will soon be back in Stockholm, I yet feel the need of writing down my impressions, because they have been of great importance to myself and my spiritual development. I have come to a conclusion, and I am as full of amazement as a chicken which has just been hatched, and stares at the world with its newly opened eyes, trampling on the egg-shell which had shut out the light for so long. The conclusion, of course, is not a new one; Plato propounded it before Christianity was: the world, the visible world, is but a delusion, the reflexion of the ideas; that is to say, reality is something low, insignificant, secondary and accidental. Yes! but I will proceed synthetically, begin with the particular and pass on from it to the general.

I will speak of my work first, in which both Government and Parliament have been interested. On the altar of the church at TrÄskola two wooden figures used to stand; one of them was broken, but the other one was whole. The whole one, the figure of a woman, held a cross in her hand; two sacks of fragments of the broken one were preserved in the sacristy. A learned archÆologist had examined the contents of the two sacks, in order to determine the appearance of the broken figure, but the result had been mere conjecture.

But he had been very thorough. He had taken a specimen of the white paint with which the figure had been grounded, and sent it to the Pharmaceutical Institute; the latter had reported that it contained lead and not zinc; therefore, the figure must date from before 1844, because zinc-white did not come into use until after that date. (What can one say to such a conclusion, seeing that the figure might have been painted over!) Next he sent a sample of the wood to the Stockholm timber office; he was informed that it was birch. The figure was therefore made of birchwood and dated from before 1844.

But that was not all he was striving for. He had a reason (!) in plain words, he wished for his own aggrandisement, that the carved figures should be proved to date from the sixteenth century; and he would have preferred that they should be the work of the great—of course great, because his name had been so deeply carved in oak that it has been preserved to our time—Burchard von Schiedenhanne, who had carved the seats in the choir of the Cathedral of VÄsteros.

The learned research was carried on. The professor stole a little plaster from the figures in VÄsteros and sent it, together with a specimen from the sacristy of TrÄskola to the Ekole Pollytechnik (I can't spell it). The reply completely crushed the scoffers; the analysis proved that the two specimens of plaster were identical; both contained 77 per cent. of chalk and 35 of sulphuric acid; therefore (!) the figures must date from the same period.

The age of the figures had now been settled; a sketch was made of the whole one and "sent in" (what a terrible passion these learned men have for "sending things in") to the Academy; the only thing which remained to be done was to determine and reconstruct the broken one. For two whole years the two sacks travelled up and down between Upsala and Lund; the two professors differed and carried on a lively dispute. The professor of Lund, who had just been made rector, took the figure as the subject of his inaugural address and crushed the professor of Upsala. The latter replied in a brochure. Fortunately at the very moment a professor of the Stockholm Academy of Art appeared with a totally new opinion; then Herod and Pilate "compromised," as is always the case, and attacked the man from the capital, rending him with the unbridled fury of provincials.

This was their compromise: the broken figure had represented Unbelief, because the other one must have been meant for Faith, whose symbol is the cross. The supposition (advanced by the professor of Lund) that the broken figure had been intended to represent Hope, arrived at because one of the sacks contained an anchor, was rejected, because that would have postulated a third figure, Love, of which there was no trace, and for which there could have been no room; moreover, it was proved by specimens from the rich collection of arrow-heads in the historical museum, that the fragment in question was not an anchor, but an arrowhead, which forms a part of the weapons belonging to the symbols of Unbelief. The shape of the arrowhead, which resembled in every detail those from the period of the Vice-regent Sture, removed the last doubt as to the age of the figure.

It was my task to make a statue of Unbelief, as a companion to the figure of Faith, in accordance with the directions of the professors. I was given my instructions and I did not hesitate. I looked for a male model, for the figure was to be a man; I had to look for a long time, but I found him in the end; I really believe I met the personification of Unbelief—and I succeeded brilliantly.

And there he now stands, Falander, the actor, to the left of the altar, with a Mexican bow (used in the drama Ferdinand Cortez) and a robber's cloak (from Fra Diavolo), but the people say that it is Unbelief throwing down his arms before Faith. And the Deputy-Superintendent, who preached the inaugural sermon, spoke of the splendid gifts which God sometimes gives to man, and which, in this case, he had given to me; and the Count, who gave the inaugural dinner, declared that I had created a masterpiece, fit to stand side by side with the antiques (he's been in Italy); and a student who occupies some post in the Count's household, seized the opportunity to write and circulate some verses, in which he developed the conception of the Sublimely Beautiful, and gave a history of the Myth of the Devil.

Up to now I have, like a true egoist, spoken only of myself. What am I to say about Lundell's altar-piece? I will try to describe it to you. Christ (Rehnhjelm) hangs on the cross in the background; to the left is the impenitent thief (I; and the rascal has made me worse-looking than I am); to the right the repenting thief (Lundell himself, squinting with hypocritical eyes at Rehnhjelm); at the foot of the cross Mary Magdalene (you will remember Marie—in a very low dress), and a Roman centurion (Falander) on horseback (stallion belonging to Alderman Olsson).

I cannot describe the awful impression made on me when, after the sermon, the picture was unveiled, and I saw all these well-known faces staring from the wall above the altar at the community rapturously listening to the words of the preacher on the great importance of art, particularly art in the service of religion. As far as I am concerned, a veil has been lifted from many things; I will tell you by and by my thoughts on Faith and Unbelief. I am going to embody my views on art and its high mission in an essay, and read it at some public hall as soon as I am back in town.

It goes without saying that Lundell's religious sense has tremendously developed during those "dear" days. He is, comparatively speaking, happy in his colossal self-deception, and has no idea what a rascal he really is.

I think I have told you everything now; anything else verbally when we meet. Until then, good-bye. I hope you are in good health and spirits.

P.S. I must not forget to tell you the result of the antiquarian research. The end of it all was that old Jan, an inmate of the almshouses, remembered having seen the figures when he was a child. He said there had been three: Faith, Hope, and Love; and as Love was the greatest of these, it had stood above the altar. In the first decade of this century a flash of lightning had struck Love and Faith. The figures had been the work of his father who was a carver of figure-heads in the naval port Karlskrona.

When Falk had read the letters, he sat down at his writing-table, examined his lamp to see whether there was plenty of oil in it, lit his pipe, took a manuscript from his table-drawer, and began to write.