The old minstrel was, of course, furious.

The old minstrel was, of course, furious

He trembled with a violent outburst of anger. He bellowed and stamped on the floor. He attacked here and there and threatened in every direction with clenched fists. The young gentlemen muttered, “Yes, yes, hm.”

Suddenly Rick said, as if something had occurred to him:

— That’s true… He’s going to leave the country in a few days. And did you know that he’s sold his business? That’s news!

“To whom?” asked one.

— Yes… I don’t remember the name… it was for someone from the eastern cities. Well, that’s where Orne did something sagacious. He’s always on the go, so he can probably handle a lot of that kind of business himself.

At that moment, the Danish waiter Gulland came in with a bottle and a few glasses. He looked gentle and stared straight ahead, as older adults do when they are slightly drunk. He bowed to Frederik Rick.

— I haven’t seen the Bachelor before.

Well, Gulland, answered Frederik Rick, have you missed me?

“That’s exactly what I’ve done,” replied Gulland, “but look, Mr. Candidate. I felt that you had to come, and that’s why I put this Madeira aside. There were only four bottles of this kind. It was intended for the banquet committee, but I put it aside. And if any of the young gentlemen wish to report me, let them do so. I’ll bear it. I have a broad back.”

— And it’s for me. It’s very lovingly done, Gulland.

Malvoisir-madeira… Thank you very much. Well, then, let it flow.

Gulland opened the bottle and showed the cork.

— Would you like to look at this plug? It’s real old stuff.

Then he poured into glasses, and they drank. The Madeira was genuinely excellent. It had that quality of a wonderful Madeira of filling the mouth with its flavour; so it spread its mixed flavour of herbs and old smoke to the furthest parts of the palate.

Gulland stood by, ready to serve. He looked at Bachelor Rick, who nodded gravely.

“Yes,” exclaimed Gulland, “it is Madeira that flows smoothly!”

— You are right!… Listen, Gulland, haven’t you seen the shipowner Orne here this evening?

— Yes… I saw him just now. He is sitting in the little room… There are still a few gentlemen sitting there… otherwise everyone has left.

“Damn scum!” he shouted, “Damn scum!” “Damn scum!”

Then he disappeared through the door and never returned.

But after this, another older man, the meat-exporter Smuk, the Yorkshire pig, deserved to be seen. He stomped here and there on his thick legs and swelled with pride. He shook the foreman’s hand and said, as if shaking his head apologetically:

— Well, it doesn’t do anything! It was a hilarious prank.

The Yorkshire pig drank more and more after this. He was forced to sit with some relatively young gentlemen, and he told them filthy stories about the various experiences of his rich life. These stories aroused enthusiasm, and finally one of the young people made a speech to him, who was the representative of that cheerful old age which was the goal of youth…

— Long live Mr. Meat Exporter Smuk! Hurray!

— Hurray!

The Yorkshire pig got up with difficulty and smiled and thanked everyone around him. But he was so drunk that he soon had to sit down again. And suddenly he fell asleep. He fell asleep sitting there before anyone knew it. A long, regular sound came from his nose now. It sounded funny, as if he had enjoyed his sleep. His old fat face shone with sweat. He slept as if he would never wake up again.

The young gentlemen sat watching him, and one began to decorate him, to amuse the others. He took dahlias and asters from a vase, and these flowers he stuck around the sleeper’s neck, behind the ears, and on the chest. The Yorkshire pig sank on the sofa in his sleep. The young gentleman stirred, so that he soon lay there. Now one of them took a pin and stuck him several times in the arm. Once the Yorkshire pig waved his hand as if he were driving away flies in his sleep. But only once. That young gentleman stuck, so that the others laughed and shouted at the same time. The Yorkshire pig did not move again.

The night had already passed late. Many of the guests had left or gone elsewhere. All the lights in the large hall had been turned off. Most of the tables were still full of half-empty bottles and glasses that the servers had not had time to clear away that night. The entire large party had melted into a couple of small groups, who sat chatting in small rooms.

At last, the young men had laughed enough at the meat-exporter and were about to rise (the room where they were sitting was half-dark; the waiter had left a single lamp burning) when Frederik Rick came to where they were sitting. They were surprised that he had only just been seen: where had he been? Why had he not been seen that evening?

— Well, what? Replied Frederik Rick, as lovable as he was. I am old, that’s all. Remember that I take a shower every morning for the sake of my dear health. I can’t afford to waste so much health in one evening as such a rascal demands. How has it been?… splendid?… But what is that? — he pointed to the Yorkshire pig. — There lies our beautiful Smuck, decorated with flowers. Who the hell made that masterpiece?… How pretty does he look now? He is just like a roast pig… Yes, that’s how pigs were served in the good old days when they were roasted whole. He is handsome, lying there… elegant… You have a narrow idea of beauty, if you don’t admit it. Hey, how he shines in white and red… flowers behind his ears… wonderful!

— But where have you been this evening? Why are you only coming now, Mr. Candidate?

— Yes, that’s a whole story in itself, answered Frederik Rick and poured himself a tiny glass of sherry, — I’ve been to many places… but listen, has anyone here seen the shipowner Orne?

— No, he hasn’t been here at all.

— Hasn’t he come at all? I thought he was here. I broke up with him half an hour ago. He said he was coming here. And he went, and I walked home; but then I felt like coming here to see the end of the party, the dire consequences of drunkenness, and so I came here anyway.

— But how many places have you been to today?

— Well, I can tell you the whole story then. So I had the good intention of not coming here, but of going to bed early and sleeping those familiar hours before midnight. So I sit in my room and read a book about the many kinds of insects that live at the bottom of the sea — a very amusing book. Then… just as I am about to get up and go to the bedroom, someone rings the doorbell. It is Orne. He then came in and sat with me for an hour or two. Then we went for a long walk together. To his house, around it, and on the bank of a mountain river there. Yes, he got me to go with him, strangely enough, despite the late hour. Well, he begged me to come with him. But then you should have heard him talk about what makes such rushing mountain river water special. One autumn night, a calm autumn night — that water was quiet too. On a restless autumn night, with pain in the air — that smooth, calm water sparkled, it seemed to glide along the shore with wet feet. Orne usually did a lot of work by that water. He said something strange about the flood… about all the beautiful women who drowned then. He claimed that the Turk had kept something from the flood. After all, the Turks avenge infidelity by drowning. All unfaithful women are drowned.

— Ha ha, didn’t you ask him why he let his wife travel

to South America?

— No, I didn’t ask him that, Frederik Rick answered briefly.

— Yes, that happened once; but I remember that Mrs. Orne travelled strangely. Orne did say one day, ‘My wife has travelled, d’away!’ But travellede had ‘disappeared, that was all. Nobody saw the ship. Nobody saw her get on the boat. Mrs. Orne had left everything behind her… Well, that can explain it all. But you should have heard Orne speak tonight. It was a special talk, you can believe it… She must be, God forbid, unhappy.