Then, now that spring was here and the general elections approaching, surely one might have taken it for granted that Ingolfur would have been returned unopposed and that no one would have had the foolhardiness to offer himself as a rival candidate? On the contrary. One must not assume that plutocracy and merchant power had been altogether routed just because they had suffered a set-back here and there, in those few, scattered places where the peasants had succeeded in forming consumers’ societies in their own defence. Then again, the present boom had strengthened rather than enfeebled the creed of egoism that was so popular in the towns; and this constituency had two towns, Fjord and Vik, and egoism was especially rife among the boat owners, craftsmen, and small traders in Vik, though probably it received its strongest backing from the new merchant who had suddenly appeared upon the scene in that town. This person had rapidly surrounded himself with all the most prosperous men from town and country and had even gone and married the Fell King’s daughter within a few months of his arrival, though some people maintained that originally he had been nothing more or less than a common swindler and speculator, even that he had spent a year or two in jail. Then, in the third place, the influence of a foreign doctrine named Socialism was rapidly growing more perceptible in Vik. The town was rarely free of paid agitators, specially sent from the south, who vied with one another in leading the poorer classes astray and inciting them to a hatred of both God and men, as if God and men were not sufficiently antagonistic towards such people already.
Ingolfur Arnarson: “Socialism is all lies. They puff destitute people up with endless promises that can never have any hope of fulfilment until man has reached the same stage of maturity as the gods; but their real aims are simply murder and rapine.”
Fortunately Ingolfur Arnarson was in no great danger from this menace as yet. The danger threatened from the other side. The capitalists, it now appeared, had dug up a rival candidate with a whole bank behind him, the selfsame bank that Ingolfur had wanted to raze to the ground and rebuild as an agricultural bank run for the benefit of the peasantry, and with his own men in command, if he had any say in the matter. That swindlers in Reykjavik should send out one of their own kidney, the manager of a half-insolvent bank, to spread their gospel throughout the land, was in itself of course no great marvel. But what came of it? If this brass-faced missionary of a gang of capitalist criminals did not have the nerve, in his utter lack of ideals, originality, and elementary decency to get up on his hind legs and offer the farmers not only everything that Ingolfur Arnarson had promised them, but a whole host of other things into the bargain! He offered to equip every croft in the constituency with electric lighting within the space of a year or two, and not only this constituency, but throughout the length and breadth of the land as well.
Ingolfur Arnarson: “Actually the difference between his and the Socialists’ promises can only be regarded as a difference in forms of insanity, with this exception, that the bank manager does not propose that folks should be robbed and murdered, probably because he remembers only too well that he is the emissary of that fractional part of the nation’s population which has robbed and murdered people without cease ever since Iceland was Iceland, though by different means and without preaching any form of Socialism.”
Later, when the banker had promised the farming classes the whole of Ingolfur Arnarson’s program and more if he were elected, all in a much shorter period of time than Ingolfur had planned, he turned his attention to the towns, which had so far never been accorded any definite place in the platform of the farmers’ representative. Here again he was the very soul of generosity. To Vik he promised a bank and a big fishing company, to Fjord a bone-meal factory and a coal mine. The seaside electors lent ready ears to this sort of talk, as was only natural, and it was considered probable that these populous places would be solid in their support of the banker. Well, this was a fine kettle of fish. Things were looking pretty black for Ingolfur Arnarson. Where could he turn now? No, esteemed electors, Ingolfur was no turncoat on the field of political battle; he did not allow other men to take the promises out of his mouth. What did he do, then? He simply resurrected the famous parliamentary evergreen of his predecessor Finsen, the old breakwater. And, what was more, he promised Fjord not only a breakwater and a quay; he promised it a complete harbour costing no less than haft a million crowns as well. An engineering scheme so vast, he said, would afford unlimited employment not only to the inhabitants of Fjord, but also to the working people of the neighbouring town of Vik; nor should one forget all these countless business undertakings which the State would establish in Fjord as a natural sequel to the construction of such a harbour. Never before, no, not even in old Finsen’s time, had quays and breakwaters excited such burning and such opportune interest as they did now. Then, feeling, no doubt, that his generosity ought to be as impartial as it was large-hearted, he transferred the banker’s bone-meal factory from Fjord to Vik, and instead of his opponent’s big fishing company he promised the little fishing company in Vik a large subsidy from the State, together with numerous other privileges which would make it the most flourishing little fishing company in the whole country and would ensure for everyone in Vik, no matter what the depth of his present poverty, a prosperous and happy future as a member of the middle classes. There remained the coal mine. This he divided impartially between the two townships, though always on the proviso that the mine should be proved to contain real coal, and not lignite or just ordinary stones and earth. When this stage had been reached, it was virtually impossible to determine whose were the better promises, and it began to appear likely that the issue would depend not so much on what was actually offered as on the oratorical skill of the candidates, especially their ability to play upon the electors’ heart-strings. It was reported that many working people had already discarded Socialism in favour of the chance of securing permanent employment, prosperous membership in the middle classes, and a share in a boat.
“One never knows how things are going to turn out, and that’s why I say it’s essential never to lean too far to the one side, especially in politics,” observed the Fell King. “Ingolfur Arnarson is a man of great ability, of course, like all the family, and you couldn’t wish for a finer speaker at a meeting, but when I saw last year the importance that the people of Fjord and Vik attach to private enterprise these days, I suspected immediately that he would lose a great deal of his support. And that’s why I resigned immediately from the co-operative society; my private affairs had nothing to do with it; politics are not private affairs, and anyway I’m not talking as a private person now. And though I left the co-operative society and transferred the whole of my custom to my son-in-law’s in Vik, which I am sure was only a perfectly natural action that anyone would have done under the circumstances, it doesn’t follow that I think there’s anything wrong with the Rauthsmyri people as people. No one denies their many virtues, and the promises Ingolfur makes are, of course, very fine and very attractive. But what’s going to happen if he doesn’t get in, may I ask? What if his party goes down, as most people prophesy? I’m only afraid that some folk around here are going to have a long wait for their sewing-machines and their manure-cisterns if that happens. And that their new houses aren’t going to be quite so commodious as some of them may have been led to expect. And what guarantee of security will the people who voted for him have if he goes down? None at all, or for just as long as the bank manager thinks fit. The big fellows in the south aren’t easily knocked off their perches, you know. And it has never been considered foolish to be in well with the big fellows.”
So much was certain about this Fell King, that immediately on transferring his custom to his son-in-law’s in Vik he had launched out on a venture he had never even dared to contemplate while dealing with the co-op: he had begun building himself a house. Load upon load of timber and cement had been delivered in trucks; the house was to be ready by term-day. Bjartur eyed him askant for a few moments, then replied:
&nb
sp; “Huh, it isn’t everybody’s daughter that’s married into the merchant clique, you know.”
“Well, if it comes to that, you can’t very well say that you’re married into the Rauthsmyri family either,” retorted the Fell King. “So at least it isn’t on the score of family connections that you have to vote on their side.”
“My voting, like that of a few others I could mention, is determined not so much by family connections as by business interests,” said Bjartur coldly. “I believe in voting for the people I deal with, though, of course, only as long as they steer clear of bankruptcy. And though you personally may have excellent reasons for hobnobbing with the big pots in the south that you’re always bragging about, I for my part have never had anything to do with them, and don’t see any reason why I should start now.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said the Fell King. “Someone was saying you were thinking of building yourself a house.”
“What’s that to you? And even if I was, what’s it got to do with politics?”
“Nothing, nothing at all,” replied the Fell King. “Except that if you’re thinking of new buildings it’s always wisest to be sure of your welcome at the banks.”
“Oh, and what’s to stop me from getting all my building stuff on credit at the co-op, if necessary? I should think my name’s as good as anyone’s there.”
“Yes, but unfortunately there are other things to be considered besides building materials alone, my friend. You can’t pay the men their wages on nothing nowadays, you know. And carpenters and masons don’t let you have credit. It’s best to have a few thousand in ready cash behind you if you intend building anything worthy of the name.”
“Never you fear, old cock,” said Bjartur confidently. “Money will be easy enough to come by. It isn’t so very long since there passed this way a certain gentleman who’s at least as important as yourself, and he gave me to understand that if ever I needed a loan there was welcome on the mat for me at the savings bank.”
“The savings bank,” said the Fell King, “yes, quite so. A most praiseworthy institution, as I’ve always been first to acknowledge. And as for Jon of Myri, we’ve sat together at the council board for many a long year, yes, since well before the war began, and never have I heard anyone hint that he was anything but a man of the most admirable and most outstanding qualities. And it isn’t his fault; surely, if people of an untrustworthy character who made a habit of pestering him for money in and out of season should have ended up by joining forces and threatening to have the law on him, just because he insisted on a rate of interest that they themselves had agreed to in the first place. So personally I’m not in the least surprised that he should have decided to open a savings bank, where his money can always be in circulation, even if it’s only at the statutory six per cent, instead of continuing to lend to unreliable folk, privately and behind the authorities’ backs, at anything from twelve to twenty-five per cent, with the threat of jail always hanging over his head. A savings bank is always a safe, steady sort of business. And it’s convenient to have a savings bank in the district, in case one should happen to require a small amount for a short period. But they’re never anything more than small amounts, and never for more than a very short time. Because no one is fool enough to borrow a large sum at the rates the savings bank demands. Those who are thinking of building are wiser to go to the banks where a loan on a mortgage runs for forty years.”
“Oh, I don’t suppose I’d need more than a year or two before I was square with them again. Some people thought prices would collapse at the end of the war, but the wool touched record heights in the spring there, and I’ve heard from a responsible quarter that they’ll be giving us more than ever for the lambs this autumn.”
The Fell King sat deep in cerebration for a while, absent-mindedly stroking his beard this way and that; he was much given to tormenting his brains, this man, for in his view no thought was perfect unless it could be set down in writing, in a public document; he had been a public official for dogs, men, and parsons far too long to be so foolish as to rush to a hasty conclusion.
“Oh, well,” he said at length, “it’s no business of mine really, but I thought I’d make a suggestion for old friendship’s sake. But you mustn’t on any account get it into your head that I’ve come in any sort of public capacity, or as anyone’s official agent in the matter. On the other hand, I can’t declare with absolute truth that I came entirely in a private capacity. I’ve come as something more or less betwixt and between. As you know very well, I have never been able to give the co-operative movement my unqualified support, even though I discern much that is noble and beautiful in it as a movement, and have ever been first to acknowledge the virtues of the Rauthsmyrians, especially Madam, as people. The truth of the matter is that I’ve always tried to stick more or less to the middle way, and that in consequence I have invariably been prepared to admit that both parties were in the right, at least until there was conclusive proof that one or the other was in the wrong. And now, to return to the matter in hand, I should like you to know that my relations with various highly placed people are such that I have the power, though not, unfortunately, the written authority, to offer you a loan on exceptionally liberal terms, a mortgage for forty years with a bank in the south, if you care to start building this year. But naturally such a loan will only be possible if we who nourish the love of independence in our bosoms know where our political well-being lies and have sufficient common sense to transfer our custom to the proper quarter.”
THE RACEHORSE
GVENDUR of Summerhouses was on everyone’s lips that spring, in the first place because he had decided to go to America, in the second place because he had decided not to go to America. In the third place he had bought himself a horse; it was a racehorse and he had bought it from someone living in a distant parish for an enormous sum of money. Many people laughed. The young fool had spent the night chasing Ingolfur Arnarson’s only daughter over the moors and had ended up by missing his ship; could anything be more idiotic? Some people said the lad must be a half-wit. Others said his horse was no more than an average horse, even that it was getting on in years. What a dunderhead! Prior to this, no one had noticed that Gvendur of Summerhouses so much as existed; now, with startling suddenness, he was everywhere notorious as an idiot and a dunderhead. If ever a meeting of any description was to be held in the neighbourhood, he was sure to nose out all the particulars so that he could put in an appearance on his horse. Countrymen greeted him with a conservative grin. Townsmen laughed heartily at this clodhopper who ranged the countryside on an expensive horse after chasing the Althingi member’s only daughter from dusk till dawn. Horse-dealers stopped him on the main road, poked at the horse’s teeth, made a fool of the owner when he had ridden away, and made up their minds to foist an even worse horse on him as soon as they had swindled him out of his present one.
It was one Sunday just before Midsummer Day and an election meeting was to be held at Utirauthsmyri. The minister made use of the opportunity to hold a service beforehand. One or two of the electors drifted on to the scene too early, timing their arrival so badly that they were let in for the service; otherwise the increasing interest in politics appeared to indicate that the public were beginning to believe that their affairs were governed from earth here, and not from heaven. Gvendur arrived at a gallop just as the service was about to begin. A small group of crofters standing outside the entrance to the horse-pen greeted him with a sly grin because he had not gone to America. Some of them looked the racehorse over coldly, with disapproval. He stole a quick glance at the big two-storeyed house with its third floor of gable attics, to see if anyone had noticed him when he rode in on his horse. But in a mansion so famous no one came to the windows to gaze on vanity; all he saw was the poetess’s flowery plants spreading their lovely petals in the rays of the sun. He hoped that the Bailiffs family had already gone in to the service. He entered the church and, choosing a seat near the door, sat down and looked a
round to see if she were anywhere about. After a few moments of anxious search he caught sight of her, sitting in the front row, almost directly below the pulpit. She had a red hat on. There were a number of people between her and him, he could just make out the hat between all the heads. Through him there passed the sort of current that makes the lungs too big and the heart too small and the ear too sensitive for music; he felt as if the hymn would drive him mad; there was a mist before his eyes as well. Time passed and passed, and still the congregation went on braying away at the hymn as if they would never cease. How was he to get near her? What would be the best method of arranging a rendezvous so that the others would not notice? Ought he to wait until the end of the service, nudge her as she was passing him on her way out, and whisper: “Come round the corner with me, there’s something I want to say to you?” No, to nudge a girl in church is an imseemly and wholly unpardonable act; especially if it is such a girl; and more especially still if it is to ask her to come round the corner. It would be a different story entirely if he were to invite her out to the horse-pen to take a look at a horse. But presently it occurred to him that probably people were not allowed to mention horses in church, for in all the Scriptures there is not one single reference to a horse, only an ass at the most. As if through a mist he saw the minister approach the altar and utter a loud cry. Then he began singing some long rigmarole, and everyone stood up, and she stood up, and he saw that she was wearing a blue coat. No girl in all the world had such lovely shoulders; anyone could see that they weren’t intended for heavy burdens. Her golden curls peeped from under her hat, an expensive hat in keeping with the solemnity of the occasion. She looked proud and upright, as was only natural on a Sunday morning in church; if only she would look around, just for a second or two, so that he could transmit to her the current of his love. But what if she couldn’t be bothered to look at other folk’s horses, she who had a whole stable at her disposal? Unless he were to offer to make her a present of the horse? It was an expensive horse, pretty near a thousand crowns, and yet if she would accept it he would be ready and willing to return home on foot, yes, crawling on all fours even, if she liked. And this was the very thing he was longing to tell her most; he had been her devoted slave from the first moment he set eyes on her, she could command him to do anything she cared to think of—ride, walk, crawl on all fours. Already he had sacrificed to her the greatest country in the world, the land of infinite opportunity where one could be whatever one pleased and need not just keep on doing something in utter imbecility. Yes, and they had lain on the banks of the lake, and there had been two swans, a he and a she. But what could have happened to them? They had disappeared, surely it hadn’t been illusion merely; no, no, no, she had loved him and then had ridden away from him, out into the blue—
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