"Rebecca And The Camels"

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Title:     "Rebecca And The Camels"
Author: Anthon B. E. Nilsen [More Titles by Nilsen]

On the day after Holm had been up to Mrs. Rantzau, William and Marie came into the office. Each wore an air of serious importance, and Holm at once suspected something in the wind.

"Father, we want to read you something. It's from an article in the paper."

"Right you are, my boy--go ahead!"

"It's about that picture of mine, the big one of 'Rebecca and the Camels,' that's on exhibition now in Christiania."

"What's she doing with the camels?"

"Giving them water."

"Oh, I see. Watering the camelias; yes, go on."

"Father, I don't think it's nice of you always to be making fun of William," put in Marie.

"Making fun? Not a bit of it, my dear offspring, I'm highly interested."

"Don't you want to hear what the papers say about my work?"

"That's just what I'm waiting for, if you'll only begin."

William opened the paper and read out solemnly:

"This large canvas, 'Rebecca and the Camels,' is the work of that promising young painter, William Holm.

"The most surprising feature of the picture, at a first glance, is the courage and self-confidence displayed by this young artist in handling so lofty a theme.

"Naturally, some of the details are not altogether happy in their execution, but, taken as a whole, one cannot but admit that it is a real work of art, and the country may be congratulated on adding a fresh name to the roll of its talented artists.

"With the further study which, we understand, he is shortly about to undertake in Paris, William Holm should have a great future before him."

"Very nice, my son, very pretty indeed. And I suppose it's your pet particular friend, Listad, who wrote it? Does credit to his imagination, I'm sure."

"It was written by a critic of ability and understanding."

"It would be, of course."

"And after that you surely can't have any objection to our going to Paris?"

"We should like to go at once, papa," added Marie.

"I dare say you would. But I think we ought to have a little more conclusive proof of your talent first. Well, I will make you an offer. William, you can send your picture to Copenhagen, and have it exhibited there anonymously: then we will abide by what the critics say. If it's good, why, I give in; if it's slated, then you agree to start work in the office here with me forthwith, and leave your paint-pots till your leisure, to amuse yourself and your friends apart from your work with me.

"And you, Marie, you can tell your music-mistress, Mrs. Rantzau, that you are seriously thinking of going to the opera, and ask her candid opinion of your prospects. If she advises you to do so, well and good, you shall go to Paris; if not, then you stay at home and begin to learn house-keeping like any other young woman. Isn't that fair?"

"Yes, that's fair enough," said William. "I'm not afraid of what the Copenhagen critics will say."

"And I know Mrs. Rantzau will tell me I ought to go on."

As soon as they had gone, Holm stole off quietly to Mrs. Rantzau and told her all that had passed.

The young people started on their packing at once, Marie in particular was busily occupied in completing her wardrobe. A new travelling-dress was ordered, and various purchases made.

"Don't you think it would be better to wait until we have heard the decision of the authorities," suggested Holm.

"Oh, but I shall hear from Mrs. Rantzau to-morrow," said Marie. "And it doesn't really matter, does it, if you don't get the answer till after I've gone?"

"H'm, I think I'd rather have it settled first, if it's all the same to you."

A week passed, however, and every day Marie had to try over again with Mrs. Rantzau; strange how particular she was now!

William had sent off his picture to Copenhagen, and was all anxiety to learn what had been said about it. The dealer had been instructed to send him press cuttings as soon as they appeared.

On Saturday morning, when Holm went up into the drawing-room, he found the pair very subdued. William was in the smoking-room, which was in darkness, looking out of the window, and Marie lay on the sofa in tears.

On the table lay an open letter from Mrs. Rantzau, as follows:

"MY DEAR MISS HOLM,--I have for the past week carefully and conscientiously tested your voice in order to give my verdict without hesitation as to your chances of making a career as a singer.

"I regret that as a result I can only advise you most seriously to relinquish the idea.

"You have certainly a pleasing voice, but its compass is only slight, and would never be sufficiently powerful for concert work.

"By all means continue your training, you will find it worth while, and your voice might be a source of pleasure to your home circle and friends. I am sure you will be a thousand times happier in that way than in entering upon a career which could only lead to disappointment.--Sincerely yours,

"EMILIE RANTZAU."

Holm read the letter, and went over to Marie.

"Don't cry, my child; you shall go to Paris all right, but we'll go together this time, for a holiday."

"Oh, I'm so miserable--hu, hu!"

"It won't be for long." And Holm sat comforting her as well as he could, until at last she went out of her own accord to lay the table for supper--a thing she had not troubled to do for a long time.

"Aha," thought Holm, "things are looking up a bit."

It was not a particularly cheerful meal, however, and William went off to his own room as soon as it was over.

A few days later a bundle of newspapers arrived by post from Copenhagen. William took the parcel with a trembling hand, and hurried off to his room to read them.

Not a word about "Rebecca and the Camels," beyond the dealer's advertisement of the exhibition. Ah, yes, here was something at last. And he read through the following, from one of the morning papers:

"NORWEGIAN CAMELS"

"A decidedly humorous work of art has been on exhibition here the last few days.

"We have rarely seen visitors to the gallery so amused as were the groups that gathered before the large-sized canvas indicated as representing 'Rebecca and the Camels.'

"The young lady with the water-jug appears to be suffering from a pronounced gumboil, and is evidently utterly bored with her task of acting as barmaid to the camels; which latter, be it stated, are certainly but distantly related, if at all, to the honourable family of that name as represented in our Zoological Gardens.

"Indeed, we have it on good authority that a formal protest will shortly be lodged by the family in question against the unrightful adoption of a distinguished name by these monstrosities; the dromedaries, too, albeit less directly concerned, are anxious to disclaim any relationship.

"As for the setting, it must be admitted that the sky is undoubtedly as blue as anyone could wish, while cactus and cabbage grow luxuriantly about the hoofs of the so-called camels.

"Such unfettered and original humour is rare in Norwegian art; we are more accustomed to works of serious and mystic significance from that quarter. Presumably, the painting in question represents a new school, and we can only congratulate the country on the possession of so promising a young artist."

William turned very pale as he read. Then, taking up the bundle of papers, he thrust the whole collection into the stove, and began nervously walking up and down.

An hour later he went downstairs to the office, and took his seat at the desk, opposite Miss Rantzau.

Just then Holm entered from the shop. He made no remarks, but put on his coat and went down to the waterside, where he found Bramsen sitting in a corner, looking troubled and unhappy.

"Why, what's the matter, Bramsen?"

"Oh, Lord, everything's going contrariwise, it seems."

"Why, what's happened?"

"Well, there's Andrine gone and joined the Salvation Army, with a hat like that!" And he made a descriptive motion of his hands to his ears.

"The devil she has!"

"Ay, you may well say that. Downhill's better than up, as the man said when he fell over the cliff. But," and he sighed, "it never rains but it pours. Amande's gone and got laid up too."

"Amande? Poor child! What's wrong with her?"

"Doctor says she's got tulips or something in her ears."

"Polypi, I suppose you mean."

"Well, something of that sort, anyway."

"Sorry to hear that, Bramsen. And I'd just come down to tell you how splendid I was feeling myself; haven't been so happy for years. What do you think! William's started work at the office, and Marie's given up the singing business. Isn't that a surprise?"

"Ay, that it is. Never have thought it--as the old maid said when a young man kissed her on the stairs. I'm glad to hear it, though--they've been pretty average troublesome up to now."

"I should say so. Well, let's hope Andrine will come to her senses as well, after a bit."

"She must have got it pretty badly, I tell you, Knut. Why, only this morning if she didn't hand me over the savings-bank book, said she'd given up all thoughts of worldly mammon for good." And Bramsen drew out the book from his pocket.

"What do you say to that, £130, 16s. 2d. She must have been a wonder to put by all that."

"You're right there, Bramsen; she must be a born manager."

"And now I'm going to try a steamboat. There's one I know of that's for sale, the Patriot, and I believe it's a bargain."

"Don't you go doing anything foolish now, Bramsen; you're comfortably off as you are, and if you want more wages, why, you've only got to say so."

"No, thanks, Knut. I'm earning well enough, and doing first-rate all round. But it's the freedom I want, to set out on my own again."

"Well, you could take a run down the fjord on one of the coasting steamers any time you like."

"Ah, but it's not the same. Look at that fellow Johnsen now, with the Rap hauling away with all sorts of craft, for all he drinks like a fish. Only last year he went on board so properly overloaded, he fell down the hold and smashed a couple of ribs."

"And you want to go and do likewise? You're a long sight better off where you are, if you ask me, Bramsen."

"Well, I'll think it over, Knut. As long as I've got all this worldly mammon in my inside pocket, I feel like doing things with it. And there's no knowing but Andrine might get converted back again any day and want it back--and where'd I be then?"

"H'm. I hope you'll have her back again the same as ever, before long."

"Why, as to that, I hope so too, and that's the truth. But that's the more reason not to lose the chance now she's taken that way. I've thought of trying a share in a vessel too. There's Olsen, skipper of the Baron Holberg. You must know Olsen, I'm sure--fellow with a red beard--Baron Olsen, they call him. He offered me a fourth share in the brig for £65."

Bramsen livened up after a while, and the two friends were soon chatting away in their usual cheery fashion.

"What would you say to me marrying again, Bramsen?"

Bramsen sat without moving for a while, then took out his clasp-knife and began whittling at a splinter of wood.

"Well, what do you say?

"I'd say it's a risky thing to do."

"It generally is, I suppose, but it's always turned out all right up to now."

"You've had a deal of truck with the womenfolk in your time, Knut. Got a way of managing them somehow. Seems to me you start off with being sort of friendly with them in a general way, and then they get to running after you and want to marry you straight away. Ay, you've a sort of way of your own with the women for sure. Me being a simple sort of an individual, it's the other way round--why, I had to ask Andrine three times before she'd have me. Would you believe it, she was as near as could be to taking John Isaksen, that's built like a telegraph post, and never a tooth in his mouth, so he was that afraid of crusts they called him Crusty John."

"Well, women are queer cattle, you're right in that."

"Ay, that they are. Like a bit of clockwork inside, all odd bits of wheels and screws and things, little and big, some turning this way and some that. And the mainspring, as you might say, that's love, and that's why there's some goes too fast, by reason of the mainspring being stronger than it should, and others taking it easy like, and going slow...."

"And some that stop altogether."

"Why, yes, till they get a new mainspring and start going again. If not, why, they're done for, that's all."

"You've a neat way of putting it, Bramsen. Like a parable."

"And then they're mostly cased up smart and fine, and we wear them mostly near our hearts----"

"Bravo! Right again!"

"Well, now, begging your pardon, Knut, might I be so bold as to ask if it's a widow you've got your eye on this time?"

"No, indeed, my dear fellow, it's not."

"Good for you, Knut. I've never cared much for second-hand goods myself, there's always something wrong with them somewhere, and they soon go to bits."

"You're not far out either. I like them new myself."

"But I was going to tell you, I'd a rare time of it here the other day. You've maybe heard about me gammoning the youngsters down here--ay, and others too for that matter, simple folk like Garner, for instance--that I could talk Chinese through having picked up the lingo the five years I was on board the Albatros in the China Seas?"

And, by way of illustration, Bramsen showed his eyes round sideways, screwed up his mouth and uttered the following syllables: "Hi--ho--fang--chu--ka--me--lang--poh--poh--ku!"

Holm laughed till he had to sit down on a barrel. Bramsen was in his element now; Andrine and the Salvation Army, Amanda and her tulips, were forgotten.

"Well, the day before yesterday, while I was stacking fish up in the loft, in comes an old gentleman, sort of learned and reverend looking he was.

"'Mr. Paal Abrahamsen?' says he, and looks at me solemn-like through a pair of blue spectacles.

"'That's me, your Highness,' says I, for I judged he must be something pretty high. Then he puts down his stick, a mighty fine one with a silver top, and opens a big book.

"Aha, thinks I to myself, it'll be the census, that's it. For you know there's been all this business about taking people's census ever since New Year. Well, if he wanted my census, I was agreeable, so I started away polite as could be:

"'Surname and Christian names, married or single, and so on, that's what you'll be wanting,' says I.

"'No, my friend,' says he, 'I only called to inquire--you speak Chinese, I understand. Several years in the country, were you not?'

"Well, I reckoned he couldn't be a Chinaman himself. I gave a squint up under his spectacles to see if his eyes were slantywise, but they were all right.

"'H'm,' says I, 'I know a little, but it's nothing much. Not worth counting, really.'

"'Don't be afraid, my good man. It was just a few simple words and phrases in the language I'd very much like to ask about. My name is'--well, it was Professor something or other--Birk or Cork or Stork or something--'from Christiania,' he said.

"'Well,' thinks I to myself, 'it doesn't look as if he knew much more than I do myself. I may bluff him yet.' And we squatted down on a barrel apiece, with an empty sugar-box between us for a table.

"'Mr. Abrahamsen,' says he, 'if you'd kindly repeat a sentence, anything you like, in Chinese.' And he takes up a grand gold pencil-case and starts to write in the book.

"'Aha,' thought I, 'now we're sitting to the hardest part,' as the miller said when he got to the eighth commandment. Anyhow, here goes. And I rattles off, solemn-like: 'Me--hoh--puh--fih--chu--lang--ra-- ta--ta--poh--uh--ee--lee--shung--la--uh--uh--uh!' And down it all goes in his book like winking.

"'Very good, very good. And now, what does it mean?'

"'What it means----' Well, that was a nasty one, as you can imagine. Funny thing, but I'd never thought about that. 'Mean--why--well, it means--H'm. Why, it's as much as to say--well, it's a sort of--sort of national anthem, as you might call it. Sons of China's Ancient Land. Not quite that exactly, but something like it, you understand. Chinese is--well, it's different, you know.'

"He looked at me pretty sharply under his glasses, but I stood my ground and never winked a muscle. And then, bless me if he wasn't mean enough to ask me to say it all over again.

"Well, I could have stood on my head in the dark easier than remember what it was I'd said before. So I puts on an air, superior-like, and says to him:

"'Wait a bit, it's your turn now. Let's see if you can manage it first.'

"'Well, my good sir, to begin with, Sons of Norway's Ancient Land is a sort of national anthem if you like, but I hardly think it's been translated into Chinese. And in the second place, the word for sons is "Yung-li," not "Me-hoh," as you said.'

"'Beg pardon, Professor, but there's different dialectrics out there, same as here: some talks northland and some westland fashion, not to speak of shorthand, and it's all as different as light and dark.'

"Well, as luck would have it, that set him laughing, and he shuts up the big book and tucks away the pencil in his waistcoat pocket. And he thanks me most politely for the information.

"'You're very welcome, I'm sure,' says I.
'Ah--dec--oh--oh--shung--la--la--poh!'

"But if we ever get another of that learned sort along, why, I'm going to tell them Paal Abrahamsen's dead and gone, poor lad, and can't talk Chinese any more. I never was much good at these examinations."

[The end]
Anthon B. E. Nilsen's short story: "Rebecca And The Camels"

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