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Page 87
All these praises were painful to Erik. His conscience told him that the
principal motive of this expedition on his part had been purely a
personal one, and he felt scrupulous about accepting honors which
appeared to him greatly exaggerated. He therefore availed himself of the
first opportunity to state frankly that he had gone to the polar seas to
discover if possible the secret of his birth, and of the shipwreck of
the "Cynthia," that he had been unsuccessful in doing so.
The occasion was offered by a reporter of one of the principal
newspapers of Stockholm, who presented himself on board of the "Alaska"
and solicited the favor of a private interview with the young captain.
The object of this intelligent gazeteer, let us state briefly, was to
extract from his victim the outlines of a biography which would cover
one hundred lines. He could not have fallen on a subject more willing to
submit to vivisection. Erik had been eager to tell the truth, and to
proclaim to the world that he did not deserve to be regarded as a second
Christopher Columbus. He therefore related unreservedly his story,
explaining how he had been picked up at sea by a poor fisherman of
Noroe, educated by Mr. Malarius, taken to Stockholm by Dr.
Schwaryencrona; how they had found out that Patrick O'Donoghan probably
held the key to the mystery that surrounded him. They discovered that he
was on board of the "Vega;" they had gone in search of him. He related
the accident which had induced them to change their route. Erik told all
this to convince the world that he was no hero. He told it because he
felt ashamed of being so overwhelmed with praises for a performance that
only seemed to him natural and right.
During this time the pen of the delighted reporter, Mr. Squirrelius,
flew over the paper with stenographic rapidity. The dates, the names,
the least details were noted with avidity. Mr. Squirrelius told himself
with a beating heart that he had obtained matter not only for one
hundred lines, but that he could make five or six hundred out of it. And
what a story it would be--more interesting than a novel!
The next day Erik's revelations filled the columns of the most largely
circulated newspaper in Stockholm, and indeed in all Sweden. As is
usually the case, Erik's sincerity, instead of diminishing his
popularity, only increased it, on account of his modesty, and the
romantic interest attached to his history. The press and the public
seized upon it with avidity. These biographical details were soon
translated into all languages, and made the tour of Europe. In this way
they reached Paris, and penetrated in the form of a French newspaper
into a modest drawing-room on Varennes Street.
There were two persons in this room. One was a lady dressed in black,
with white hair, although she still appeared to be young, but her whole
appearance betrayed profound sorrow. Seated under a lighted lamp she
worked mechanically at some embroidery, which at times fell from her
thin fingers, while her eyes, fixed on vacancy, seemed to be thinking of
some overwhelming calamity.
On the other side of the table sat a fine-looking old gentleman, who
took the newspaper abstractedly which his servant brought in.
It was Mr. Durrien, the honorary consul-general of the geographical
society, the same person who had been at Brest when the "Alaska" reached
that place.
This was doubtless the reason why Erik's name attracted his notice, but
while reading the article carefully which contained the biography or the
young Swedish navigator, he was startled. Then he read it again
carefully, and little by little an intense pallor spread over his face,
which was always pale. His hands trembled nervously, and his uneasiness
became so evident that his companion noticed it.
"Father, are you suffering?" she asked with solicitude.
"I believe it is too warm here--I will go to the library and get some
fresh air. It is nothing; it will pass off," answered Mr. Durrien,
rising and walking into the adjoining room.
As if by accident, he carried the paper with him.
If his daughter could have read his thoughts, she would have known that
amidst the tumults of hopes and fears that so agitated him was also a
determination not to let her eyes rest upon that paper.
A moment later she thought of following him into the library, but she
imagined that he wished to be alone, and discreetly yielded to his
desire. Besides she was soon reassured by hearing him moving about and
opening and closing the window.
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