“Vær saa artig,” said Marie, handing to the Captain a plate heaped up with brown, crisp, crackling whiting cakes.
The Captain did his best to look his thanks as he took the plate. “What on earth do they all mean by that eternal ‘Vær saa artig?’” said he to the Parson, aside. “I have heard nothing else ever since we dropped our anchor. First, I thought it meant ‘Get out of the boat,’ or ‘Go up the street,’ or ‘Come in-doors,’ or ‘Sit down to supper,’ or something of that sort; but then those drunken porters on board were shoving and elbowing one another about with the very same words in their mouths; and, now I recollect, this was the very speech Birger made to the Professor on the day of the wreck, when he gave him that slippery hitch.”
“In that case,” said the Parson, laughing, “‘vær saa artig’ must mean two black eyes and a bloody nose, for that, as you know, is what the Professor got by it. But the fact is, ‘Vær saa artig,’ with variations, is the general passport throughout all Scandinavia. Some writers ascribe a mystic force to the words, ‘Vackere lilla flycka’—pretty little girl; and I am sure I am not going to deny the force of flattery. But among the natives, certainly, no one ever thinks of telling you what they want you to do. ‘Have another slice of beef?’ ‘Come in?’ ‘Take off your hat?’ ‘Take a seat?’ or whatever it is; all that is dumb show, preceded by the universal formula, ‘Vær saa artig,’ ‘Be so polite.’ All the rest is understood.”
“Vær saa artig,” said Ullitz, unconsciously, from the other end of the table, holding up a bottle of claret, from which he had just extracted the cork.
“Jag har äran drikka er till,” replied the Parson, who had picked up some of the formularies during his former visit. “There,” he said, “that is another instance: an Englishman would have said, ‘Take a glass of wine,’ in plain English. He holds me a bottle, and tells me to ‘be polite.’ My belief is, that when Jack Ketch goes to hang a man in Norway, he is not such a brute as to tell him to put his head into the halter; he merely holds it up to him, and, with a bow, requests him ‘Att være saa artig.’”
“Yes,” said Birger, breaking in, “that is very true; it used to be the case; but the Storthing has abolished that piece of politeness, and capital punishment along with it. The fact is, the Norwegians are so virtuous now, as everybody knows, that they never want hanging.”
This sarcasm, which was spoken in a little louder tone than the conversation which preceded it, threatened rather to interfere with the harmony of the evening, which it probably would have done had the language been generally understood. But the Parson acted as peace-maker.
“Now, Ullitz,” said he, not giving that worthy time to reply, “tell us what arrangements you have been making for us. Shall we be able to start to-morrow?”
“I have done everything according to the instructions transmitted to me,” said Ullitz, speaking like a secretary of state, and with the solemnity warranted by the importance of his subject. “There are two boats now lying at the bridge quay, with their oars and sails in my porch, and we can easily get another for the foreign gentleman” (so Ullitz designated his Swedish fellow-countryman—a little trait of Norske nationality at which Birger laughed heartily). “As for boat furniture, we have everything you can possibly want, in the shop; you have but to choose. And as for provisions, we may trust Madame Ullitz for that.”
“Yes,” said the Parson, “I know Madame Ullitz and her provision-baskets of old.”