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diff --git a/7214-0.txt b/7214-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9c49223 --- /dev/null +++ b/7214-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5662 @@ + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pan, by Knut Hamsun + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Pan + +Author: Knut Hamsun + +Commentator: Edwin Björkman + +Translator: W. W. Worster + + +Release Date: January, 2005 [EBook #7214] +This file was first posted on March 27, 2003 +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PAN *** + + + + +Produced by Tim Becker, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks, and +the Online Distributed Team + + + + + + + + +PAN + +By Knut Hamsun + +Translated from the Norwegian of Knut Hamsun By W. W. Worster + +With an Introduction by Edwin Björkman + +New York + +Alfred A. Knopf + +1927 + + Published July, 1921 + Second printing August, 1921 + Third printing September, 1921 + Fourth printing February, 1922 + Fifth printing January, 1927 + + + + +KNUT HAMSUN: FROM HUNGER TO HARVEST + + +Between “Hunger” and “Growth of the Soil” lies the time generally +allotted to a generation, but at first glance the two books seem much +farther apart. One expresses the passionate revolt of a homeless +wanderer against the conventional routine of modern life. The other +celebrates a root-fast existence bounded in every direction by +monotonous chores. The issuance of two such books from the same pen +suggests to the superficial view a complete reversal of position. The +truth, however, is that Hamsun stands today where he has always stood. +His objective is the same. If he has changed, it is only in the +intensity of his feeling and the mode of his attack. What, above all, he +hates and combats is the artificial uselessness of existence which to +him has become embodied in the life of the city as opposed to that of +the country. + +Problems do not enter into the novels of Hamsun in the same manner as +they did into the plays of Ibsen. Hamsun would seem to take life as it +is, not with any pretense at its complete acceptability, but without +hope or avowed intention of making it over. If his tolerance be never +free from satire, his satire is on the other hand always easily +tolerant. One might almost suspect him of viewing life as something +static against which all fight would be futile. Even life's worst +brutalities are related with an offhandedness of manner that makes you +look for the joke that must be at the bottom of them. The word +_reform_ would seem to be strangely eliminated from his dictionary, +or, if present, it might be found defined as a humorous conception of +something intrinsically unachievable. + +Hamsun would not be the artist he is if he were less deceptive. He has +his problems no less than Ibsen had, and he is much preoccupied with +them even when he appears lost in ribald laughter. They are different +from Ibsen's, however, and in that difference lies one of the chief +explanations of Hamsun's position as an artist. All of Ibsen's problems +became in the last instance reducible to a single relationship--that +between the individual and his own self. To be himself was his cry and +his task. With this consummation in view, he plumbed every depth of +human nature. This one thing achieved, all else became insignificant. + +Hamsun begins where Ibsen ended, one might say. The one problem never +consciously raised by him as a problem is that of man's duty or ability +to express his own nature. That is taken for granted. The figures +populating the works of Hamsun, whether centrally placed or moving +shadowlike in the periphery, are first of all themselves--agressively, +inevitably, unconsciously so, In other words, they are like their +creator. They may perish tragically or ridiculously as a result of their +common inability to lay violent hand on their own natures. They may go +through life warped and dwarfed for lack of an adjustment that to most +of us might seem both easy and natural. Their own selves may become +more clearly revealed to them by harsh or happy contacts with life, and +they may change their surfaces accordingly. The one thing never +occurring to them is that they might, for the sake of something or some +one outside of themselves, be anything but what they are. + +There are interferences, however, and it is from these that Hamsun's +problems spring. A man may prosper or suffer by being himself, and in +neither case is the fault his own. There are factors that more or less +fatally influence and circumscribe the supremely important factor that +is his own self. Roughly these fall into three groups suggestive of +three classes of relationships: (1) between man and his general +environment; (2) between man and that ever-present force of life which +we call love; and (3) between man and life in its entirety, as an +omnipotence that some of us call God and others leave unnamed. Hamsun's +deceptive preference for indirectness is shown by the fact that, while +he tries to make us believe that his work is chiefly preoccupied with +problems of the second class, his mind is really busy with those of the +first class. The explanation is simple. Nothing helps like love to +bring out the unique qualities of a man's nature. On the other hand, +there is nothing that does more to prevent a man from being himself than +the ruts of habit into which his environment always tends to drive him. +There are two kinds of environment, natural and human. Hamsun appears to +think that the less you have of one and the more of the other, the +better for yourself and for humanity as a whole. The city to him is +primarily concentrated human environment, and as such bad. This phase of +his attitude toward life almost amounts to a phobia. It must be +connected with personal experiences of unusual depth and intensity. +Perhaps it offers a key that may be well worth searching for. Hamsun was +born in the country, of and among peasants. In such surroundings he +grew up. The removal of his parents from the central inland part of +Norway to the rocky northern coast meant a change of natural setting, +but not a human contact. The sea must have come into his life as a +revelation, and yet it plays an astonishingly small part in his work. It +is always present, but always in the distance. You hear of it, but you +are never taken to it. + +At about fifteen, Hamsun had an experience which is rarely mentioned as +part of the scant biographical material made available by his reserve +concerning his own personality. He returned to the old home of his +parents in the Gudbrand Valley and worked for a few months as clerk in a +country store--a store just like any one of those that figure so +conspicuously in almost every one of his novels. The place and the work +must have made a revolutionary impression on him. It apparently aroused +longings, and it probably laid the basis for resistances and resentments +that later blossomed into weedlike abundance as he came in contact with +real city life. There runs through his work a strange sense of sympathy +for the little store on the border of the wilderness, but it is also +stamped as the forerunner and panderer of the lures of the city. + +As a boy of eighteen, when working in a tiny coast town as a cobbler's +apprentice, he ventured upon his first literary endeavors and actually +managed to get two volumes printed at his own cost. The art of writing +was in his blood, exercising a call and a command that must have been +felt as a pain at times, and as a consecration at other times. Books +and writing were connected with the city. Perhaps the hatred that later +days developed, had its roots in a thwarted passion. Even in the little +community where his first scribblings reached print he must have felt +himself in urban surroundings, and perhaps those first crude volumes +drew upon him laughter and scorn that his sensitive soul never forgot. +If something of the kind happened, the seed thus sown was nourished +plentifully afterwards, when, as a young man, Hamsun pitted his +ambitions against the indifference first of Christiania and then of +Chicago. The result was a defeat that seemed the more bitter because it +looked like punishment incurred by straying after false gods. + +Others have suffered in the same way, although, being less rigidly +themselves, they may not, like Hamsun, have taken a perverse pleasure in +driving home the point of the agony. Others have thought and said harsh +things of the cities. But no one that I can recall has equalled Hamsun +in his merciless denunciation of the very principle of urbanity. The +truth of it seems to be that Hamsun's pilgrimage to the bee hives where +modern humanity clusters typically, was an essential violation of +something within himself that mattered even more than his literary +ambition to his soul's integrity. Perhaps, if I am right, he is the +first genuine peasant who has risen to such artistic mastery, reaching +its ultimate heights through a belated recognition of his own proper +settings. Hamsun was sixty when he wrote “Growth of the Soil.” It is the +first work in which he celebrates the life of the open country for its +own sake, and not merely as a contrast to the artificiality and +selfishness of the cities. It was written, too, after he had definitely +withdrawn himself from the gathering places of the writers and the +artists to give an equal share of his time and attention to the tilling +of the soil that was at last his own. It is the harvest of his ultimate +self-discovery. + +The various phases of his campaign against city life are also +interesting and illuminating. Early in his career as a writer he tried +an open attack in full force by a couple of novels, “Shallow Soil” and +“Editor Lynge”, dealing sarcastically with the literary Bohemia of the +Norwegian capital. They were, on the whole, failures--artistically +rather than commercially. They are among his poorest books. The attack +was never repeated in that form. He retired to the country, so to speak, +and tried from there to strike at what he could reach of the ever +expanding, ever devouring city. After that the city, like the sea, is +always found in the distance. One feels it without ever seeing it. +There is fear as well as hatred in his treatment of it. + +In the country it is represented not so much by the store, which, after +all, fills an unmistakable need on the part of the rural population, as +by the representatives of the various professions. For these Hamsun +entertains a hostile feeling hardly less marked than that bestowed on +their place of origin, whither, to his openly declared disgust, they are +always longing. It does not matter whether they are ministers or actors, +lawyers or doctors--they are all tarred with the same brush. Their +common characteristic is their rootlessness. They have no real home, +because to Hamsun a home is unthinkable apart from a space of soil +possessed in continuity by successive generations. They are always +despising the surroundings in which they find themselves temporarily, +and their chief claim to distinction is a genuine or pretended knowledge +of life on a large scale. Greatness is to them inseparably connected +with crowdedness, and what they call sophistication is at bottom nothing +but a wallowing in that herd instinct which takes the place of mankind's +ancient antagonist in Hamsun's books. Above all, their standards of +judgment are not their own. + +From what has just been said one might conclude that the spirit of +Hamsun is fundamentally unsocial. So it is, in a way, but only in so far +as we have come to think of social and urban as more or less +interchangeable terms. He has a social consciousness and a social +passion of his own, but it is decentralized, one might say. He knows of +no greater man than his own Isak of “Growth of the Soil”--a simple +pioneer in whose wake new homes spring up, an inarticulate and uncouth +personification of man's mastery of nature. When Hamsun speaks of Isak +passing across the yearning, spring-stirred fields, “with the grain +flung in fructifying waves from his reverent hands,” he pictures it +deliberately in the light of a religious rite--the oldest and most +significant known to man. It is as if the man who starved in +Christiania and the western cities of the United States--not +figuratively, but literally--had once for all conceived a respect for +man's principal food that has colored all subsequent life for him and +determined his own attitude toward everything by a reference to its +connection or lack of connection with that substance. + +Taking it all in all, one may well call Hamsun old-fashioned. The +virtues winning his praise and the conditions that stir his longings are +not of the present day. There is in him something primitive that forms a +sharp contrast to the modernity of his own style. Even in his most +romantic exaggerations, as in “Hunger” and “Mysteries,” he is a realist, +dealing unrelentingly with life as it appears to us. It would hardly be +too much to call his method scientific. But he uses it to aim tremendous +explosive charges at those human concentrations that made possible the +forging of the weapons he wields so skilfully. Nor does he stop at a +wish to see those concentrations scattered. The very ambitions and +Utopias bred within them are anathema to his soul, that places +simplicity above cleanliness in divine proximity. Characteristically we +find that the one art treated with constant sympathy in his writings is +that of music, which probably is the earliest and certainly the one +least dependent on the herding of men in barracks. In place of what he +wishes to take away he offers nothing but peace and the sense of genuine +creation that comes to the man who has just garnered the harvests of his +own fields into his bulging barns. He is a prophet of plenty, but he has +no answer ready when we ask him what we are going to do with it after we +have got it. Like a true son of the brooding North, he wishes to set us +thinking, but he has no final solutions to offer. + +EDWIN BJÖRKMAN. + + + + +PAN + + + + +I + + +These last few days I have been thinking and thinking of the Nordland +summer, with its endless day. Sitting here thinking of that, and of a +hut I lived in, and of the woods behind the hut. And writing things +down, by way of passing the time; to amuse myself, no more. The time +goes very slowly; I cannot get it to pass as quickly as I would, though +I have nothing to sorrow for, and live as pleasantly as could be. I am +well content withal, and my thirty years are no age to speak of. + +A few days back someone sent me two feathers. Two bird's feathers in a +sheet of note-paper with a coronet, and fastened with a seal. Sent from +a place a long way off; from one who need not have sent them back at +all. That amused me too, those devilish green feathers. + +And for the rest I have no troubles, unless for a touch of gout now and +again in my left foot, from an old bullet-wound, healed long since. + +Two years ago, I remember, the time passed quickly--beyond all +comparison more quickly than time now. A summer was gone before I knew. +Two years ago it was, in 1855. I will write of it just to amuse +myself--of something that happened to me, or something I dreamed. Now, I +have forgotten many things belonging to that time, by having scarcely +thought of them since. But I remember that the nights were very light. +And many things seemed curious and unnatural. Twelve months to the +year--but night was like day, and never a star to be seen in the sky. +And the people I met were strange, and of a different nature from those +I had known before; sometimes a single night was enough to make them +blossom out from childhood into the full of their glory, ripe and fully +grown. No witchery in this; only I had never seen the like before. No. + +In a white, roomy home down by the sea I met with one who busied my +thoughts for a little time. I do not always think of her now; not any +more. No; I have forgotten her. But I think of all the other things: the +cry of the sea-birds, my hunting in the woods, my nights, and all the +warm hours of that summer. After all, it was only by the merest accident +I happened to meet her; save for that, she would never have been in my +thoughts for a day. + +From the hut where I lived, I could see a confusion of rocks and reefs +and islets, and a little of the sea, and a bluish mountain peak or so; +behind the hut was the forest. A huge forest it was; and I was glad and +grateful beyond measure for the scent of roots and leaves, the thick +smell of the fir-sap, that is like the smell of marrow. Only the forest +could bring all things to calm within me; my mind was strong and at +ease. Day after day I tramped over the wooded hills with Æsop at my +side, and asked no more than leave to keep on going there day after day, +though most of the ground was covered still with snow and soft slush. I +had no company but Æsop; now it is Cora, but at that time it was Æsop, +my dog that I afterwards shot. + +Often in the evening, when I came back to the hut after being out +shooting all day, I could feel that kindly, homely feeling trickling +through me from head to foot--a pleasant little inward shivering. And I +would talk to Æsop about it, saying how comfortable we were. “There, now +we'll get a fire going, and roast a bird on the hearth,” I would say; +“what do you say to that?” And when it was done, and we had both fed, +Æsop would slip away to his place behind the hearth, while I lit a pipe +and lay down on the bench for a while, listening to the dead soughing of +the trees. There was a slight breeze bearing down towards the hut, and I +could hear quite clearly the clutter of a grouse far away on the ridge +behind. Save for that, all was still. + +And many a time I fell asleep there as I lay, just as I was, fully +dressed and all, and did not wake till the seabirds began calling. And +then, looking out of the window, I could see the big white buildings of +the trading station, the landing stage at Girilund, the store where I +used to get my bread. And I would lie there a while, wondering how I +came to be there, in a hut on the fringe of a forest, away up in +Nordland. + +Then Æsop over by the hearth would shake out his long, slender body, +rattling his collar, and yawning and wagging his tail, and I would jump +up, after those three or four hours of sleep, fully rested and full of +joy in everything ... everything. + +Many a night passed just that way. + + + + +II + + +Rain and storm--'tis not such things that count. Many a time some little +joy can come along on a rainy day, and make a man turn off somewhere to +be alone with his happiness--stand up somewhere and look out straight +ahead, laughing quietly now and again, and looking round. What is there +to think of? One clear pane in a window, a ray of sunlight in the pane, +the sight of a little brook, or maybe a blue strip of sky between the +clouds. It needs no more than that. + +At other times, even quite unusual happenings cannot avail to lift a man +from dulness and poverty of mind; one can sit in the middle of a +ballroom and be cool, indifferent, unaffected by anything. Sorrow and +joy are from within oneself. + +One day I remember now. I had gone down to the coast. The rain came on +suddenly, and I slipped into an open boathouse to sit down for a while. +I was humming a little, but not for any joy or pleasure, only to pass +the time. Æsop was with me; he sat up listening, and I stopped humming +and listened as well. Voices outside; people coming nearer. A mere +chance--nothing more natural. A little party, two men and a girl, came +tumbling in suddenly to where I sat, calling to one another and +laughing: + +“Quick! Get in here till it stops!” + +I got up. + +One of the men had a white shirt front, soft, and now soaked with rain +into the bargain, and all bagging down; and in that wet shirt front a +diamond clasp. Long, pointed shoes he wore, too, that looked somewhat +affected. I gave him good-day. It was Mack, the trader; I knew him +because he was from the store where I used to get my bread. He had asked +me to look in at the house any time, but I had not been there yet. + +“Aha, it's you, is it?” said Mack at sight of me. “We were going up to +the mill, but had to turn back. Ever see such weather--what? And when +are you coming up to see us at Sirilund, Lieutenant?” + +He introduced the little black-bearded man who was with him; a doctor, +staying down near the church. + +The girl lifted her veil the least little bit, to her nose, and started +talking to Æsop in a whisper. I noticed her jacket; I could see from +the lining and the buttonholes that it had been dyed. Mack introduced me +to her as well; his daughter, Edwarda. + +Edwarda gave me one glance through her veil, and went on whispering to +the dog, and reading on its collar: + +“So you're called Æsop, are you? Doctor, who was Æsop? All I can +remember is that he wrote fables. Wasn't he a Phrygian? I can't +remember.” + +A child, a schoolgirl. I looked at her--she was tall, but with no figure +to speak of, about fifteen or sixteen, with long, dark hands and no +gloves. Like as not she had looked up Æsop in the dictionary that +afternoon, to have it ready. + +Mack asked me what sport I was having. What did I shoot mostly? I could +have one of his boats at any time if I wanted--only let him know. The +Doctor said nothing at all. When they went off again, I noticed that the +Doctor limped a little, and walked with a stick. + +I walked home as empty in mind as before, humming all indifferently. +That meeting in the boathouse had made no difference either way to me; +the one thing I remembered best of all was Mack's wet shirt front, with +a diamond clasp--the diamond all wet, too, and no great brilliance about +it, either. + + + + +III + + +There was a stone outside my hut, a tall grey stone. It looked as if it +had a sort of friendly feeling towards me; as if it noticed me when I +came by, and knew me again. I liked to go round that way past the +stone, when I went out in the morning; it was like leaving a good friend +there, who I knew would be still waiting for me when I came back. + +Then up in the woods hunting, sometimes finding game, sometimes none... + +Out beyond the islands, the sea lay heavily calm. Many a time I have +stood and looked at it from the hills, far up above. On a calm day, the +ships seemed hardly to move at all; I could see the same sail for three +days, small and white, like a gull on the water. Then, perhaps, if the +wind veered round, the peaks in the distance would almost disappear, and +there came a storm, the south-westerly gale; a play for me to stand and +watch. All things in a seething mist. Earth and sky mingled together, +the sea flung up into fantastic dancing figures of men and horses and +fluttering banners on the air. I stood in the shelter of an overhanging +rock, thinking many things; my soul was tense. Heaven knows, I thought +to myself, what it is I am watching here, and why the sea should open +before my eyes. Maybe I am seeing now the inner brain of earth, how +things are at work there, boiling and foaming. Æsop was restless; now +and again he would thrust up his muzzle and sniff, in a troubled way, +with legs quivering uneasily; when I took no notice, he lay down between +my feet and stared out to sea as I was doing. And never a cry, never a +word of human voice to be heard anywhere; nothing; only the heavy rush +of the wind about my head. There was a reef of rocks far out, lying all +apart; when the sea raged up over it the water towered like a crazy +screw; nay, like a sea-god rising wet in the air, and snorting, till +hair and beard stood out like a wheel about his head. Then he plunged +down into the breakers once more. + +And in the midst of the storm, a little coal-black steamer fighting its +way in... + +When I went down to the quay in the afternoon, the little coal-black +steamer had come in; it was the mail-packet. Many people had gathered on +the quayside to see the rare visitor; I noticed that all without +exception had blue eyes, however different they might be in other ways. +A young girl with a white woolen kerchief over her head stood a little +apart; she had very dark hair, and the white kerchief showed up +strangely against it. She looked at me curiously, at my leather suit, my +gun; when I spoke to her, she was embarrassed, and turned her head away. +I said: + +“You should always wear a white kerchief like that; it suits you well.” + +Just then a burly man in an Iceland jersey came up and joined her; he +called her Eva. Evidently she was his daughter. I knew the burly man; he +was the local smith, the blacksmith. Only a few days back he had mended +the nipple of one of my guns... + +And rain and wind did their work, and thawed away the snow. For some +days a cheerless cold hovered over the earth; rotten branches snapped, +and the crows gathered in flocks, complaining. But it was not for long; +the sun was near, and one day it rose up behind the forest. + +It sends a strip of sweetness through me from head to foot when the sun +comes up; I shoulder my gun with quiet delight. + + + + +IV + + +I was never short of game those days, but shot all I cared to--a hare, a +grouse, a ptarmigan--and when I happened to be down near the shore and +came within range of some seabird or other, I shot it too. It was a +pleasant time; the days grew longer and the air clearer; I packed up +things for a couple of days and set off up into the hills, up to the +mountain peaks. I met reindeer Lapps, and they gave me cheese--rich +little cheeses tasting of herbs. I went up that way more than once. +Then, going home again, I always shot some bird or other to put in my +bag. I sat down and put Æsop on the lead. Miles below me was the sea; +the mountainsides were wet and black with the water running down them, +dripping and trickling always with the same little sound. That little +sound of the water far up on the hills has shortened many an hour for me +when I sat looking about. Here, I thought to myself, is a little endless +song trickling away all to itself, and no one ever hears it, and no one +ever thinks of it, and still it trickles on nevertheless, to itself, all +the time, all the time! And I felt that the mountains were no longer +quite deserted, as long as I could hear that little trickling song. Now +and again something would happen: a clap of thunder shaking the earth, a +mass of rock slipping loose and rushing down towards the sea, leaving a +trail of smoking dust behind. Æsop turned his nose to the wind at once, +sniffing in surprise at the smell of burning that he could not +understand. When the melting of the snow had made rifts in the hillside, +a shot, or even a sharp cry, was enough to loosen a great block and send +it tumbling down... + +An hour might pass, or perhaps more--the time went so quickly. I let +Æsop loose, slung my bag over the other shoulder, and set off towards +home. It was getting late. Lower down in the forest, I came unfailingly +upon my old, well-known path, a narrow ribbon of a path, with the +strangest bends and turns. I followed each one of them, taking my +time--there was no hurry. No one waiting for me at home. Free as a +lord, a ruler, I could ramble about there in the peaceful woods, just as +idly as I pleased. All the birds were silent; only the grouse was +calling far away--it was always calling. + +I came out of the wood and saw two figures ahead, two persons moving. I +came up with them. One was Edwarda, and I recognized her, and gave a +greeting; the Doctor was with her. I had to show them my gun; they +looked at my compass, my bag; I invited them to my hut, and they +promised to come some day. + +It was evening now. I went home and lit a fire, roasted a bird, and had +a meal. To-morrow there would be another day... + +All things quiet and still. I lay that evening looking out the window. +There was a fairy glimmer at that hour over wood and field; the sun had +gone down, and dyed the horizon with a rich red light that stood there +still as oil. The sky all open and clean; I stared into that clear sea, +and it seemed as if I were lying face to face with the uttermost depth +of the world; my heart beating tensely against it, and at home there. +God knows, I thought to myself, God knows why the sky is dressed in gold +and mauve to-night, if there is not some festival going on up there in +the world, some great feast with music from the stars, and boats gliding +along river ways. It looks so!--And I closed my eyes, and followed the +boats, and thoughts and thoughts floated through my mind... + +So more than one day passed. + +I wandered about, noting how the snow turned to water, how the ice +loosed its hold. Many a day I did not even fire a shot, when I had food +enough in the hut--only wandered about in my freedom, and let the time +pass. Whichever way I turned, there was always just as much to see +and hear--all things changing a little every day. Even the osier +thickets and the juniper stood waiting for the spring. One day I went +out to the mill; it was still icebound, but the earth around it had been +trampled through many and many a year, showing how men and more men had +come that way with sacks of corn on their shoulders, to be ground. It +was like walking among human beings to go there; and there were many +dates and letters cut in the walls. + +Well, well... + + + + +V + + +Shall I write more? No, no. Only a little for my own amusement's sake, +and because it passes the time for me to tell of how the spring came two +years back, and how everything looked then. Earth and sea began to smell +a little; there was a sweetish, rotting smell from the dead leaves in +the wood, and the magpies flew with twigs in their beaks, building their +nests. A couple of days more, and the brooks began to swell and foam; +here and there a butterfly was to be seen, and the fishermen came home +from their stations. The trader's two boats came in laden deep with +fish, and anchored off the drying grounds; there was life and commotion +all of a sudden out on the biggest of the islands, where the fish were +to be spread on the rocks to dry. I could see it all from my window. + +But no noise reached the hut; I was alone, and remained so. Now and +again someone would pass. I saw Eva, the blacksmith's girl; she had got +a couple of freckles on her nose. + +“Where are you going?” I asked. + +“Out for firewood,” she answered quietly. She had a rope in her hand to +carry the wood, and her white kerchief on her head. I stood watching +her, but she did not turn round. + +After that I saw no one for days. + +The spring was urging, and the forest listened; it was a great delight +to watch the thrushes sitting in the tree-tops staring at the sun and +crying; sometimes I would get up as early as two in the morning, just +for a share of the joy that went out from bird and beast at sunrise. + +The spring had reached me too, maybe, and my blood beat at times as if +it were footsteps. I sat in the hut, and thought of overhauling my +fishing rods and lines and gear, but moved never a finger to any work at +all, for a glad, mysterious restlessness that was in and out of my heart +all the while. Then suddenly Æsop sprang up, stood and stiffened, and +gave a short bark. Someone coming to the hut! I pulled off my cap +quickly, and heard Edwarda's voice already at the door. Kindly and +without ceremony she and the Doctor had come to pay me a visit, as they +had said. + +“Yes,” I heard her say, “he is at home.” And she stepped forward, and +gave me her hand in her simple girlish way. “We were here yesterday, but +you were out,” she said. + +She sat down on the rug over my wooden bedstead and looked round the +hut; the Doctor sat down beside me on the long bench. We talked, chatted +away at ease; I told them things, such as what kinds of animals there +were in the woods, and what game I could not shoot because of the closed +season. It was the closed season for grouse just now. + +The Doctor did not say much this time either, but catching sight of my +powder-horn, with a figure of Pan carved on it, he started to explain +the myth of Pan. + +“But,” said Edwarda suddenly, “what do you live on when it's closed +season for all game?” + +“Fish,” I said. “Fish mostly. But there's always something to eat.” + +“But you might come up to us for your meals,” she said. “There was an +Englishman here last year--he had taken the hut--and he often came to us +for meals.” + +Edwarda looked at me and I at her. I felt at the moment something +touching my heart like a little fleeting welcome. It must have been the +spring, and the bright day; I have thought it over since. Also, I +admired the curve of her eyebrows. + +She said something about my place; how I had arranged things in the hut. +I had hung up skins of several sorts on the walls, and birds' wings; it +looked like a shaggy den on the inside. She liked it. “Yes, a den,” she +said. + +I had nothing to offer my visitors that they would care about; I thought +of it, and would have roasted a bird for them, just for amusement--let +them eat it hunter's fashion, with their fingers. It might amuse them. + +And I cooked the bird. + +Edwarda told about the Englishman. An old man, an eccentric, who talked +aloud to himself. He was a Roman Catholic, and always carried a little +prayer-book, with red and black letters, about with him wherever he +went. + +“Was he an Irishman then?” asked the Doctor. + +“An Irishman...?” + +“Yes--since he was a Roman Catholic.” + +Edwarda blushed, and stammered and looked away. + +“Well, yes, perhaps he was an Irishman.” + +After that she lost her liveliness. I felt sorry for her, and tried to +put matters straight again. I said: + +“No, of course you are right: he was an Englishman. Irishmen don't go +travelling about in Norway.” + +We agreed to row over one day and see the fish-drying grounds... + +When I had seen my visitors a few steps on their way, I walked home +again and sat down to work at my fishing gear. My hand-net had been hung +from a nail by the door, and several of the meshes were damaged by rust; +I sharpened up some hooks, knotted them to lengths of line, and looked +to the other nets. How hard it seemed to do any work at all to-day! +Thoughts that had nothing to do with the business in hand kept coming +and going; it occurred to me that I had done wrong in letting Edwarda +sit on the bed all the time, instead of offering her a seat on the +bench. I saw before me suddenly her brown face and neck; she had +fastened her apron a little low down in front, to be long-waisted, as +was the fashion; the girlish contour of her thumb affected me tenderly, +and the little wrinkles above the knuckle were full of kindliness. Her +mouth was large and rich. + +I rose up and opened the door and looked out. I could hear nothing, and +indeed there was nothing to listen for. I closed the door again; Æsop +came up from his resting-place and noticed that I was restless about +something. Then it struck me that I might run after Edwarda and ask her +for a little silk thread to mend my net with. It would not be any +pretence--I could take down the net and show her where the meshes were +spoiled by rust. I was already outside the door when I remembered that I +had silk thread myself in my fly-book; more indeed than I wanted. And I +went back slowly, discouraged--to think that I had silk thread myself. + +A breath of something strange met me as I entered the hut again; it +seemed as if I were no longer alone there. + + + + +VI + + +A man asked me if I had given up shooting; he had not heard me fire a +shot up in the hills, though he had been out fishing for two days. No, I +had shot nothing; I had stayed at home in the hut until I had no more +food in the place. + +On the third day I went out with my gun. The woods were getting green; +there was a smell of earth and trees. The young grass was already +springing up from the frozen moss. I was in a thoughtful mood, and sat +down several times. For three days I had not seen a soul except the one +fisherman I had met the day before. I thought to myself, “Perhaps I may +meet someone this evening on the way home, at the edge of the wood, +where I met the Doctor and Edwarda before. Perhaps they may be going +for a walk that way again--perhaps, perhaps not.” But why should I think +of those two in particular? I shot a couple of ptarmigan, and cooked one +of them at once; then I tied up the dog. + +I lay down on the dry ground to eat. The earth was quiet--only a little +breath of wind and the sound of a bird here and there. I lay and watched +the branches waving gently in the breeze; the little wind was at its +work, carrying pollen from branch to branch and filling every innocent +bloom; all the forest seemed filled with delight. A green worm thing, a +caterpillar, dragged itself end by end along a branch, dragging along +unceasingly, as if it could not rest. It saw hardly anything, for all it +had eyes; often it stood straight up in the air, feeling about for +something to take hold of; it looked like a stump of green thread sewing +a seam with long stitches along the branch. By evening, perhaps, it +would have reached its goal. + +Quiet as ever. I get up and move on, sit down and get up again. It is +about four o'clock; about six I can start for home, and see if I happen +to meet anyone. Two hours to wait; a little restless already, I brush +the dust and heather from my clothes. I know the places I pass by, trees +and stones stand there as before in their solitude; the leaves rustle +underfoot as I walk. The monotonous breathing and the familiar trees and +stones mean much to me; I am filled with a strange thankfulness; +everything seems well disposed towards me, mingles with my being; I love +it all. I pick up a little dry twig and hold it in my hand and sit +looking at it, and think my own thoughts; the twig is almost rotten, its +poor bark touches me, pity fills my heart. And when I get up again, I do +not throw the twig far away, but lay it down, and stand liking it; at +last I look at it once more with wet eyes before I go away and leave it +there. + +Five o'clock. The sun tells me false time today; I have been walking +westward the whole day, and come perhaps half an hour ahead of my sun +marks at the hut. I am quite aware of all this, but none the less there +is an hour yet before six o'clock, so I get up again and go on a little. +And the leaves rustle under foot. An hour goes that way. + +I look down at the little stream and the little mill that has been +icebound all the winter, and I stop. The mill is working; the noise of +it wakes me, and I stop suddenly, there and then. “I have stayed out +too long,” I say aloud. A pang goes through me; I turn at once and begin +walking homewards, but all the time I know I have stayed out too long. I +walk faster, then run; Æsop understands there is something the matter, +and pulls at the leash, drags me along, sniffs at the ground, and is all +haste. The dry leaves crackle about us. + +But when we come to the edge of the wood there was no one there. No, all +was quiet; there was no one there. + +“There is no one here,” I said to myself. And yet it was no worse than I +had expected. + +I did not stay long, but walked on, drawn by all my thoughts, passed by +my hut, and went down to Sirilund with Æsop and my bag and gun--with all +my belongings. + +Herr Mack received me with the greatest friendliness, and asked me to +stay to supper. + + + + +VII + + +I fancy I can read a little in the souls of those about me--but perhaps +it is not so. Oh, when my good days come, I feel as if I could see far +into others' souls, though I am no great or clever head. We sit in a +room, some men, some women, and I, and I seem to see what is passing +within them, and what they think of me. I find something in every swift +little change of light in their eyes; sometimes the blood rises to their +cheeks and reddens them; at other times they pretend to be looking +another way, and yet they watch me covertly from the side. There I sit, +marking all this, and no one dreams that I see through every soul. For +years past I have felt that I could read the souls of all I met. But +perhaps it is not so... + +I stayed at Herr Mack's house all that evening. I might have gone off +again at once--it did not interest me to stay sitting there--but had I +not come because all my thoughts were drawing me that way? And how could +I go again at once? We played whist and drank toddy after supper; I sat +with my back turned to the rest of the room, and my head bent down; +behind me Edwarda went in and out. The Doctor had gone home. + +Herr Mack showed me the design of his new lamps--the first paraffin +lamps to be seen so far north. They were splendid things, with a heavy +leaden base, and he lit them himself every evening--to prevent any +accident. He spoke once or twice of his grandfather, the Consul. + +“This brooch was given to my grandfather, Consul Mack, by Carl Johan +with his own hands,” he said, pointing one finger at the diamond in his +shirt. His wife was dead; he showed me a painted portrait of her in one +of the other rooms--a distinguished looking woman with a lace cap and a +winsome smile. In the same room, also, there was a bookcase, and some +old French books, no less, that might have been an heirloom. The +bindings were rich and gilded, and many owners had marked their names in +them. Among the books were several educational works; Herr Mack was a +man of some intelligence. + +His two assistants from the store were called in to make up the party at +whist. They played slowly and doubtfully, counted carefully, and made +mistakes all the same. Edwarda helped one of them with his hand. + +I upset my glass, and felt ashamed, and stood up. + +“There--I have upset my glass,” I said. + +Edwarda burst out laughing, and answered: + +“Well, we can see that.” + +Everyone assured me laughingly that it did not matter. They gave me a +towel to wipe myself with, and we went on with the game. Soon it was +eleven o'clock. + +I felt a vague displeasure at Edwarda's laugh. I looked at her, and +found that her face had become insignificant, hardly even pretty. At +last Herr Mack broke off the game, saying that his assistants must go to +bed; then he leaned back on the sofa and began talking about putting up +a sign in front of his place. He asked my advice about it. What colour +did I think would be best? I was not interested, and answered “black,” + without thinking at all. And Herr Mack at once agreed: + +“Black, yes--exactly what I had been thinking myself. 'Salt and barrels' +in heavy black letters--that ought to look as nice as anything... +Edwarda, isn't it time you were going to bed?” + +Edwarda rose, shook hands with us both, said good-night, and left the +room. We sat on. We talked of the railway that had been finished last +year, and of the first telegraph line. “Wonder when we shall have the +telegraph up here.” + +Pause. + +“It's like this,” said Herr Mack. “Time goes on, and here am I, +six-and-forty, and hair and beard gone grey. You might see me in the +daytime and say I was a young man, but when the evening comes along, and +I'm all alone, I feel it a good deal. I sit here mostly playing +patience. It works out all right as a rule, if you fudge a little. +Haha!” + +“If you fudge a little?” I asked. + +“Yes.” + +I felt as if I could read in his eyes... + +He got up from his seat, walked over to the window, and looked out; he +stooped a little, and the back of his neck was hairy. I rose in my turn. +He looked round and walked towards me in his long, pointed shoes, stuck +both thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, waved his arms a little, as if +they were wings, and smiled. Then he offered me his boat again if ever I +wanted one, and held out his hand. + +“Wait a minute--I'll go with you,” he said, and blew out the lamps. +“Yes, yes, I feel like a little walk. It's not so late.” + +We went out. + +He pointed up the road towards the blacksmith's and said: + +“This way--it's the shortest.” + +“No,” I said. “Round by the quay is the shortest way.” + +We argued the point a little, and did not agree. I was convinced that I +was right, and could not understand why he insisted. At last he +suggested that we should each go his own way; the one who got there +first could wait at the hut. + +We set off, and he was soon lost to sight in the wood. + +I walked at my usual pace, and reckoned to be there a good five minutes +ahead. But when I got to the hut he was there already. He called out as +I came up: + +“What did I say? I always go this way--it _is_ the shortest.” + +I looked at him in surprise; he was not heated, and did not appear to +have been running. He did not stay now, but said good-night in a +friendly way, and went back the way he had come. + +I stood there and thought to myself: This is strange! I ought to be some +judge of distance, and I've walked both those ways several times. My +good man, you've been fudging again. Was the whole thing a pretence? + +I saw his back as he disappeared into the wood again. + +Next moment I started off in track of him, going quickly and cautiously; +I could see him wiping his face all the way, and I was not so sure now +that he had not been running before. I walked very slowly now, and +watched him carefully; he stopped at the blacksmith's. I stepped into +hiding, and saw the door open, and Herr Mack enter the house. + +It was one o'clock; I could tell by the look of the sea and the grass. + + + + +VIII + + +A few days passed as best they could; my only friend was the forest and +the great loneliness. Dear God! I had never before known what it was to +be so alone as on the first of those days. It was full spring now; I had +found wintergreen and milfoil already, and the chaffinches had come (I +knew all the birds). Now and again I took a couple of coins from my +pocket and rattled them, to break the loneliness. I thought to myself: +“What if Diderik and Iselin were to appear!” + +Night was coming on again; the sun just dipped into the sea and rose +again, red, refreshed, as if it had been down to drink. I could feel +more strangely on those nights than anyone would believe. Was Pan +himself there, sitting in a tree, watching me to see what I might do? +Was his belly open, and he sitting there bent over as if drinking from +his own belly? But all that he did only that he might look up under his +brows and watch me; and the whole tree shook with his silent laughter +when he saw how all my thoughts were running away with me. There was a +rustling everywhere in the woods, beasts sniffing, birds calling one to +another; their signals filled the air. And it was flying year for the +Maybug; its humming mingled with the buzz of the night moths, sounded +like a whispering here and a whispering there, all about in the woods. +So much there was to hear! For three nights I did not sleep; I thought +of Diderik and Iselin. + +“See now,” I thought, “they might come.” And Iselin would lead Diderik +away to a tree and say: + +“Stand here, Diderik, and keep guard; keep watch; I will let this +huntsman tie my shoestring.” + +And the huntsman is myself, and she will give me a glance of her eyes +that I may understand. And when she comes, my heart knows all, and no +longer beats like a heart, but rings as a bell. I lay my hand on her. + +“Tie my shoe-string,” she says, with flushed cheeks. ... + +The sun dips down into the sea and rises again, red and refreshed, as if +it had been to drink. And the air is full of whisperings. + +An hour after, she speaks, close to my mouth: + +“Now I must leave you.” + +And she turns and waves her hand to me as she goes, and her face is +flushed still; her face is tender and full of delight. And again she +turns and waves to me. + +But Diderik steps out from under the tree and says: + +“Iselin, what have you done? I saw you.” + +She answers: + +“Diderik, what did you see? I have done nothing.” + +“Iselin, I saw what you did,” he says again; “I saw you.” + +And then her rich, glad laughter rings through the wood, and she goes +off with him, full of rejoicing from top to toe. And whither does she +go? To the next mortal man; to a huntsman in the woods. + + * * * * * + +It was midnight. Æsop had broken loose and been out hunting by himself; +I heard him baying up in the hills, and when at last I got him back it +was one o'clock. A girl came from herding goats; she fastened her +stocking and hummed a tune and looked around. But where was her flock? +And what was she doing in the woods at midnight? Ah, nothing, nothing. +Walking there for restlessness, perhaps, for joy; 'twas her affair. I +thought to myself, she had heard Æsop in the woods, and knew that I was +out. + +As she came up I rose and stood and looked at her, and I saw how slight +and young she was. Æsop, too, stood looking at her. + +“Where do you come from?” I asked. + +“From the mill,” she answered. + +But what could she have been doing at the mill so late at night? + +“How can you venture into the woods so late?” I said--“you so slight and +young?” + +She laughed, and said: + +“I am not so young--I am nineteen.” + +But she could not be nineteen; I am certain she was lying by at least +two years, and was only seventeen. But why should she lie to seem older? + +“Sit down,” I said, “and tell me your name.” + +And she sat down, blushing, by my side, and told me her name was +Henriette. + +Then I asked her: + +“Have you a lover, Henriette, and has he ever taken you in his arms?” + +“Yes,” she said, smiling shyly. + +“How many times?” + +She was silent. + +“How many times?” I asked her again. + +“Twice,” she answered softly. + +I drew her to me and said: + +“How did he do it? Was it like this?” + +“Yes,” she whispered, trembling. + + + + +IX + + +I had some talk with Edwarda. + +“We shall have rain before long,” I said. + +“What time is it?” she asked. + +I looked at the sun and answered: + +“About five.” + +She asked: + +“Can you tell so nearly by the sun?” + +“Yes,” I answered; “I can.” + +Pause. + +“But when you can't see the sun, how do you tell the time then?” + +“Then I can tell by other things. There's high tide and low tide, and +the grass that lies over at certain hours, and the song of the birds +that changes; some birds begin to sing when others leave off. Then, I +can tell the time by flowers that close in the afternoon, and leaves +that are bright green at some times and dull green at others--and then, +besides, I can feel it.” + +“I see.” + +Now I was expecting rain, and for Edwarda's sake I would not keep her +there any longer on the road; I raised my cap. But she stopped me +suddenly with a new question, and I stayed. She blushed, and asked me +why I had come to the place at all? Why I went out shooting, and why +this and why that? For I never shot more than I needed for food, and +left my dog idle... + +She looked flushed and humble. I understood that someone had been +talking about me, and she had heard it; she was not speaking for +herself. And something about her called up a feeling of tenderness in +me; she looked so helpless, I remembered that she had no mother; her +thin arms gave her an ill-cared-for appearance. I could not help feeling +it so. + +Well, I did not go out shooting just to murder things, but to live. I +had need of one grouse to-day, and so I did not shoot two, but would +shoot the other to-morrow. Why kill more? I lived in the woods, as a son +of the woods. And from the first of June it was closed time for hare and +ptarmigan; there was but little left for me to shoot at all now. Well +and good: then I could go fishing, and live on fish. I would borrow her +father's boat and row out in that. No, indeed, I did no go out shooting +for the lust of killing things, but only to live in the woods. It was a +good place for me; I could lie down on the ground at meals, instead of +sitting upright on a chair; I did not upset my glass there. In the woods +I could do as I pleased; I could lie down flat on my back and close my +eyes if I pleased, and I could say whatever I liked to say. Often one +might feel a wish to say something, to speak aloud, and in the woods it +sounded like speech from the very heart... + +When I asked her if she understood all this, she said, “Yes.” + +And I went on, and told her more, because her eyes were on me. “If you +only knew all that I see out in the wilds!” I said. “In winter, I come +walking along, and see, perhaps, the tracks of ptarmigan in the snow. +Suddenly the track disappears; the bird has taken wing. But from the +marks of the wings I can see which way the game has flown, and before +long I have tracked it down again. There is always a touch of newness in +that for me. In autumn, many a time there are shooting stars to watch. +Then I think to myself, being all alone, What was that? A world seized +with convulsions all of a sudden? A world going all to pieces before my +eyes? To think that I--that _I_ should be granted the sight of shooting +stars in my life! And when summer comes, then perhaps there may be a +little living creature on every leaf; I can see that some of them have +no wings; they can make no great way in the world, but must live and die +on that one little leaf where they came into the world. + +“Then sometimes I see the blue flies. But it all seems such a little +thing to talk about--I don't know if you understand?” + +“Yes, yes, I understand.” + +“Good. Well, then sometimes I look at the grass, and perhaps the grass +is looking at me again--who can say? I look at a single blade of grass; +it quivers a little, maybe, and thinks me something. And I think to +myself: Here is a little blade of grass all a-quivering. Or if it +happens to be a fir tree I look at, then maybe the tree has one branch +that makes me think of it a little, too. And sometimes I meet people up +on the moors; it happens at times.” + +I looked at her; she stood bending forward, listening. I hardly knew +her. So lost in attention she was that she took no heed of herself, but +was ugly, foolish looking; her underlip hung far down. + +“Yes, yes,” she said, and drew herself up. + +The first drops of rain began to fall. + +“It is raining,” said I. + +“Oh! Yes, it is raining,” she said, and went away on the instant. + +I did not see her home; she went on her way alone; I hurried up to the +hut. A few minutes passed. It began to rain heavily. Suddenly I heard +someone running after me. I stopped short, and there was Edwarda. + +“I forgot,” she said breathlessly. “We were going over to the +islands--the drying grounds, you know. The Doctor is coming to-morrow; +will you have time then?” + +“To-morrow? Yes, indeed. I shall have time enough.” + +“I forgot it,” she said again, and smiled. + +As she went, I noticed her thin, pretty calves; they were wet far above +the ankle. Her shoes were worn through. + + + + +X + + +There was another day which I remember well. It was the day my summer +came. The sun began shining while it was still night, and dried up the +wet ground for the morning. The air was soft and fine after the last +rain. + +In the afternoon I went down to the quay. The water was perfectly +still; we could hear talking and laughter away over at the island, where +men and girls were at work on the fish. It was a happy afternoon. + +Ay, was it not a happy afternoon? We took hampers of food and wine with +us; a big party we were, in two boats, with young women in light +dresses. I was so happy that I hummed a tune. + +And when we were in the boat, I fell to thinking where all these young +people came from. There were the daughters of the Lensmand and the +district surgeon, a governess or so, and the ladies from the vicarage. I +had not seen them before; they were strangers to me; and yet, for all +that, they were as friendly as if we had known each other for years. I +made some mistakes! I had grown unaccustomed to being in society, and +often said “Du” [Footnote: “Du"=thou, the familiar form of address +(tutoyer), instead of “De"=you.] to the young ladies, but they did not +seem offended. And once I said “dear,” or “my dear,” but they forgave me +that as well, and took no notice of it. + +Herr Mack had his unstarched shirt front on as usual, with the diamond +stud. He seemed in excellent spirits, and called across to the other +boat: + +“Hi, look after the hamper with the bottles, you madcaps there. Doctor, +I shall hold you responsible for the wine.” + +“Right!” cried the Doctor. And just those few words from one boat to +another seemed to me pleasant and merry to hear. + +Edwarda was wearing the same dress she had, worn the day before, as if +she had no other or did not care to put on another. Her shoes, too, were +the same. I fancied her hands were not quite clean; but she wore a brand +new hat, with feathers. She had taken her dyed jacket with her, and used +it to sit on. + +At Herr Mack's request I fired a shot just as we were about to land, in +fact, two shots, both barrels--and they cheered. We rambled up over the +island, the workers greeted us all, and Herr Mack stopped to speak to +his folk. We found daisies and corn marigolds and put them in our +button-holes; some found harebells. + +And there was a host of seabirds chattering and screaming, in the air +and on the shore. + +We camped out on a patch of grass where there were a few stunted birches +with white stems. The hampers were opened, and Herr Mack saw to the +bottles. Light dresses, blue eyes, the ring of glasses, the sea, the +white sails. And we sang a little. + +And cheeks were flushed. + + * * * * * + +An hour later, my whole being was joy; even little things affected me. A +veil fluttering from a hat, a girl's hair coming down, a pair of eyes +closing in a laugh--and it touched me. That day, that day! + +“I've heard you've such a queer little hut up there, Lieutenant?” + +“Yes, a nest. And the very thing for me. Come and see me there one day; +there's no such hut anywhere else. And the great forest behind it.” + +Another came up and said kindly: + +“You have not been up here in the north before?” + +“No,” I answered. “But I know all about it already, ladies. At night I +am face to face with the mountains, the earth, and the sun. But I will +not try to use fine words. What a summer you have here! It bursts forth +one night when everyone is asleep, and in the morning there it is. I +looked out of my window and saw it myself. I have two little windows.” + +A third came up. She was charming by reason of her voice and her small +hands. How charming they all were! This one said: + +“Shall we change flowers? It brings luck, they say.” + +“Yes,” I answered, holding out my hand, “let us change flowers, and I +thank you for it. How pretty you are! You have a lovely voice; I have +been listening to it all the time.” + +But she drew back her harebells and said curtly: + +“What are you thinking about? It was not you I meant.” + +It was not me she meant! It hurt me to feel that I had been mistaken; I +wished myself at home again, far away in my hut, where only the wind +could speak to me. “I beg your pardon,” I said; “forgive me.” The other +ladies looked at one another and moved away, so as not to humiliate me. + +Just at that moment someone came quickly over towards us. All could see +her--it was Edwarda. She came straight to me. She said something, and +threw her arms round my neck; clasped her arms round my neck and kissed +me again and again on the lips. Each time she said something, but I did +not hear what it was. I could not understand it all; my heart stood +still; I had only a feeling of her burning look. Then she slipped away +from me; her little breast beat up and down. She stood there still, with +her brown face and brown neck, tall and slender, with flashing eyes, +altogether heedless. They were all looking at her. For the second time I +was fascinated by her dark eyebrows, that curved high up into her +forehead. + +But, Heavens--the girl had kissed me openly in sight of them all! + +“What is it, Edwarda?” I asked, and I could hear my blood beating; hear +it as it were from down in my throat, so that I could not speak +distinctly. + +“Nothing,” she answered. “Only--that I wanted to. It doesn't matter.” + +I took off my cap and brushed back my hair mechanically as I stood +looking at her. “Doesn't matter...?” + +Herr Mack was saying something, a good way off; we could not hear his +words from where we were. But I was glad to think that Herr Mack had +seen nothing, that he knew nothing of this. It was well indeed that he +had been away from the party just then. I felt relieved at that, and I +stepped over to the others and said with a laugh, and seeming quite +indifferent: + +“I would ask you all to forgive my unseemly behavior a moment ago; I am +myself extremely sorry about it. Edwarda kindly offered to change +flowers with me, and I forgot myself. I beg her pardon and yours. Put +yourself in my place; I live all alone, and am not accustomed to the +society of ladies; besides which, I have been drinking wine, and am not +used to that either. You must make allowances for that.” + +And I laughed, and showed great indifference to such a trifle, that it +might be forgotten; but, inwardly, I was serious. Moreover, what I had +said made no impression on Edwarda. She did not try to hide anything, to +smooth over the effect of her hasty action: on the contrary, she sat +down close to me and kept looking at me fixedly. Now and again she spoke +to me. And afterwards, when we were playing “_Enke_,” she said: + +“I shall have Lieutenant Glahn. I don't care to run after anyone else.” + +“_Saa for Satan_, [Footnote: Expletive, equivalent to “The Devil!” or +“Damnation!”] girl, be quiet!” I whispered, stamping my foot. + +She gave me a look of surprise, made a wry face as if it hurt, and then +smiled bashfully. I was deeply moved at that; the helpless look in her +eyes and her little thin figure were more than I could resist; I was +drawn to her in that moment, and I took her long, slight hand in mine. + +“Afterwards,” I said, “No more now. We can meet again to-morrow.” + + + + +XI + + +In the night I heard Æsop get up from his corner and growl; I heard it +through my sleep, but I was dreaming just then of shooting, the growl of +the dog fitted into the dream, and it did not wake me, quite. When I +stepped out of the hut next morning there were tracks in the grass of a +pair of human feet; someone had been there--had gone first to one of my +windows, then to the other. The tracks were lost again down on the road. + +She came towards me with hot cheeks, with a face all beaming. + +“Have you been waiting?” she said. “I was afraid you would have to +wait.” + +I had not been waiting; she was on the way before me. + +“Have you slept well?” I asked. I hardly knew what to say. + +“No, I haven't. I have been awake,” she answered. And she told me she +had not slept that night, but had sat in a chair with her eyes closed. +And she had been out of the house for a little walk. + +“Someone was outside my hut last night,” I said. “I saw tracks in the +grass this morning.” + +And her face colored; she took my hand there, on the road, and made no +answer. I looked at her, and said: + +“Was it you, I wonder?” + +“Yes,” she answered, pressing close to me. “It was I. I hope I didn't +wake you--I stepped as quietly as I could. Yes, it was I. I was near you +again. I am fond of you!” + + + + +XII + + +Every day, every day I met her. I will tell the truth: I was glad to +meet her; aye, my heart flew. It is two years ago this year; now, I +think of it only when I please, the whole story just amuses and +distracts me. And as for the two green feathers, I will tell about them +in good time. + +There were several places where we could meet--at the mill, on the road, +even in my hut. She came wherever I would. _“Goddag!”_ she cried, always +first, and I answered _“Goddag!”_ + +“You are happy to-day,” she says, and her eyes sparkle. + +“Yes, I am happy,” I answer. “There is a speck there on your shoulder; +it is dust, perhaps, a speck of mud from the road; I must kiss that +little spot. No--let me--I will. Everything about you stirs me so! I am +half out of my senses. I did not sleep last night.” + +And that was true. Many a night I lay and could not sleep. + +We walk side by side along the road. + +“What do you think--am I as you like me to be?” she asks. “Perhaps I +talk too much. No? Oh, but you must say what you really think. +Sometimes I think to myself this can never come to any good...” + +“What can never come to any good?” I ask. + +“This between us. That it cannot come to any good. You may believe it or +not, but I am shivering now with cold; I feel icy cold the moment I come +to you. Just out of happiness.” + +“It is the same with me,” I answer. “I feel a shiver, too, when I see +you. But it will come to some good all the same. And, anyhow, let me pat +you on the back, to warm you.” + +And she lets me, half unwillingly, and then I hit a little harder, for a +jest, and laugh, and ask if that doesn't make her feel better. + +“Oh, please, don't when I ask you; _please_,” says she. + +Those few words! There was something so helpless about her saying it so, +the wrong way round: “Please don't when I ask you.”... + +Then we went on along the road again. Was she displeased with me for my +jest, I wondered? And thought to myself: Well, let us see. And I said: + +“I just happened to think of something. Once when I was out on a sledge +party, there was a young lady who took a silk kerchief from her neck and +fastened it round mine. In the evening, I said to her: 'You shall have +your kerchief again to-morrow; I will have it washed.' 'No,' she said, +'give it to me now; I will keep it just as it is, after you have worn +it.' And I gave it to her. Three years after, I met the same young lady +again. 'The kerchief,' I said. And she brought it out. It lay in a +paper, just as before; I saw it myself.” + +Edwarda glanced up at me. + +“Yes? And what then?” + +“That is all,” I said. “There was nothing more. But I thought it was +nice of her.” + +Pause. + +“Where is that lady now?” + +“Abroad.” + +We spoke no more of that. But when it was time for her to go home, she +said: + +“Well, good-night. But you won't go thinking of that lady any more, will +you? I don't think of anyone but you.” + +I believed her. I saw that she meant what she said, and it was more than +enough for me that she thought of no one else. I walked after her. + +“Thank you, Edwarda,” I said. And then I added with all my heart: “You +are all too good for me, but I am thankful that you will have me; God +will reward you for that. I'm not so fine as many you could have, no +doubt, but I am all yours--so endlessly yours, by my eternal +soul.----What are you thinking of now, to bring tears to your eyes?” + +“It was nothing,” she answered. “It sounded so strange--that God would +reward me for that. You say things that I ... Oh, I love you so!” + +And all at once she threw her arms round my neck, there in the middle of +the road, and kissed me. + +When she had gone, I stepped aside into the woods to hide, to be alone +with my happiness. And then I hurried eagerly back to the road to see +if anyone had noticed that I had gone in there. But I saw no one. + + + + +XIII + + +Summer nights and still water, and the woods endlessly still. No cry, no +footsteps from the road. My heart seemed full as with dark wine. + +Moths and night-flies came flying noiselessly in through my window, +lured by the glow from the hearth and the smell of the bird I had just +cooked. They dashed against the roof with a dull sound, fluttered past +my ears, sending a cold shiver through me, and settled on my white +powder-horn on the wall. I watched them; they sat trembling and looked +at me--moths and spinners and burrowing things. Some of them looked like +pansies on the wing. + +I stepped outside the hut and listened. Nothing, no noise; all was +asleep. The air was alight with flying insects, myriads of buzzing +wings. Out at the edge of the wood were ferns and aconite, the trailing +arbutus was in bloom, and I loved its tiny flowers... Thanks, my God, +for every heather bloom I have ever seen; they have been like small +roses on my way, and I weep for love of them... Somewhere near were +wild carnations; I could not see them, but I could mark their scent. + +But now, in the night hours, great white flowers have opened suddenly; +their chalices are spread wide; they are breathing. And furry twilight +moths slip down into their petals, making the whole plant quiver. I go +from one flower to another. They are drunken flowers. I mark the stages +of their intoxication. + +Light footsteps, a human breathing, a happy “_Godaften_.” + +And I answer, and throw myself down on the road. + +“_Godaften_, Edwarda,” I say again, worn out with joy. + +“That you should care for me so!” she whispers. + +And I answered her: “If you knew how grateful I can be! You are mine, +and my heart lies still within me all the day, thinking of you. You are +the loveliest girl on earth, and I have kissed you. Often I go red with +joy, only to think that I have kissed you.” + +“Why are you so fond of me this evening?” she asks. + +I was that for endless reasons; I needed only to think of her to feel +so. That look of hers, from under the high-arched brows, and her rich, +dark skin! + +“Should I not be fond of you?” I say again. “I thank every tree in my +path because you are well and strong. Once at a dance there was a young +lady who sat out dance after dance, and they let her sit there alone. I +didn't know her, but her face touched me, and I bowed to her. Well? But +no, she shook her head. Would she not dance, I asked her? 'Can you +imagine it?' she said. 'My father was a handsome man, and my mother a +perfect beauty, and my father won her by storm. But I was born lame.'” + +Edwarda looked at me. + +“Let us sit down,” she said. + +And we sat down in the heather. + +“Do you know what my friend says about you?” she began. “Your eyes are +like an animal's, she says, and when you look at her, it makes her mad. +It is just as if you touched her, she says.” + +A strange joy thrilled me when I heard that, not for my own sake, but +for Edwarda's, and I thought to myself: There is only one whom I care +for: what does that one say of the look in my eyes? And I asked her: + +“Who was that, your friend?” + +“I will not tell you,” she said. “But it was one of those that were out +on the island that day.” + +“Very well, then.” + +And then we spoke of other things. + +“My father is going to Russia in a few days,” she said. “And I am going +to have a party. Have you been out to Korholmerne? We must have two +hampers of wine; the ladies from the vicarage are coming again, and +father has already given me the wine. And you won't look at her again, +will you? My friend, I mean. Please, you won't, _will_ you? Or I +shall not ask her at all.” + +And with no more words she threw herself passionately about my neck, and +looked at me, gazing into my face and breathing heavily. Her glance was +sheer blackness. + +I got up abruptly, and, in my confusion, could only say: + +“So your father is going to Russia?” + +“What did you get up like that for, so quickly?” she asked. + +“Because it is late, Edwarda,” I said. “Now the white flowers are +closing again. The sun is getting up; it will soon be day.” + +I went with her through the woodland and stood watching her as long as I +could; far down, she turned round and softly called good-night. Then +she disappeared. + +At the same moment the door of the blacksmith's house opened. A man with +a white shirt front came out, looked round, pulled his hat down farther +over his forehead, and took the road down to Sirilund. + +Edwarda's good-night was still in my ears. + + + + +XIV + + +A man can be drunk with joy. I fire off my gun, and an unforgettable +echo answers from hill to hill, floats out over the sea and rings in +some sleepy helmsman's ears. And what have I to be joyful about? A +thought that came to me, a memory; a sound in the woods, a human being. +I think of her, I close my eyes and stand still there on the road, and +think of her; I count the minutes. + +Now I am thirsty, and drink from the stream; now I walk a hundred paces +forward and a hundred paces back; it must be late by now, I say to +myself. + +Can there be anything wrong? A month has passed, and a month is no long +time; there is nothing wrong. Heaven knows this month has been short. +But the nights are often long, and I am driven to wet my cap in the +stream and let it dry, only to pass the time, while I am waiting. + +I reckoned my time by nights. Sometimes there would be an evening when +Edwarda did not come--once she stayed away two evenings. Nothing wrong, +no. But I felt then that perhaps my happiness had reached and passed its +height. + +And had it not? + +“Can you hear, Edwarda, how restless it is in the woods to-night? +Rustling incessantly in the undergrowth, and the big leaves trembling. +Something brewing, maybe--but it was not that I had in mind to say. I +hear a bird away up on the hill--only a tomtit, but it has sat there +calling in the same place two nights now. Can you hear--the same, same +note again?” + +“Yes, I hear it. Why do you ask me that?” + +“Oh, for no reason at all. It has been there two nights now. That was +all... Thanks, thanks for coming this evening, love. I sat here, +expecting you this evening, or the next, looking forward to it, when you +came.” + +“And I have been waiting too. I think of you, and I have picked up the +pieces of the glass you upset once, and kept them--do you remember? +Father went away last night. I could not come, there was so much to do +with the packing, and reminding him of things. I knew you were waiting +here in the woods, and I cried, and went on packing.” + +But it is two evenings, I thought to myself. What was she doing the +first evening? And why is there less joy in her eyes now than before? + +An hour passed. The bird up in the hills was silent, the woods lay dead. +No, no, nothing wrong; all as before; she gave me her hand to say +good-night, and looked at me with love in her eyes. + +“To-morrow?” I said. + +“No, not to-morrow,” she answered. + +I did not ask her why. + +“To-morrow is our party,” she said with a laugh. “I was only going to +surprise you, but you looked so miserable, I had to tell you at once. I +was going to send you an invitation all on paper.” + +And my heart was lightened unspeakably. + +She went off, nodding farewell. + +“One thing more,” said I, standing where I was. “How long is it since +you gathered up the pieces of that glass and put them away?” + +“Why--a week ago, perhaps, or a fortnight. Yes, perhaps a fortnight. +But why do you ask? Well, I will tell you the truth--it was yesterday.” + +Yesterday! No longer ago than yesterday she had thought of me. All was +well again now. + + + + +XV + + +The two boats lay ready, and we stepped on board. Talking and singing. +The place, Korholmerne, lay out beyond the islands; it took a good while +to row across, and on the way we talked, one party with another, from +boat to boat. The Doctor wore light things, as the ladies did; I had +never seen him so pleased before; he talked with the rest, instead of +listening in silence. I had an idea he had been drinking a little, and +so was in good humor to-day. When we landed, he craved the attention of +the party for a moment, and bade us welcome. I thought to myself: This +means that Edwarda has asked him to act as host. + +He fell to entertaining the ladies in the most amiable manner. To +Edwarda he was polite and kind, often fatherly, and pedantically +instructive, as he had been so many times before. She spoke of some date +or other, saying: “I was born in '38,” and he asked, “Eighteen hundred +and thirty-eight, I suppose you mean?” And if she had answered, “No, in +nineteen hundred and thirty-eight,” he would have shown no +embarrassment, but only corrected her again, and said, “I think you must +be mistaken.” When I said anything myself, he listened politely and +attentively, and did not ignore me. + +A young girl came up to me with a greeting. I did not recognize her; I +could not remember her at all, and I said a few words in surprise, and +she laughed. It was one of the Dean's daughters. I had met her the day +we went to the island before, and had invited her to my hut. We talked +together a little. + +An hour or so passed by. I was feeling dull, and drank from the wine +poured out for me, and mixed with the others, chatting with them all. +Again I made a mistake here and there: I was on doubtful ground, and +could not tell at the moment how to answer any little civility; now and +then I talked incoherently, or even found nothing at all to say, and +this troubled me. Over by the big rock which we were using as a table +sat the Doctor, gesticulating. + +“Soul--what is the soul?” he was saying. The Dean's daughter had accused +him of being a free-thinker--well, and should not a man think freely? +People imagined hell as a sort of house down under the ground, with the +devil as host--or rather as sovereign lord. Then he spoke of the altar +picture in the chapel, a figure of the Christ, with a few Jews and +Jewesses; water into wine--well and good. But Christ had a halo round +His head. And what was a halo? Simply a yellow hoop fixed on three +hairs. + +Two of the ladies clasped their hands aghast, but the Doctor extricated +himself, and said jestingly: + +“Sounds horrible, doesn't it? I admit it. But if you repeat it and +repeat it again to yourself seven or eight times, and then think it over +a little, it soon sounds easier... Ladies, your very good health!” + +And he knelt on the grass before the two ladies, and instead of taking +his hat off and laying it before him he held it straight up in the air +with one hand, and emptied his glass with his head bent back. I was +altogether carried away by his wonderful ease of manner, and would have +drunk with him myself but that his glass was empty. + +Edwarda was following him with her eyes. I placed myself near her, and +said: + +“Shall we play '_Enke_' to-day?” + +She started slightly, and got up. + +“Be careful not to say '_Du_' to each other now,” she whispered. + +Now I had not said “_Du_” at all. I walked away. + +Another hour passed. The day was getting long; I would have rowed home +alone long before if there had been a third boat; Æsop lay tied up in +the hut, and perhaps he was thinking of me. Edwarda's thoughts must +surely be far away from me; she talked of how lovely it would be to +travel, and see strange places; her cheeks flushed at the thought, and +she even stumbled in her speech: + +“No one could be more happier than I the day ...” + +“'More happier'...?” said the Doctor. + +“What?” said she. + +“'More happier.'” + +“I don't understand.” + +“You said 'more happier,' I think.” + +“Did I? I'm sorry. No one could be happier than I the day I stood on +board the ship. Sometimes I long for places I do not know myself.” + +She longed to be away; she did not think of me. I stood there, and read +in her face that she had forgotten me. Well, there was nothing to be +said--but I stood there myself and saw it in her face. And the minutes +dragged so miserably slowly by! I asked several of the others if we +ought not to row back now; it was getting late, I said, and Æsop was +tied up in the hut. But none of them wanted to go back. + +I went over again to the Dean's daughter, for the third time; I thought +she must be the one that had said I had eyes like an animal's. We drank +together; she had quivering eyes, they were never still; she kept +looking at me and then looking away, all the time. + +“Fröken,” I said, “do you not think people here in these parts are like +the short summer itself? In their feeling, I mean? Beautiful, but +lasting only a little while?” + +I spoke loudly, very loudly, and I did so on purpose. And I went on +speaking loudly, and asked that young lady once more if she would not +like to come up one day and see my hut. “Heaven bless you for it,” I +said in my distress, and I was already thinking to myself how, perhaps, +I might find something to give her as a present if she came. Perhaps I +had nothing to give her but my powder-horn, I thought. + +And she promised to come. + +Edwarda sat with her face turned away and let me talk as much as I +pleased. She listened to what the others said, putting in a word herself +now and again. The Doctor told the young ladies' fortunes by their +hands, and talked a lot; he himself had small, delicate hands, with a +ring on one finger. I felt myself unwanted, and sat down by myself +awhile on a stone. It was getting late in the afternoon. Here I am, I +said to myself, sitting all alone on a stone, and the only creature that +could make me move, she lets me sit. Well, then, I care no more than +she. + +A great feeling of forsakenness came over me. I could hear them talking +behind me, and I heard how Edwarda laughed; and at that I got up +suddenly and went over to the party. My excitement ran away with me. + +“Just a moment,” I said. “It occurred to me while I was sitting there +that perhaps you might like to see my fly-book.” And I took it out. “I +am sorry I did not think of it before. Just look through it, if you +please; I should be only too delighted. You must all see it; there are +both red and yellow flies in it.” And I held my cap in my hand as I +spoke. I was myself aware that I had taken off my cap, and I knew that +this was wrong, so I put it on again at once. + +There was deep silence for a moment, and no one offered to take the +book. At last the Doctor reached out his hand for it and said politely: + +“Thanks very much; let us look at the things. It's always been a marvel +to me how those flies were put together.” + +“I make them myself,” I said, full of gratitude. And I went on at once +to explain how it was done. It was simple enough: I bought the feathers +and the hooks. They were not well made, but they were only for my own +use. One could get ready-made flies in the shops, and they were +beautiful things. + +Edwarda cast one careless glance at me and my book, and went on talking +with her girl friends. + +“Ah, here are some of the feathers,” said the Doctor. “Look, these are +really fine.” + +Edwarda looked up. + +“The green ones are pretty,” she said; “let me look, Doctor.” + +“Keep them,” I cried. “Yes, do, I beg you, now. Two green feathers. Do, +as a kindness, let them be a keepsake.” + +She looked at them and said: + +“They are green and gold, as you turn them in the sun. Thank you, if you +will give me them.” + +“I should be glad to,” I said. + +And she took the feathers. + +A little later the Doctor handed me the book and thanked me. Then he got +up and asked if it were not nearly time to be getting back. + +I said: “Yes, for Heaven's sake. I have a dog tied up at home; look you, +I have a dog, and he is my friend; he lies there thinking of me, and +when I come home he stands with his forepaws at the window to greet me. +It has been a lovely day, and now it is nearly over; let us go back. I +am grateful to you all.” + +I waited on the shore to see which boat Edwarda chose, and made up my +mind to go in the other one myself. Suddenly she called me. I looked at +her in surprise; her face was flushed. Then she came up to me, held out +her hand, and said tenderly: + +“Thank you for the feathers. You will come in the boat with me, won't +you?” + +“If you wish it,” I said. + +We got into the boat, and she sat down beside me on the same seat, her +knee touching mine. I looked at her, and she glanced at me for a moment +in return. I began to feel myself repaid for that bitter day, and was +growing happy again, when she suddenly changed her position, turned her +back to me, and began talking to the Doctor, who was sitting at the +rudder. + +For a full quarter of an hour I did not exist for her. Then I did +something I repent of, and have not yet forgotten. Her shoe fell off: I +snatched it up and flung it far out into the water, for pure joy that +she was near, or from some impulse to make myself remarked, to remind +her of my existence--I do not know. It all happened so suddenly I did +not think, only felt that impulse. + +The ladies set up a cry. I myself was as if paralyzed by what I had +done, but what was the good of that? It was done. The Doctor came to my +help; he cried “Row,” and steered towards the shoe. And the next moment +the boatman had caught hold of the shoe just as it had filled with water +and was sinking; the man's arm was wet up to the elbow. Then there was a +shout of “Hurra” from many in the boats, because the shoe was saved. + +I was deeply ashamed, and felt that my face changed color and winced, as +I wiped the shoe with my handkerchief. Edwarda took it without a word. +Not till a little while after did she say: + +“I never saw such a thing!” + +“No, did you ever?” I said. And I smiled and pulled myself together, +making as if I had played that trick for some particular reason--as if +there were something behind it. But what could there be? The Doctor +looked at me, for the first time, contemptuously. + +A little time passed; the boats glided homeward; the feeling of +awkwardness among the party disappeared; we sang; we were nearing the +land. Edwarda said: + +“Oh, we haven't finished the wine: there is ever so much left. We must +have another party, a new party later on; we must have a dance, a ball +in the big room.” + +When we went ashore I made an apology to Edwarda. + +“If you knew how I wished myself back in my hut!” I said. “This has been +a long and painful day.” + +“Has it been a painful day for you, Lieutenant?” + +“I mean,” said I, trying to pass it off, “I mean, I have caused +unpleasantness both to myself and others. I threw your shoe into the +water.” + +“Yes--an extraordinary thing to do.” + +“Forgive me,” I said. + + + + +XVI + + +What worse things might still happen? I resolved to keep calm, whatever +might come; Heaven is my witness. Was it I who had forced myself on her +from the first? No, no; never! I was but standing in her way one +week-day as she passed. What a summer it was here in the north! Already +the cockchafers had ceased to fly, and people were grown more and more +difficult to understand, for all that the sun shone on them day and +night. What were their blue eyes looking for, and what were they +thinking behind their mysterious lashes? Well, after all, they were all +equally indifferent to me. I took out my lines and went fishing for two +days, four days; but at night I lay with open eyes in the hut... + +“Edwarda, I have not seen you for four days.” + +“Four days, yes--so it is. Oh, but I have been so busy. Come and look.” + +She led me into the big room. The tables had been moved out, the chairs +set round the walls, everything shifted; the chandelier, the stove, and +the walls were fantastically decorated with heather and black stuff from +the store. The piano stood in one corner. + +These were her preparations for “the ball.” + +“What do you think of it?” she asked. + +“Wonderful,” I said. + +We went out of the room. + +I said: “Listen, Edwarda--have you quite forgotten me?” + +“I can't understand you,” she answered in surprise. “You saw all I had +been doing--how could I come and see you at the same time?” + +“No,” I agreed; “perhaps you couldn't.” I was sick and exhausted with +want of sleep, my speech grew meaningless and uncontrolled; I had been +miserable the whole day. “No, of course you could not come. But I was +going to say ... in a word, something has changed; there is something +wrong. Yes. But I cannot read in your face what it is. There is +something very strange about your brow, Edwarda. Yes, I can see it now.” + +“But I have not forgotten you,” she cried, blushing, and slipped her arm +suddenly into mine. + +“No? Well, perhaps you have not forgotten me. But if so, then I do not +know what I am saying. One or the other.” + +“You shall have an invitation to-morrow. You must dance with me. Oh, how +we will dance!” + +“Will you go a little way with me?” I asked. + +“Now? No, I can't,” she answered. “The Doctor will be here presently. +He's going to help me with something; there is a good deal still to be +done. And you think the room will look all right as it is? But don't you +think...?” + +A carriage stops outside. + +“Is the Doctor driving to-day?” I ask. + +“Yes, I sent a horse for him. I wanted to ...” + +“Spare his bad foot, yes. Well, I must be off. _Goddag, Goddag_, Doctor. +Pleased to see you again. Well and fit, I hope? Excuse my running +off...” + +Once down the steps outside, I turned round. Edwarda was standing at +the window watching me; she stood holding the curtains aside with both +hands, to see; and her look was thoughtful. A foolish joy thrilled me; I +hurried away from the house light-footed, with a darkness shading my +eyes; my gun was light as a walking-stick in my hand. If I could win +her, I should become a good man, I thought. I reached the woods and +thought again: If I might win her, I would serve her more untiringly +than any other; and even if she proved unworthy, if she took a fancy to +demand impossibilities, I would yet do all that I could, and be glad +that she was mine... I stopped, fell on my knees, and in humility and +hope licked a few blades of grass by the roadside, and then got up +again. + +At last I began to feel almost sure. Her altered behavior of late--it +was only her manner. She had stood looking after me when I went; stood +at the window following with her eyes till I disappeared. What more +could she do? My delight upset me altogether; I was hungry, and no +longer felt it. + +Æsop ran on ahead; a moment afterward he began to bark. I looked up; a +woman with a white kerchief on her head was standing by the corner of +the hut. It was Eva, the blacksmith's daughter. + +“_Goddag_, Eva!” I called to her. + +She stood by the big grey stone, her face all red, sucking one finger. + +“Is it you, Eva? What is the matter?” I asked. + +“Æsop has bitten me,” she answered, with some awkwardness, and cast down +her eyes. + +I looked at her finger. She had bitten it herself. A thought flashed +into my mind, and I asked her: + +“Have you been waiting here long?” + +“No, not very long,” she answered. + +And without a word more from either of us, I took her by the hand and +let her into the hut. + + + + +XVII + + +I came from my fishing as usual, and appeared at the “ball” with the gun +and bag--only I had put on my best leather suit. It was late when I got +to Sirilund; I heard them dancing inside. Someone called out: “Here's +the hunter, the Lieutenant.” A few of the young people crowded round me +and wanted to see my catch; I had shot a brace of seabirds and caught a +few haddock. Edwarda bade me welcome with a smile; she had been dancing, +and was flushed. + +“The first dance with me,” she said. + +And we danced. Nothing awkward happened; I turned giddy, but did not +fall. My heavy boots made a certain amount of noise; I could hear it +myself, the noise, and resolved not to dance any more; I had even +scratched their painted floor. But how glad I was that I had done +nothing worse! + +Herr Mack's two assistants from the store were there, laboriously and +with a solemn concentration. The Doctor took part eagerly in the set +dances. Besides these gentlemen, there were four other youngish men, +sons of families belonging to the parish, the Dean, and the district +surgeons. A stranger, a commercial traveller, was there too; he made +himself remarked by his fine voice, and tralala'ed to the music; now and +again he relieved the ladies at the piano. + +I cannot remember now what happened the first few hours, but I remember +everything from the latter part of the night. The sun shone redly in +through the windows all the time, and the seabirds slept. We had wine +and cakes, we talked loud and sang, Edwarda's laugh sounded fresh and +careless through the room. But why had she never a word for me now? I +went towards where she was sitting, and would have said something polite +to her, as best I could; she was wearing a black dress, her confirmation +dress, perhaps, and it was grown too short for her, but it suited her +when she danced, and I thought to tell her so. + +“That black dress...” I began. + +But she stood up, put her arm round one of her girl friends, and walked +off with her. This happened two or three times. Well, I thought to +myself, if it's like that... But then why should she stand looking +sorrowfully after me from the window when I go? Well, 'tis her affair! + +A lady asked me to dance. Edwarda was sitting near, and I answered +loudly: + +“No; I am going home directly.” + +Edwarda threw a questioning glance at me, and said: “Going? Oh, no, you +mustn't go.” + +I started, and felt that I was biting my lip. I got up. + +“What you said then seemed very significant to me, Edwarda,” I said +darkly, and made a few steps towards the door. + +The Doctor put himself in my way, and Edwarda herself came hurrying up. + +“Don't misunderstand me,” she said warmly. “I meant to say I hoped you +would be the last to go, the very last. And besides, it's only one +o'clock... Listen,” she went on with sparkling eyes, “you gave our +boatmen five _daler_ for saving my shoe. It was too much.” And she +laughed heartily and turned round to the rest. + +I stood with open mouth, disarmed and confused. + +“You are pleased to be witty,” I said. “I never gave your boatman five +_daler_ at all.” + +“Oh, didn't you?” She opened the door to the kitchen, and called the +boatmen in. “Jakob, you remember the day you rowed us out to +Korholmerne, and you picked up my shoe when it fell into the water?” + +“Yes,” answered Jakob. + +“And you were given five _daler_ for saving it?” + +“Yes, you gave me...” + +“Thanks, that will do, you can go.” + +Now what did she mean by that trick? I thought she was trying to shame +me. She should not succeed; I was not going to have that to blush for. +And I said loudly and distinctly: + +“I must point out to all here that this is either a mistake or a lie. I +have never so much as thought of giving the boatman five _daler_ +for your shoe. I ought to have done so, perhaps, but up to now it has +not been done.” + +“Whereupon we shall continue the dance,” she said, frowning. “Why aren't +we dancing?” + +“She owes me an explanation of this,” I said to myself, and watched for +an opportunity to speak with her. She went into a side room, and I +followed her. + +“_Skaal_,” I said, and lifted a glass to drink with her. + +“I have nothing in my glass,” she answered shortly. + +But her glass was standing in front of her, quite full. + +“I thought that was your glass.” + +“No, it is not mine,” she answered, and turned away, and was in deep +conversation with someone else. + +“I beg your pardon then,” said I. + +Several of the guests had noticed this little scene. + +My heart was hissing within me. I said offendedly: “But at least you owe +me an explanation...” + +She rose, took both my hands, and said earnestly: + +“But not to-day; not now. I am so miserable. Heavens, how you look at +me. We were friends once...” + +Overwhelmed, I turned right about, and went in to the dancers again. + +A little after, Edwarda herself came in and took up her place by the +piano, at which the travelling man was seated, playing a dance; her face +at that moment was full of inward pain. + +“I have never learned to play,” she said, looking at me with dark eyes. +“If I only could!” + +I could make no answer to this. But my heart flew out towards her once +more, and I asked: + +“Why are you so unhappy all at once, Edwarda? If you knew how it hurts +me to see--” + +“I don't know what it is,” she said. “Everything, perhaps. I wish all +these people would go away at once, all of them. No, not you--remember, +you must stay till the last.” + +And again her words revived me, and my eyes saw the light in the +sun-filled room. The Dean's daughter came over, and began talking to me; +I wished her ever so far away, and gave her short answers. And I +purposely kept from looking at her, for she had said that about my eyes +being like an animal's. She turned to Edwarda and told her that once, +somewhere abroad--in Riga I think it was--a man had followed her along +the street. + +“Kept walking after me, street after street, and smiling across at me,” + she said. + +“Why, was he blind, then?” I broke in, thinking to please Edwarda. And I +shrugged my shoulders as well. + +The young lady understood my coarseness at once, and answered: + +“He must have been blind indeed, to run after any one so old and ugly as +I am.” + +But I gained no thanks from Edwarda for that: she drew her friend away; +they whispered together and shook their heads. After that, I was left +altogether to myself. + +Another hour passed. The seabirds began to wake out on the reefs; their +cries sounded in through the open windows. A spasm of joy went through +me at this first calling of the birds, and I longed to be out there on +the islands myself... + +The Doctor, once more in good humor, drew the attention of all present. +The ladies were never tired of his society. Is that thing there my +rival? I thought, noting his lame leg and miserable figure. He had taken +to a new and amusing oath: he said _Död og Pinsel_, [Footnote: A +slight variation of the usual Död og Pine (death and torture).] and +every time he used that comical expression I laughed aloud. In my misery +I wished to give the fellow every advantage I could, since he was my +rival. I let it be “Doctor” here and “Doctor” there, and called out +myself: “Listen to the Doctor!” and laughed aloud at the things he said. + +“I love this world,” said the Doctor. “I cling to life tooth and nail. +And when I come to die, then I hope to find a corner somewhere straight +up over London and Paris, where I can hear the rumble of the human +cancan all the time, all the time.” + +“Splendid!” I cried, and choked with laughter, though I was not in the +least bit drunk. + +Edwarda too seemed delighted. + +When the guests began to go, I slipped away into the little room at the +side and sat down to wait. I heard one after another saying good-bye on +the stairs; the Doctor also took his leave and went. Soon all the voices +had died away. My heart beat violently as I waited. + +Edwarda came in again. At sight of me she stood a moment in surprise; +then she said with a smile: + +“Oh, are you there? It was kind of you to wait till the last. I am tired +out now.” + +She remained standing. + +I got up then, and said: “You will be wanting rest now. I hope you are +not displeased any more, Edwarda. You were so unhappy a while back, and +it hurt me.” + +“It will be all right when I have slept.” + +I had no more to add. I went towards the door. + +“Thank you,” she said, offering her hand. “It was a pleasant evening.” + She would have seen me to the door, but I tried to prevent her. + +“No need,” I said; “do not trouble, I can find my way...” + +But she went with me all the same. She stood in the passage waiting +patiently while I found my cap, my gun, and my bag. There was a +walking-stick in the corner; I saw it well enough; I stared at it, and +recognized it--it was the Doctor's. When she marked what I was looking +at, she blushed in confusion; it was plain to see from her face that she +was innocent, that she knew nothing of the stick. A whole minute passed. +At last she turned, furiously impatient, and said tremblingly: + +“Your stick--do not forget your stick.” + +And there before my eyes she handed me the Doctor's stick. + +I looked at her. She was still holding out the stick; her hand trembled. +To make an end of it, I took the thing, and set it back in the corner. +I said: + +“It is the Doctor's stick. I cannot understand how a lame man could +forget his stick.” “You and your lame man!” she cried bitterly, and took +a step forward towards me. “You are not lame--no; but even if you were, +you could not compare with him; no, you could never compare with him. +There!” + +I sought for some answer, but my mind was suddenly empty; I was silent. +With a deep bow, I stepped backwards out of the door, and down on to the +steps. There I stood a moment looking straight before me; then I moved +off. + +“So, he has forgotten his stick,” I thought to myself. “And he will come +back this way to fetch it. He would not let _me_ be the last man to +leave the house...” I walked up the road very slowly, keeping a +lookout either way, and stopped at the edge of the wood. At last, after +half an hour's waiting, the Doctor came walking towards me; he had seen +me, and was walking quickly. Before he had time to speak I lifted my +cap, to try him. He raised his hat in return. I went straight up to him +and said: + +“I gave you no greeting.” + +He came a step nearer and stared at me. + +“You gave me no greeting...?” + +“No,” said I. + +Pause. + +“Why, it is all the same to me what you did,” he said, turning pale. “I +was going to fetch my stick; I left it behind.” I could say nothing in +answer to this, but I took my revenge another way; I stretched out my +gun before him, as if he were a dog, and said: + +“Over!” + +And I whistled, as if coaxing him to jump over. + +For a moment he struggled with himself; his face took on the strangest +play of expression as he pressed his lips together and held his eyes +fixed on the ground. Suddenly he looked at me sharply; a half smile lit +up his features, and he said: + +“What do you really mean by all this?” + +I did not answer, but his words affected me. + +Suddenly he held out his hand to me, and said gently: + +“There is something wrong with you. If you will tell me what it is, then +perhaps...” + +I was overwhelmed now with shame and despair; his calm words made me +lose my balance. I wished to show him some kindness in return, and I +put my arm round him, and said: + +“Forgive me this! No, what could be wrong with me? There is nothing +wrong; I have no need of your help. You are looking for Edwarda, +perhaps? You will find her at home. But make haste, or she will have +gone to bed before you come; she was very tired, I could see it myself. +I tell you the best news I can, now; it is true. You will find her at +home--go, then!” And I turned and hurried away from him, striking out +with a long stride up through the woods and back to the hut. + +For a while I sat there on the bed just as I had come in, with my bag +over my shoulder and my gun in my hand. Strange thoughts passed through +my mind. Why ever had I given myself away so to that Doctor? The thought +that I had put my arm round him and looked at him with wet eyes angered +me; he would chuckle over it, I thought; perhaps at that very moment he +might be sitting laughing over it, with Edwarda. He had set his stick +aside in the hall. Yes, even if I were lame, I could not compare with +the Doctor. I could never compare with him--those were her words... + +I stepped out into the middle of the floor, cocked my gun, set the +muzzle against my left instep, and pulled the trigger. The shot passed +through the middle of the foot and pierced the floor. Æsop gave a short +terrified bark. + +A little after there came a knock at the door. + +It was the Doctor. + +“Sorry to disturb you,” he began. “You went off so suddenly, I thought +it might do no harm if we had a little talk together. Smell of powder, +isn't there...?” + +He was perfectly sober. “Did you see Edwarda? Did you get your stick?” + I asked. + +“I found my stick. But Edwarda had gone to bed... What's that? Heavens, +man, you're bleeding!” + +“No, nothing to speak of. I was just putting the gun away, and it went +off; it's nothing. Devil take you, am I obliged to sit here and give you +all sorts of information about that...? You found your stick?” + +But he did not heed my words; he was staring at my torn boot and the +trickle of blood. With a quick movement he laid down his stick and took +off his gloves. + +“Sit still--I must get that boot off. I _thought_ it was a shot I +heard.” + + + + +XVIII + + +How I repented of it afterward--that business with the gun. It was a mad +thing to do. It was not worth while any way, and it served no purpose, +only kept me tied down to the hut for weeks. I remember distinctly even +now all the discomfort and annoyance it caused; my washerwoman had to +come every day and stay there nearly all the time, making purchases of +food, looking after my housekeeping, for several weeks. Well, and +then... + +One day the Doctor began talking about Edwarda. I heard her name, heard +what she had said and done, and it was no longer of any great importance +to me; it was as if he spoke of some distant, irrelevant thing. So +quickly one can forget, I thought to myself, and wondered at it. + +“Well, and what do you think of Edwarda yourself, since you ask? I have +not thought of her for weeks, to tell the truth. Wait a bit--it seems to +me there must have been something between you and her, you were so often +together. You acted host one day at a picnic on the island, and she was +hostess. Don't deny it, Doctor, there was something--a sort of +understanding. No, for Heaven's sake don't answer me. You owe me no +explanation, I am not asking to be told anything at all--let us talk of +something else if you like. How long before I can get about again?” + +I sat there thinking of what I had said. Why was I inwardly afraid lest +the Doctor should speak out? What was Edwarda to me? I had forgotten +her. + +And later the talk turned on her again, and I interrupted him once +more--God knows what it was I dreaded to hear. + +“What do you break off like that for?” he asked. “Is it that you can't +bear to hear me speak her name?” + +“Tell me,” I said, “what is your honest opinion of Edwarda? I should be +interested to know.” + +He looked at me suspiciously. + +“My honest opinion?” + +“Perhaps you may have something new to tell me to-day. Perhaps you have +proposed, and been accepted. May I congratulate you? No? Ah, the devil +trust you--haha!” + +“So that was what you were afraid of?” + +“Afraid of? My dear Doctor!” + +Pause. + +“No,” he said, “I have not proposed and been accepted. But you have, +perhaps. There's no proposing to Edwarda--she will take whomever she has +a fancy for. Did you take her for a peasant girl? You have met her, and +seen for yourself. She is a child that's had too little whipping in her +time, and a woman of many moods. Cold? No fear of that! Warm? Ice, I +say. What is she, then? A slip of a girl, sixteen or seventeen--exactly. +But try to make an impression on that slip of a girl, and she +will laugh you to scorn for your trouble. Even her father can do nothing +with her; she obeys him outwardly, but, in point of fact, 'tis she +herself that rules. She says you have eyes like an animal...” + +“You're wrong there--it was someone else said I had eyes like an +animal.” + +“Someone else? Who?” + +“I don't know. One of her girl friends. No, it was not Edwarda said +that. Wait a bit though; perhaps, after all, it was Edwarda...” + +“When you look at her, it makes her feel so and so, she says. But do you +think that brings you a hairbreadth nearer? Hardly. Look at her, use +your eyes as much as you please--but as soon as she marks what you are +doing, she will say to herself--'Ho, here's this man looking at me with +his eyes, and thinks to win me that way.' And with a single glance, or a +word, she'll have you ten leagues away. Do you think I don't know her? +How old do you reckon her to be?” “She was born in '38, she said.” + +“A lie. I looked it up, out of curiosity. She's twenty, though she might +well pass for fifteen. She is not happy; there's a deal of conflict in +that little head of hers. When she stands looking out at the hills and +the sea, and her mouth gives that little twitch, that little spasm of +pain, then she is suffering; but she is too proud, too obstinate for +tears. She is more than a bit romantic; a powerful imagination; she is +waiting for a prince. What was that about a certain five-_daler_ note +you were supposed to have given someone?” + +“A jest. It was nothing...” + +“It was something all the same. She did something of the same sort with +me once. It's a year ago now. We were on board the mail-packet while it +was lying here in the harbour. It was raining, and very cold. A woman +with a child in her arms was sitting on deck, shivering. Edwarda asked +her: 'Don't you feel cold?' Yes, she did. 'And the little one too?' Yes, +the little one was cold as well. 'Why don't you go into the cabin?' asks +Edwarda. 'I've only a steerage ticket,' says the woman. Edwarda looks at +me. 'The woman here has only a steerage ticket,' she says. 'Well, and +what then?' I say to myself. But I understand her look. I'm not a rich +man; what I have I've worked to earn, and I think twice before I spend +it; so I move away. If Edwarda wants someone to pay for the woman, let +her do it herself; she and her father can better afford it than I. And +sure enough, Edwarda paid. She's splendid in that way--no one can say +she hasn't a heart. But as true as I'm sitting here she expected me to +pay for a saloon passage for the woman and child; I could see it in her +eyes. And what then, do you think? The woman gets up and thanks her for +her kindness. 'Don't thank me--it was that gentleman there,' says +Edwarda, pointing to me as calmly as could be. What do you think of +that? The woman thanks me too; and what can I say? Simply had to leave +it as it was. That's just one thing about her. But I could tell you many +more. And as for the five _daler_ to the boatman--she gave him the money +herself. If you had done it, she would have flung her arms round you and +kissed you on the spot. You should have been the lordly cavalier that +paid an extravagant sum for a worn-out shoe--that would have suited her +ideas; she expected it. And as you didn't--she did it herself in your +name. That's her way--reckless and calculating at the same time.” + +“Is there no one, then, that can win her?” I asked. + +“Severity's what she wants,” said the Doctor, evading the question. +“There's something wrong about it all; she has too free a hand; she can +do as she pleases, and have her own way all the time. People take +notice of her; no one ever disregards her; there is always something at +hand for her to work on with effect. Have you noticed the way I treat +her myself? Like a schoolgirl, a child; I order her about, criticise her +way of speaking, watch her carefully, and show her up now and again. Do +you think she doesn't understand it? Oh, she's stiff and proud, it hurts +her every time; but then again she is too proud to show it. But that's +the way she should be handled. When you came up here I had been at her +for a year like that, and it was beginning to tell; she cried with pain +and vexation; she was growing more reasonable. Then you came along and +upset it all. That's the way it goes--one lets go of her and another +takes her up again. After you, there'll be a third, I suppose--you never +know.” + +“Oho,” thought I to myself, “the Doctor has something to revenge.” And I +said: + +“Doctor, what made you trouble to tell me all that long story? What was +it for? Am I to help you with her upbringing?” + +“And then she's fiery as a volcano,” he went on, never heeding my +question. “You asked if no one could ever win her? I don't see why not. +She is waiting for her prince, and he hasn't come yet. Again and again +she thinks she's found him, and finds out she's wrong; she thought you +were the one, especially because you had eyes like an animal. Haha! I +say, though, Herr Lieutenant, you ought at least to have brought your +uniform with you. It would have been useful now. Why shouldn't she be +won? I have seen her wringing her hands with longing for someone to come +and take her, carry her away, rule over her, body and soul. Yes ... but +he must come from somewhere--turn up suddenly one day, and be something +out of the ordinary. I have an idea that Herr Mack is out on an +expedition; there's something behind this journey of his. He went off +like that once before, and brought a man back with him.” + +“Brought a man back with him?” + +“Oh, but he was no good,” said the Doctor, with a wry laugh. “He was a +man about my own age, and lame, too, like myself. He wouldn't do for the +prince.” + +“And he went away again? Where did he go?” I asked, looking fixedly at +him. + +“Where? Went away? Oh, I don't know,” he answered confusedly. “Well, +well, we've been talking too long about this already. That foot of +yours--oh, you can begin to walk in a week's time. _Au revoir._” + + + + +XIX + + +A woman's voice outside the hut. The blood rushed to my head--it was +Edwarda. “Glahn--Glahn is ill, so I have heard.” + +And my washerwoman answered outside the door: + +“He's nearly well again now.” + +That “Glahn--Glahn” went through me to the marrow of my bones; she said +my name twice, and it touched me; her voice was clear and ringing. + +She opened my door without knocking, stepped hastily in, and looked at +me. And suddenly all seemed as in the old days. There she was in her +dyed jacket and her apron tied low in front, to give a longer waist. I +saw it all at once; and her look, her brown face with the eyebrows +high-arched into the forehead, the strangely tender expression of her +hands, all came on me so strongly that my brain was in a whirl. I have +kissed _her_! I thought to myself. + +I got up and remained standing. + +“And you get up, you stand, when I come?” she said. “Oh, but sit down. +Your foot is bad, you shot yourself. Heavens, how did it happen? I did +not know of it till just now. And I was thinking all the time: What can +have happened to Glahn? He never comes now. I knew nothing of it all. +And you had shot yourself, and it was weeks ago, they tell me, and I +knew never a word. How are you now? You are very pale: I should hardly +recognize you. And your foot--will you be lame now? The Doctor says you +will not be lame. Oh, I am so fond of you because you are not going to +be lame! I thank God for that. I hope you will forgive me for coming up +like this without letting you know; I ran nearly all the way...” + +She bent over me, she was close to me, I felt her breath on my face; I +reached out my hands to hold her. Then she moved away a little. Her eyes +were still dewy. + +“It happened this way,” I stammered out. “I was putting the gun away in +the corner, but I held it awkwardly--up and down, like that; then +suddenly I heard the shot. It was an accident.” + +“An accident,” she said thoughtfully, nodding her head. “Let me see--it +is the left foot--but why the left more than the right? Yes, of course, +an accident...” + +“Yes, an accident,” I broke in. “How should I know why it just happened +to be the left foot? You can see for yourself--that's how I was holding +the gun--it couldn't be the right foot that way. It was a nuisance, of +course.” She looked at me curiously. + +“Well, and so you are getting on nicely,” she said, looking around the +hut. “Why didn't you send the woman down to us for food? What have you +been living on?” + +We went on talking for a few minutes. I asked her: + +“When you came in, your face was moved, and your eyes sparkled; you gave +me your hand. But now your eyes are cold again. Am I wrong?” + +Pause. + +“One cannot always be the same...” + +“Tell me this one thing,” I said. “What is it this time that I have said +or done to displease you? Then, perhaps, I might manage better in +future.” + +She looked out the window, towards the far horizon; stood looking out +thoughtfully and answered me as I sat there behind her: + +“Nothing, Glahn. Just thoughts that come at times. Are you angry now? +Remember, some give a little, but it is much for them to give; others +can give much, and it costs them nothing--and which has given more? You +have grown melancholy in your illness. How did we come to talk of all +this?” And suddenly she looked at me, her face flushed with joy. “But +you must get well soon, now. We shall meet again.” + +And she held out her hand. Then it came into my head not to take her +hand. I stood up, put my hands behind my back, and bowed deeply; that +was to thank her for her kindness in coming to pay me a visit. + +“You must excuse me if I cannot see you home,” I said. + +When she had gone, I sat down again to think it all over. I wrote a +letter, and asked to have my uniform sent. + + + + +XX + + +The first day in the woods. + +I was happy and weary; all the creatures came up close and looked at me; +there were insects on the trees and oil-beetles crawling on the road. +Well met! I said to myself. The feeling of the woods went through and +through my senses; I cried for love of it all, and was utterly happy; I +was dissolved in thanksgiving. Dear woods, my home, God's peace with +you from my heart... I stopped and turned all ways, named the things +with tears. Birds and trees and stones and grass and ants, I called them +all by name, looked round and called them all in their order. I looked +up to the hills and thought: Now, now I am coming, as if in answer to +their calling. Far above, the dwarf falcon was hacking away--I knew +where its nests were. But the sound of those falcons up in the hills +sent my thoughts far away. + +About noon I rowed out and landed on a little island, an islet outside +the harbour. There were mauve-coloured flowers with long stalks reaching +to my knees; I waded in strange growths, raspberry and coarse grass; +there were no animals, and perhaps there had never been any human being +there. The sea foamed gently against the rocks and wrapped me in a veil +of murmuring; far up on the egg-cliffs, all the birds of the coast were +flying and screaming. But the sea wrapped me round on all sides as in an +embrace. Blessed be life and earth and sky, blessed be my enemies; in +this hour I will be gracious to my bitterest enemy, and bind the latchet +of his shoe... + +“_Hiv ... ohoi..._” Sounds from one of Herr Mack's craft. My heart +was filled with sunshine at the well-known song. I rowed to the quay, +walked up past the fishers' huts and home. The day was at an end. I had +my meal, sharing it with Æsop, and set out into the woods once more. +Soft winds breathed silently in my face. And I blessed the winds +because they touched my face; I told them that I blessed them; my very +blood sang in my veins for thankfulness. Æsop laid one paw on my knee. + +Weariness came over me; I fell asleep. + + * * * * * + +_Lul! lul!_ Bells ringing! Some leagues out at sea rose a mountain. +I said two prayers, one for my dog and one for myself, and we entered +into the mountain there. The gate closed behind us; I started at its +clang, and woke. + +Flaming red sky, the sun there stamping before my eyes; the night, the +horizon, echoing with light. Æsop and I moved into the shade. All quiet +around us. “No, we will not sleep now,” I said to the dog, “we will go +out hunting tomorrow; the red sun is shining on us, we will not go into +the mountain.” ... And strange thoughts woke to life in me, and the +blood rose to my head. + +Excited, yet still weak, I felt someone kissing me, and the kiss lay on +my lips. I looked round: there was nothing visible. “Iselin!” A sound in +the grass--it might be a leaf falling to the ground, or it might be +footsteps. A shiver through the woods--and I told myself it might be +Iselin's breathing. Here in these woods she has moved, Iselin; here she +has listened to the prayers of yellow-booted, green-cloaked huntsmen. +She lived out on my farm, two miles away; four generations ago she sat +at her window, and heard the echo of horns in the forest. There were +reindeer and wolf and bear, and the hunters were many, and all of them +had seen her grow up from a child, and each and all of them had waited +for her. One had seen her eyes, another heard her voice. When she was +twelve years old came Dundas. He was a Scotsman, and traded in fish, and +had many ships. He had a son. When she was sixteen, she saw young Dundas +for the first time. He was her first love... + +And such strange fancies flowed through me, and my head grew very heavy +as I sat there; I closed my eyes and felt for Iselin's kiss. Iselin, are +you here, lover of life? And have you Diderik there? ... But my head +grew heavier still, and I floated off on the waves of sleep. + +_Lul! lul!_ A voice speaking, as if the Seven Stars themselves were +singing through my blood; Iselin's voice: + +“Sleep, sleep! I will tell you of my love while you sleep. I was +sixteen, and it was springtime, with warm winds; Dundas came. It was +like the rushing of an eagle's flight. I met him one morning before the +hunt set out; he was twenty-five, and came from far lands; he walked by +my side in the garden, and when he touched me with his arm I began to +love him. Two red spots showed in his forehead, and I could have kissed +those two red spots. + +“In the evening after the hunt I went to seek him in the garden, and I +was afraid lest I should find him. I spoke his name softly to myself, +and feared lest he should hear. Then he came out from the bushes and +whispered: 'An hour after midnight!' And then he was gone. + +“'An hour after midnight,' I said to myself--'what did he mean by that? +I cannot understand. He must have meant he was going away to far lands +again; an hour after midnight he was going away--but what was it to me?' + +“An hour after midnight he came back.” + +“'May I sit there by you?' he said. + +“'Yes,' I told him. 'Yes.' + +“We sat there on the sofa; I moved away. I looked down. + +“'You are cold,' he said, and took my hand. A little after he said: +'How cold you are!' and put his arm round me. + +“And I was warmed with his arm. So we sat a little while. Then a cock +crew. + +“'Did you hear,' he said, 'a cock crow? It is nearly dawn.' + +“'Are you quite sure it was the cock crow?' I stammered. + +“Then the day came--already it was morning. Something was thrilling all +through me. What hour was it that struck just now? + +“My maid came in. + +“'Your flowers have not been watered,' she said. + +“I had forgotten my flowers. + +“A carriage drove up to the gate. + +“'Your cat has had no milk,' said the maid. + +“But I had no thought for my flowers, or my cat; I asked: + +“'Is that Dundas outside there? Ask him to come in here to me at once; I +am expecting him; there was something...' + +“He knocked. I opened the door. + +“'Iselin!' he cried, and kissed my lips a whole minute long. + +“'I did not send for you,' I whispered to him. + +“'Did you not?' he asked. + +“Then I answered: + +“'Yes, I did--I sent for you. I was longing so unspeakably for you +again. Stay here with me a little.' + +“And I covered my eyes for love of him. He did not loose me; I sank +forward and hid myself close to him. + +“'Surely that was something crowing again,' he said, listening. + +“But when I heard what he said, I cut off his words as swiftly as I +could, and answered: + +“'No, how can you imagine it? There was nothing crowing then.' + +“He kissed me. + +“Then it was evening again, and Dundas was gone. Something golden +thrilling through me. I stood before the glass, and two eyes all alight +with love looked out at me; I felt something moving in me at my own +glance, and always that something thrilling and thrilling round my +heart. Dear God! I had never seen myself with those eyes before, and I +kissed my own lips, all love and desire, in the glass... + +“And now I have told you. Another time I will tell you of Svend +Herlufsen. I loved him too; he lived a league away, on the island you +can see out there, and I rowed out to him myself on calm summer +evenings, because I loved him. And I will tell you of Stamer. He was a +priest, and I loved him. I love all...” + +Through my helf-sleep I heard a cock crowing down at Sirilund. + +“Iselin, hear! A cock is crowing for us too!” I cried joyfully, and +reached out my arms. I woke. Æsop was already moving. “Gone!” I said in +burning sorrow, and looked round. There was no one--no one there. It was +morning now; the cock was still crowing down at Sirilund. + +By the hut stood a woman--Eva. She had a rope in her hand; she was going +to fetch wood. There was the morning of life in the young girl's figure +as she stood there, all golden in the sun. + +“You must not think...” she stammered out. + +“What is it I must not think, Eva?” + +“I--I did not come this way to meet you; I was just passing...” + +And her face darkened in a blush. + + + + +XXI + + +My foot continued to trouble me a good deal. It often itched at nights, +and kept me awake; a sudden spasm would shoot through it, and in +changeable weather it was full of gout. It was like that for many days. +But it did not make me lame, after all. + +The days went on. + +Herr Mack had returned, and I knew it soon enough. He took my boat away +from me, and left me in difficulties, for it was still the closed +season, and there was nothing I could shoot. But why did he take the +boat away from me like that? Two of Herr Mack's folk from the quay had +rowed out with a stranger in the morning. + +I met the Doctor. + +“They have taken my boat away,” I said. + +“There's a new man come,” he said. “They have to row him out every day +and back in the evening. He's investigating the sea-floor.” + +The newcomer was a Finn. Herr Mack had met him accidentally on board the +steamer; he had come from Spitzbergen with some collections of scales +and small sea-creatures; they called him Baron. He had been given a big +room and another smaller one in Herr Mack's house. He caused quite a +stir in the place. + +“I am in difficulties about meat; I might ask Edwarda for something for +this evening,” I thought. I walked down to Sirilund. I noticed at once +that Edwarda was wearing a new dress. She seemed to have grown; her +dress was much longer now. + +“Excuse my not getting up,” she said, quite shortly, and offered her +hand. + +“My daughter is not very well, I'm sorry to say,” said Herr Mack. “A +chill--she has not been taking care of herself... You came to ask about +your boat, I suppose? I shall have to lend you another one instead. It's +not a new one, but as long as you bail it out every now and then ... +We've a scientist come to stay with us, you see, and with a man like +that, of course, you understand... He has no time to spare; works all +day and comes home in the evening. Don't go now till he comes; you will +be interested in meeting him. Here's his card, with coronet and all; +he's a Baron. A very nice man. I met him quite by accident.” + +Aha, I thought, so they don't ask you to supper. Well, thank Heaven, I +only came down by way of a trial; I can go home again--I've still some +fish left in the hut. Enough for a meal, I daresay. _Basta!_ + +The Baron came in. A little man, about forty, with a long, narrow face, +prominent cheek bones, and a thinnish black beard. His glance was sharp +and penetrating, but he wore strong glasses. His shirt studs, too, were +ornamented with a little five-pointed coronet, like the one on his card. +He stooped a little, and his thin hands were blue-veined, but the nails +were like yellow metal. + +“Delighted, Herr Lieutenant. Have you been here long, may I ask?” + +“A few months.” + +A pleasant man. Herr Mack asked him to tell us about his scales and +sea-things, and he did so willingly--told us what kind of clay there was +round Korholmerne--went into his room and fetched a sample of weed from +the White Sea. He was constantly lifting up his right forefinger and +shifting his thick gold spectacles back and forward on his nose. Herr +Mack was most interested. An hour passed. + +The Baron spoke of my accident--that unfortunate shot. Was I well again +now? Pleased to hear it. + +Now who had told him of that? I asked: + +“And how did you hear of that, Baron?” + +“Oh, who was it, now? Fröken Mack, I think. Was it not you, Fröken +Mack?” + +Edwarda flushed hotly. + +I had come so poor! for days past, a dark misery had weighed me down. +But at the stranger's last words a joy fluttered through me on the +instant. I did not look at Edwarda, but in my mind I thanked her: +Thanks, for having spoken of me, named my name with your tongue, though +it be all valueless to you. _Godnat._ + +I took my leave. Edwarda still kept her seat, excusing herself, for +politeness' sake, by saying she was unwell. Indifferently she gave me +her hand. + +And Herr Mack stood chatting eagerly with the Baron. He was talking of +his grandfather, Consul Mack: + +“I don't know if I told you before, Baron; this diamond here was a gift +from King Carl Johan, who pinned it to my grandfather's breast with his +own hands.” + +I went out to the front steps; no one saw me to the door. I glanced in +passing through the windows of the sitting-room; and there stood +Edwarda, tall, upright, holding the curtains apart with both hands, +looking out. I did not bow to her: I forgot everything; a swirl of +confusion overwhelmed me and drew me hurriedly away. + +“Halt! Stop a moment!” I said to myself, when I reached the woods. God +in Heaven, but there must be an end of this! I felt all hot within on a +sudden, and I groaned. Alas, I had no longer any pride in my heart; I +had enjoyed Edwarda's favour for a week, at the outside, but that was +over long since, and I had not ordered my ways accordingly. From now on, +my heart should cry to her: Dust, air, earth on my way; God in Heaven, +yes... + +I reached the hut, found my fish, and had a meal. + +Here are you burning out your life for the sake of a worthless +schoolgirl, and your nights are full of desolate dreams. And a hot wind +stands still about your head, a close, foul wind of last year's breath. +Yet the sky is quivering with the most wonderful blue, and the hills are +calling. Come, Æsop, _Hei_... + +A week passed. I hired the blacksmith's boat and fished for my meals. +Edwarda and the Baron were always together in the evening when he came +home from his sea trips. I saw them once at the mill. One evening they +both came by my hut; I drew away from the window and barred the door. It +made no impression on me whatever to see them together; I shrugged my +shoulders. Another evening I met them on the road, and exchanged +greetings; I left it to the Baron to notice me first, and merely put up +two fingers to my cap, to be discourteous. I walked slowly past them, +and looked carelessly at them as I did so. + +Another day passed. + +How many long days had not passed already? I was downcast, dispirited; +my heart pondered idly over things; even the kindly grey stone by the +hut seemed to wear an expression of sorrow and despair when I went by. +There was rain in the air; the heat seemed gasping before me wherever I +went, and I felt the gout in my left foot; I had seen one of Herr Mack's +horses shivering in its harness in the morning; all these things were +significant to me as signs of the weather. Best to furnish the house +well with food while the weather holds, I thought. + +I tied up Æsop, took my fishing tackle and my gun, and went down to the +quay. I was quite unusually troubled in mind. + +“When will the mail-packet be in?” I asked a fisherman there. + +“The mail-packet? In three weeks' time,” he answered. + +“I am expecting my uniform,” I said. + +Then I met one of Herr Mack's assistants from the store. I shook hands +with him, and said: + +“Tell me, do you never play whist now at Sirilund?” + +“Yes, often,” he answered. + +Pause. + +“I have not been there lately,” I said. + +I rowed out to my fishing grounds. The weather was mild, but oppressive. +The gnats gathered in swarms, and I had to smoke all the time to keep +them off. The haddock were biting; I fished with two hooks and made a +good haul. On the way back I shot a brace of guillemots. + +When I came in to the quay the blacksmith was there at work. A thought +occurred to me; I asked him: + +“Going up my way?” + +“No,” said he, “Herr Mack's given me a bit of work to do here that'll +keep me till midnight.” + +I nodded, and thought to myself that it was well. + +I took my fish and went off, going round by way of the blacksmith's +house. Eva was there alone. + +“I have been longing for you with all my heart,” I told her. And I was +moved at the sight of her. She could hardly look me in the face for +wonder. “I love your youth and your good eyes,” I said. “Punish me +to-day because I have thought more of another than of you. I tell you, I +have come here only to see you; you make me happy, I am fond of you. Did +you hear me calling for you last night?” + +“No,” she answered, frightened. + +“I called Edwarda, but it was you I meant. I woke up and heard myself. +Yes, it was you I meant; it was only a mistake; I said 'Edwarda,' but it +was only by accident. By Heaven, you are my dearest, Eva! Your lips are +so red to-day. Your feet are prettier than Edwarda's--just look +yourself and see.” + +Joy such as I had never seen in her lit up her face; she made as if to +turn away, but hesitated, and put one arm round my neck. + +We talked together, sitting all the time on a long bench, talking to +each other of many things. I said: + +“Would you believe it? Edwarda has not learnt to speak properly yet; she +talks like a child, and says 'more happier.' I heard her myself. Would +you say she had a lovely forehead? I do not think so. She has a devilish +forehead. And she does not wash her hands.” + +“But we weren't going to talk of her any more.” + +“Quite right. I forgot.” + +A little pause. I was thinking of something, and fell silent. + +“Why are your eyes wet?” asked Eva. + +“She has a lovely forehead, though,” I said, “and her hands are always +clean. It was only an accident that they were dirty once. I did not mean +to say what I did.” But then I went on angrily, with clenched teeth: “I +sit thinking of you all the time, Eva; but it occurs to me that perhaps +you have not heard what I am going to tell you now. The first time +Edwarda saw Æsop, she said: 'Æsop--that was the name of a wise man--a +Phrygian, he was.' Now wasn't that simply silly? She had read it in a +book the same day, I'm sure of it.” + +“Yes,” says Eva; “but what of it?” + +“And as far as I remember, she said, too, that Æsop had Xanthus for his +teacher. Hahaha!” + +“Yes?” + +“Well, what the devil is the sense of telling a crowd of people that +Æsop had Xanthus for his teacher? I ask you. Oh, you are not in the mood +to-day, Eva, or you would laugh till your sides ached at that.” + +“Yes, I think it is funny,” said Eva, and began laughing forcedly and in +wonder. “But I don't understand it as well as you do.” + +I sit silent and thoughtful, silent and thoughtful. + +“Do you like best to sit still and not talk?” asked Eva softly. Goodness +shone in her eyes; she passed her hand over my hair. + +“You good, good soul,” I broke out, and pressed her close to me. “I know +for certain I am perishing for love of you; I love you more and more; +the end of it will be that you must go with me when I go away. You shall +see. Could you go with me?” + +“Yes,” she answered. + +I hardly heard that yes, but I felt it in her breath and all through +her. We held each other fiercely. + +An hour later I kissed Eva good-bye and went away. At the door I meet +Herr Mack. + +Herr Mack himself. + +He started--stared into the house--stopped there on the doorstep, +staring in. “Ho!” said he, and could say no more; he seemed thrown +altogether off his balance. + +“You did not expect to find me here,” I said, raising my cap. + +Eva did not move. + +Herr Mack regained his composure; a curious confidence appeared in his +manner, and he answered: + +“You are mistaken: I came on purpose to find you. I wish to point out to +you that from the 1st of April it is forbidden to fire a shot within +half a mile of the bird-cliffs. You shot two birds out at the island +to-day; you were seen doing so.” + +“I shot two guillemots,” I said helplessly. I saw at once that the man +was in the right. + +“Two guillemots or two eiderducks--it is all the same. You were within +the prohibited limit.” + +“I admit it,” I said. “It had not occurred to me before.” + +“But it ought to have occurred to you.” + +“I also fired off both barrels once in May, at very nearly the same +spot. It was on a picnic one day. And it was done at your own request.” + +“That is another matter,” answered Herr Mack shortly. + +“Well, then, devil take it, you know what you have to do, I suppose?” + +“Perfectly well,” he answered. + +Eva held herself in readiness; when I went out, she followed me; she had +put on a kerchief, and walked away from the house; I saw her going down +towards the quay. Herr Mack walked back home. + +I thought it over. What a mind, to hit on that all at once, and save +himself! And those piercing eyes of his. A shot, two shots, a brace of +guillemots--a fine, a payment. And then everything, _everything_, would +be settled with Herr Mack and his house. After all, it was going off so +beautifully quickly and neatly... + +The rain was coming down already, in great soft drops. The magpies flew +low along the ground, and when I came home and turned Æsop loose he +began eating the grass. The wind was beginning to rustle. + + + + +XXII + + +A league below me is the sea. It is raining, and I am up in the hills. +An overhanging rock shelters me from the rain. I smoke my pipe, smoke +one pipe after another; and every time I light it, the tobacco curls up +like little worms crawling from the ash. So also with the thoughts that +twirl in my head. Before me, on the ground, lies a bundle of dry twigs, +from the ruin of a bird's nest. And as with that nest, so also with my +soul. + +I remember every trifle of that day and the next. Hoho! I was hard put +to it then! ... + +I sit here up in the hills and the sea and the air are voiceful, a +seething and moaning of the wind and weather, cruel to listen to. +Fishing boats and small craft show far out with reefed sails, human +beings on board--making for somewhere, no doubt, and Heaven knows where +all those lives are making for, think I. The sea flings itself up in +foam, and rolls and rolls, as if inhabited by great fierce figures that +fling their limbs about and roar at one another; nay, a festival of ten +thousand piping devils that duck their heads down between their +shoulders and circle about, lashing the sea white with the tips of their +wings. Far, far out lies a hidden reef, and from that hidden reef rises +a white merman, shaking his head after a leaky sailboat making out to +sea before the wind. Hoho! out to sea, out to the desolate sea... + +I am glad to be alone, that none may see my eyes. I lean securely +against the wall of rock, knowing that no one can observe me from +behind. A bird swoops over the crest with a broken cry; at the same +moment a boulder close by breaks loose and rolls down towards the sea. +And I sit there still for a while, I sink into restfulness; a warm sense +of comfort quivers in me because I can sit so pleasantly under shelter +while the rain pours down outside. I button up my jacket, thanking God +for the warmth of it. A little while more. And I fall asleep. + +It was afternoon. I went home; it was still raining. Then--an unexpected +encounter. Edwarda stood there before me on the path. She was wet +through, as if she had been out in the rain a long time, but she smiled. +Ho! I thought to myself, and my anger rose; I gripped my gun and walked +fiercely although she herself was smiling. + +“_Goddag!_” she called, speaking first. + +I waited till I had come some paces nearer, and said: + +“Fair one, I give you greeting.” + +She started in surprise at my jesting tone. Alas, I knew not what I was +saying. She smiled timidly, and looked at me. + +“Have you been up in the hills to-day?” she asked. “Then you must be +wet. I have a kerchief here, if you care for it; I can spare it... Oh, +you don't know me.” And she cast down her eyes and shook her head when I +did not take her kerchief. + +“A kerchief?” I answer, grinning in anger and surprise. “But I have a +jacket here--won't you borrow it? I can spare it--I would have lent it +to anyone. You need not be afraid to take it. I would have lent it to a +fishwife, and gladly.” + +I could see that she was eager to hear what I would say. She listened +with such attention that it made her look ugly; she forgot to hold her +lips together. There she stood with the kerchief in her hand--a white +silk kerchief which she had taken from her neck. I tore off my jacket in +turn. + +“For Heaven's sake put it on again,” she cried. “Don't do that! Are you +so angry with me? _Herregud!_ put your jacket on, do, before you get wet +through.” + +I put on my jacket again. + +“Where are you going?” I asked sullenly. + +“No--nowhere ... I can't understand what made you take off your jacket +like that ...” + +“What have you done with the Baron to-day?” I went on. “The Count can't +be out at sea on a day like this.” + +“Glahn, I just wanted to tell you something ...” + +I interrupted her: + +“May I beg you to convey my respects to the Duke?” + +We looked at each other. I was ready to break in with further +interruptions as soon as she opened her mouth. At last a twinge of pain +passed over her face; I turned away and said: + +“Seriously, you should send His Highness packing, Edwarda. He is not the +man for you. I assure you, he has been wondering these last few days +whether to make you his wife or not--and that is not good enough for +you.” + +“No, don't let us talk about that, please. Glahn, I have been thinking +of you; you could take off your jacket and get wet through for another's +sake; I come to you ...” + +I shrugged my shoulders and went on: + +“I should advise you to take the Doctor instead. What have you against +him? A man in the prime of life, and a clever head--you should think it +over.” + +“Oh, but do listen a minute ...” + +Æsop, my dog, was waiting for me in the hut. I took off my cap, bowed +to her again, and said: + +“Fair one, I give you farewell.” + +And I started off. + +She gave a cry: + +“Oh, you are tearing my heart out. I came to you to-day; I waited for +you here, and I smiled when you came. I was nearly out of my mind +yesterday, because of something I had been thinking of all the time; my +head was in a whirl, and I thought of you all the time. To-day I was +sitting at home, and someone came in; I did not look up, but I knew who +it was. 'I rowed half a mile to-day,' he said. 'Weren't you tired?' I +asked. 'Oh yes, very tired, and it blistered my hands,' he said, and was +very concerned about it. And I thought: Fancy being concerned about +that! A little after he said: 'I heard someone whispering outside my +window last night; it was your maid and one of the store men talking +very intimately indeed.' 'Yes, they are to be married,' I said. 'But +this was at two o'clock in the morning!' 'Well, what of it?' said I, +and, after a little: 'The night is their own.' Then he shifted his gold +spectacles a little up his nose, and observed: 'But don't you think, at +that hour of night, it doesn't look well?' Still I didn't look up, and +we sat like that for ten minutes. 'Shall I bring you a shawl to put over +your shoulders?' he asked. 'No, thank you,' I answered. 'If only I dared +take your little hand,' he said. I did not answer--I was thinking of +something else. He laid a little box in my lap. I opened the box, and +found a brooch in it. There was a coronet on the brooch, and I counted +ten stones in it... Glahn, I have that brooch with me now; will you +look at it? It is trampled to bits--come, come and see how it is +trampled to bits... 'Well, and what am I to do with this brooch?' I +asked. 'Wear it,' he answered. But I gave him back the brooch, and said, +'Let me alone--it is another I care for.' 'What other?' he asked. 'A +hunter in the woods,' I said. 'He gave me two lovely feathers once, for +a keepsake. Take back your brooch.' But he would not. Then I looked at +him for the first time; his eyes were piercing. 'I will not take back +the brooch. You may do with it as you please; tread on it,' he said. I +stood up and put the brooch under my heel and trod on it. That was this +morning... For four hours I waited and waited; after dinner I went out. +He came to meet me on the road. 'Where are you going?' he asked. 'To +Glahn,' I answered, 'to ask him not to forget me...' Since one o'clock I +have been waiting here. I stood by a tree and saw you coming--you were +like a god. I loved your figure, your beard, and your shoulders, loved +everything about you... Now you are impatient; you want to go, only to +go; I am nothing to you, you will not look at me ...” I had stopped. +When she had finished speaking I began walking on again. I was worn out +with despair, and I smiled; my heart was hard. + +“Yes?” I said, and stopped again. “You had something to say to me?” + +But at this scorn of mine she wearied of me. + +“Something to say to you? But I have told you--did you not hear? No, +nothing--I have nothing to tell you any more...” + +Her voice trembled strangely, but that did not move me. + +Next morning Edwarda was standing outside the hut when I went out. + +I had thought it all over during the night, and taken my resolve. Why +should I let myself be dazzled any longer by this creature of moods, a +fisher-girl, a thing of no culture? Had not her name fastened for long +enough on my heart, sucking it dry? Enough of that!--though it struck me +that, perhaps, I had come nearer to her by treating her with +indifference and scorn. Oh, how grandly I had scorned her--after she had +made a long speech of several minutes, to say calmly: “Yes? You had +something to say to me...?” + +She was standing by the big stone. She was in great excitement, and +would have run towards me; her arms were already opened. But she +stopped, and stood there wringing her hands. I took off my cap and bowed +to her without a word. + +“Just one thing I wanted to say to you to-day, Glahn,” she said +entreatingly. And I did not move, but waited, just to hear what she +would say next. “I hear you have been down at the blacksmith's. One +evening it was. Eva was alone in the house.” + +I started at that, and answered: + +“Who told you that?” + +“I don't go about spying,” she cried. “I heard it last evening; my +father told me. When I got home all wet through last night, my father +said: 'You were rude to the Baron to-day.' 'No,' I answered. 'Where have +you been now?' he asked again. I answered: 'With Glahn.' + +“And then my father told me.” + +I struggled with my despair; I said: + +“What is more, Eva has been here.” + +“Has she been here? In the hut?” + +“More than once. I made her go in. We talked together.” + +“Here too?” + +Pause. “Be firm!” I said to myself; and then, aloud: + +“Since you are so kind as to mix yourself up in my affairs, I will not +be behindhand. I suggested yesterday that you should take the Doctor; +have you thought it over? For really, you know, the prince is simply +impossible.” + +Her eyes lit with anger. “He is not, I tell you,” she cried +passionately. “No, he is better than you; he can move about in a house +without breaking cups and glasses; he leaves my shoes alone. Yes! He +knows how to move in society; but you are ridiculous--I am ashamed of +you--you are unendurable--do you understand that?” + +Her words struck deep; I bowed my head and said: + +“You are right; I am not good at moving in society. Be merciful. You do +not understand me; I live in the woods by choice--that is my happiness. +Here, where I am all alone, it can hurt no one that I am as I am; but +when I go among others, I have to use all my will power to be as I +should. For two years now I have been so little among people at all...” + +“There's no saying what mad thing you will do next,” she went on. “And +it is intolerable to be constantly looking after you.” + +How mercilessly she said it! A very bitter pain passed through me. I +almost toppled before her violence. Edwarda had not yet done; she went +on: + +“You might get Eva to look after you, perhaps. It's a pity though, that +she's married.” + +“Eva! Eva married, did you say?” + +“Yes, married!” + +“Why, who is her husband?” + +“Surely you know that. She is the blacksmith's wife.” + +“I thought she was his daughter.” + +“No, she is his wife. Do you think I am lying to you?” + +I had not thought about it at all; I was simply astonished. I just stood +there thinking: Is Eva married? + +“So you have made a happy choice,” says Edwarda. + +Well, there seemed no end to the business. I was trembling with +indignation, and I said: + +“But you had better take the Doctor, as I said. Take a friend's advice; +that prince of yours is an old fool.” And in my excitement I lied about +him, exaggerated his age, declared he was bald, that he was almost +totally blind; I asserted, moreover, that he wore that coronet thing in +his shirt front wholly and solely to show off his nobility. “As for me, +I have not cared to make his acquaintance, there is nothing in him of +mark at all; he lacks the first principles; he is nothing.” + +“But he is something, he is something,” she cried, and her voice broke +with anger. “He is far more than you think, you thing of the woods. You +wait. Oh, he shall talk to you--I will ask him myself. You don't believe +I love him, but you shall see you are mistaken. I will marry him; I will +think of him night and day. Mark what I say: I love him. Let Eva come if +she likes--hahaha! Heavens, let her come--it is less than nothing to me. +And now let me get away from here...” + +She began walking down the path from the hut; she took a few small +hurried steps, turned round, her face still pale as death, and moaned: +“And let me never see your face again.” + + + + +XXIII + + +Leaves were yellowing; the potato-plants had grown to full height and +stood in flower; the shooting season came round again; I shot hare and +ptarmigan and grouse; one day I shot an eagle. Calm, open sky, cool +nights, many clear, clear tones and dear sounds in the woods and fields. +The earth was resting, vast and peaceful... + +“I have not heard anything from Herr Mack about the two guillemots I +shot,” I said to the Doctor. + +“You can thank Edwarda for that,” he said. “I know. I heard that she +set herself against it.” + +“I do not thank her for it,” said I... + +Indian summer--Indian summer. The stars lay like belts in through the +yellowing woods; a new star came every day. The moon showed like a +shadow; a shadow of gold dipped in silver... + +“Heaven help you, Eva, are you married?” + +“Didn't you know that?” + +“No, I didn't know.” + +She pressed my hand silently. + +“God help you, child, what are we to do now?” “What _you_ will. Perhaps +you are not going away just yet; I will be happy as long as you are +here.” + +“No, Eva.” + +“Yes, yes--only as long as you are here.” + +She looked forsaken, kept pressing my hand. + +“No, Eva. Go--never any more!” + + * * * * * + +Nights pass and days come--three days already since this last talk. Eva +comes by with a load. How much wood has that child carried home from +the forest this summer alone? + +“Set the load down, Eva, and let me see if your eyes are as blue as +ever.” + +Her eyes were red. + +“No--smile again, Eva! I can resist no more; I am your, I am yours...” + +Evening. Eva sings, I hear her singing, and a warmth goes through me. + +“You are singing this evening, child?” + +“Yes, I am happy.” + +And being smaller than I, she jumps up a little to put her arms round my +neck. + +“But, Eva, you have scratched your hands. _Herregud_! oh, if you had not +scratched them so!” + +“It doesn't matter.” + +Her face beams wonderfully. + +“Eva, have you spoken to Herr Mack?” + +“Yes, once.” + +“What did he say, and what did you?” + +“He is so hard with us now; he makes my husband work day and night down +at the quay, and keeps me at all sorts of jobs as well. He has ordered +me to do man's work now.” + +“Why does he do that?” + +Eva looks down. + +“Why does he do that, Eva?” + +“Because I love you.” + +“But how could he know?” + +“I told him.” + +Pause. + +“Would to Heaven he were not so harsh with you, Eva.” + +“But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all now.” + +And her voice is like a little tremulous song in the woods. + + * * * * * + +The woods more yellow still. It is drawing towards autumn now; a few +more stars have come in the sky, and from now on the moon looks like a +shadow of silver dipped in gold. There is no cold; nothing, only a cool +stillness and a flow of life in the woods. Every tree stands in silent +thought. The berries are ripe. + +Then--the twenty-second of August and the three iron nights. [Footnote: +_Joernnætter_. Used of the nights in August when the first frosts +appear.] + + + + +XXIV + + +The first iron night. + +At nine the sun sets. A dull darkness settles over the earth, a star or +so can be seen; two hours later there is a glow of the moon. I wander +up in the woods with my gun and my dog. I light a fire, and the light of +the flames shines in between the fir-trunks. There is no frost. + +“The first iron night!” I say. And a confused, passionate delight in the +time and the place sends a strange shiver through me... + +“Hail, men and beasts and birds, to the lonely night in the woods, in +the woods! Hail to the darkness and God's murmuring between the trees, +to the sweet, simple melody of silence in my ears, to green leaves and +yellow! Hail to the life-sound I hear; a snout against the grass, a dog +sniffing over the ground! A wild hail to the wildcat lying crouched, +sighting and ready to spring on a sparrow in the dark, in the dark! Hail +to the merciful silence upon earth, to the stars and the half moon; ay, +to them and to it!” ... + +I rise and listen. No one has heard me. I sit down again. + +“Thanks for the lonely night, for the hills, the rush of the darkness +and the sea through my heart! Thanks for my life, for my breath, for the +boon of being alive to-night; thanks from my heart for these! Hear, east +and west, oh, hear. It is the eternal God. This silence murmuring in my +ears is the blood of all Nature seething; it is God weaving through the +world and me. I see a glistening gossamer thread in the light of my +fire; I hear a boat rowing across the harbour; the northern lights flare +over the heavens to the north. By my immortal soul, I am full of thanks +that it is I who am sitting here!” + +Silence. A fir cone falls dully to the ground. A fir cone fell! I think +to myself. The moon is high, the fire flickers over the half-burned +brands and is dying. And in the late night I wander home. + +The second iron night; the same stillness and mild weather. My soul is +pondering. I walk mechanically over to a tree, pull my cap deep down +over my eyes, and lean against that tree, with hands clasped behind my +neck. I gazed and think; the flame from my fire dazzles my eyes, and I +do not feel it. I stand in that stupor for a while, looking at the fire; +my legs fail me first, and grow tired; thoroughly stiff, I sit down. Not +till then do I think of what I have been doing. Why should I stare so +long at the fire? + +Æsop lifts his head and listens; he hears footsteps; Eva appears among +the trees. + +“I am very thoughtful and sad this evening,” I say. + +And in sympathy she makes no answer. + +“I love three things,” I go on. “I love a dream of love I once had; I +love you; and I love this spot of ground.” + +“And which do you love most?” + +“The dream.” + +All still again. Æsop knows Eva; he lays his head on one side and looks +at her. I murmur: + +“I saw a girl on the road to-day; she walked arm in arm with her lover. +The girl looked towards me, and could scarcely keep from laughing as I +passed.” + +“What was she laughing at?” + +“I don't know. At me, I suppose. Why do you ask?” + +“Did you know her?” + +“Yes. I bowed.” + +“And didn't she know you?” + +“No, she acted as if she didn't know me... But why do you sit there +worming things out of me? It is not a nice thing to do. You will not get +me to tell you her name.” + +Pause. + +I murmur again: + +“What was she laughing at? She is a flirt; but what was she laughing at? +What had I done to harm her?” + +Eva answers: + +“It was cruel of her to laugh at you.” + +“No, it was not cruel of her,” I cry. “How dare you sit there speaking +ill of her? She never did an unkind thing; it was only right that she +should laugh at me. Be quiet, devil take you, and leave me in peace--do +you hear?” + +And Eva, terrified, leaves me in peace. I look at her, and repent my +harsh words at once; I fall down before her; wringing my hands. + +“Go home, Eva. It is you I love most; how could I love a dream? It was +only a jest; it is you I love. But go home now; I will come to you +to-morrow; remember, I am yours; yes, do not forget it. Good-night.” + +And Eva goes home. + + * * * * * + +The third iron night, a night of extremes! tension. If only there were +a little frost! Instead, still heat after the sun of the day; the night +is like a lukewarm marsh. I light my fire... + +“Eva, it can be a delight at times to be dragged by the hair. So +strangely can the mind of a man be warped. He can be dragged by the hair +over hill and dale, and if asked what is happening, can answer in +ecstasy: 'I am being dragged by the hair!' And if anyone asks: 'But +shall I not help you, release you?' he answers: 'No.' And if they ask: +'But how can you endure it?' he answers: 'I can endure it, for I love +the hand that drags me.' Eva, do you know what it is to hope?” + +“Yes, I think so.” + +“Look you, Eva, hope is a strange thing, a very strange thing. You can +go out one morning along the road, hoping to meet one whom you are fond +of. And do you? No. Why not? Because that one is busy that morning--is +somewhere else, perhaps... Once I got to know an old blind Lapp up in +the hills. For fifty-eight years he had seen nothing, and now he was +over seventy. It seemed to him that his sight was getting better little +by little; getting on gradually, he thought. If all went well he would +be able to make out the sun in a few years' time. His hair was still +black, but his eyes were quite white. When we sat in his hut, smoking, +he would tell of all the things he had seen before he went blind. He +was hardy and strong; without feeling, indestructible; and he kept his +hope. When I was going, he came out with me, and began pointing in +different ways. 'There's the south,' he said, 'and there's north. Now +you go that way first, and when you get a little way down, turn off that +way.' 'Quite right,' I said. And at that the Lapp laughed contentedly, +and said: 'There! I did not know that forty or fifty years back, so I +must see better now than I used to--yes, it is improving all the time.' +And then he crouched down and crept into his hut again--the same old +hut, his home on earth. And he sat down by the fire as before, full of +hope that in some few years he would be able to make out the sun... +Eva, 'tis strange about hope. Here am I, for instance, hoping all the +time that I may forget the one I did not meet on the road this +morning...” + +“You talk so strangely.” + +“It is the third of the iron nights. I promise you, Eva, to be a +different man to-morrow. Let me be alone now. You will not know me again +to-morrow, I shall laugh and kiss you, my own sweet girl. Just +think--only this one night more, a few hours--and then I shall be a +different man. _Godnat_, Eva.” + +_“Godnat.”_ + +I lie down closer to the fire, and look at the flames. A pine cone falls +from the branch; a dry twig or so falls too. The night is like a +boundless depth. I close my eyes. + +After an hour, my senses begin swinging in a certain rhythm. I am +ringing in tune with the great stillness--ringing with it. I look at the +half-moon; it stands in the sky like a white scale, and I have a feeling +of love for it; I can feel myself blushing. “It is the moon!” I say +softly and passionately; “it is the moon!” and my heart strikes toward +it in a soft throbbing. So for some minutes. It is blowing a little; a +stranger wind comes to me a mysterious current of air. What is it? I +look round, but see no one. The wind calls me, and my soul bows +acknowledging the call; and I feel myself lifted into the air, pressed +to an invisible breast; my eyes are dewed, I tremble--God is standing +near, watching me. Again several minutes pass. I turn my head round; the +stranger wind is gone, and I see something like the back of a spirit +wandering silently in through the woods... + +I struggle a short while with a heavy melancholy; I was worn out with +emotions; I am deathly tired, and I sleep. + + * * * * * + +When I awoke the night was past. Alas, I had been going about for a long +time in a sad state, full of fever, on the verge of falling down +stricken with some sickness or other. Often things had seemed upside +down. I had been looking at everything through inflamed eyes. A deep +misery had possessed me. + +It was over now. + + + + +XXV + + +It was autumn. The summer was gone. It passed as quickly as it had come; +ah, how quickly it was gone! The days were cold now. I went out shooting +and fishing--sang songs in the woods. And there were days with a thick +mist that came floating in from the sea, damming up everything behind a +wall of murk. + +One such day something happened. I lost my way, blundered through into +the woods of the annexe, and came to the Doctor's house. There were +visitors there--the young ladies I had met before--young people dancing, +just like madcap foals. + +A carriage came rolling up and stopped outside the gate; Edwarda was in +it. She started at sight of me. “Good-bye,” I said quietly. But the +Doctor held me back. Edwarda was troubled by my presence at first, and +looked down when I spoke; afterwards, she bore with me, and even went so +far as to ask me a question about something or other. She was strikingly +pale; the mist lay grey and cold upon her face. She did not get out of +the carriage. + +“I have come on an errand,” she said. “I come from the parish church, +and none of you were there to-day; they said you were here. I have been +driving for hours to find you. We are having a little party +to-morrow--the Baron is going away next week--and I have been told to +invite you all. There will be dancing too. To-morrow evening.” + +They all bowed and thanked her. + +To me, she went on: + +“Now, don't stay away, will you? Don't send a note at the last minute +making some excuse.” She did not say that to any of the others. A little +after she drove away. + +I was so moved by this unexpected meeting that for a little while I was +secretly mad with joy. Then I took leave of the Doctor and his guests +and set off for home. How gracious she was to me, how gracious she was +to me! What could I do for her in return? My hands felt helpless; a +sweet cold went through my wrists. _Herregud!_ I thought to myself, here +am I with my limbs hanging helpless for joy; I cannot even clench my +hands; I can only find tears in my eyes for my own helplessness. What is +to be done about it? + +It was late in the evening when I reached home. I went round by the quay +and asked a fisherman if the post-packet would not be in by to-morrow +evening. Alas, no, the post-packet would not be in till some time next +week. I hurried up to the hut and began looking over my best suit. I +cleaned it up and made it look decent; there were holes in it here and +there, and I wept and darned them. + +When I had finished, I lay down on the bed. This rest lasted only a +moment. Then a thought struck me, and I sprang up and stood in the +middle of the floor, dazed. The whole thing was just another trick! I +should not have been invited if I had not happened to be there when the +others were asked. And, moreover, she had given me the plainest possible +hint to stay away--to send a note at the last moment, making some +excuse... + +I did not sleep all that night, and when morning came I went to the +woods cold, sleepless, and feverish. Ho, having a party at Sirilund! +What then? I would neither go nor send any excuse. Herr Mack was a very +thoughtful man; he was giving this party for the Baron; but I was not +going--let them understand that! ... + +The mist lay thick over valley and hills; a clammy rime gathered on my +clothes and made them heavy, my face was cold and wet. Only now and then +came a breath of wind to make the sleeping mists rise and fall, rise and +fall. + +It was late in the afternoon, and getting dark; the mist hid everything +from my eyes, and I had no sun to show the way. I drifted about for +hours on the way home, but there was no hurry. I took the wrong road +with the greatest calmness, and came upon unknown places in the woods. +At last I stood my gun against a tree and consulted my compass. I marked +out my way carefully and started off. It would be about eight or nine +o'clock. + +Then something happened. + +After half an hour, I heard music through the fog, and a few minutes +later I knew where I was: quite close to the main building at Sirilund. +Had my compass misled me to the very place I was trying to avoid? A +well-known voice called me--the Doctor's. A minute later I was being led +in. + +My gun-barrel had perhaps affected the compass and, alas, set it wrong. +The same thing has happened to me since--one day this year. I do not +know what to think. Then, too, it may have been fate. + + + + +XXVI + + +All the evening I had a bitter feeling that I should not have come to +that party. My coming was hardly noticed at all, they were all so +occupied with one another; Edwarda hardly bade me welcome. I began +drinking hard because I knew I was unwelcome; and yet I did not go away. + +Herr Mack smiled a great deal and put on his most amiable expression; he +was in evening dress, and looked well. He was now here, now there, +mingling with his half a hundred guests, dancing one dance now and then, +joking and laughing. There were secrets lurking in his eyes. + +A whirl of music and voices sounded through the house. Five of the rooms +were occupied by the guests, besides the big room where they were +dancing. Supper was over when I arrived. Busy maids were running to and +fro with glasses and wines, brightly polished coffee-pots, cigars and +pipes, cakes and fruit. There was no sparing of anything. The +chandeliers in the rooms were filled with extra-thick candles that had +been made for the occasion; the new oil lamps were lit as well. Eva was +helping in the kitchen; I caught a glimpse of her. To think that Eva +should be here too! + +The Baron received a great deal of attention, though he was quiet and +modest and did not put himself forward. He, too, was in evening dress; +the tails of his coat were miserably crushed from the packing. He talked +a good deal with Edwarda, followed her with his eyes, drank with her, +and called her Fröken, as he did the daughters of the Dean and of the +district surgeon. I felt the same dislike of him as before, and could +hardly look at him without turning my eyes away with a wretched silly +grimace. When he spoke to me, I answered shortly and pressed my lips +together after. + +I happen to remember one detail of that evening. I stood talking to a +young lady, a fair-haired girl; and I said something or told some story +that made her laugh. It can hardly have been anything remarkable, but +perhaps, in my excited state, I told it more amusingly than I remember +now--at any rate, I have forgotten it. But when I turned round, there +was Edwarda standing behind me. She gave me a glance of recognition. + +Afterwards I noticed that she drew the fair girl aside to find out what +I had said. I cannot say how that look of Edwarda's cheered me, after I +had been going about from room to room like a sort of outcast all the +evening; I felt better at once, and spoke to several people, and was +entertaining. As far as I am aware, I did nothing awkward or wrong... + +I was standing outside on the steps. Eva came carrying some things from +one of the rooms. She saw me, came out, and touched my hands swiftly +with one of hers; then she smiled and went in again. Neither of us had +spoken. When I turned to go in after her, there was Edwarda in the +passage, watching me. She also said nothing. I went into the room. + +“Fancy--Lieutenant Glahn amuses himself having meetings with the +servants on the steps!” said Edwarda suddenly, out loud. She was +standing in the doorway. Several heard what she said. She laughed, as +if speaking in jest, but her face was very pale. + +I made no answer to this; I only murmured: + +“It was accidental; she just came out, and we met in the passage...” + +Some time passed--an hour, perhaps. A glass was upset over a lady's +dress. As soon as Edwarda saw it, she cried: + +“What has happened? That was Glahn, of course.” + +I had not done it: I was standing at the other end of the room when it +happened. After that I drank pretty hard again, and kept near the door, +to be out of the way of the dancers. + +The Baron still had the ladies constantly round him. He regretted that +his collections were packed away, so that he could not show them--that +bunch of weed from the White Sea, the clay from Korholmerne, highly +interesting stone formations from the bottom of the sea. The ladies +peeped curiously at his shirt studs, the five-pointed coronets--they +meant that he was a Baron, of course. All this time the Doctor created +no sensation; even his witty oath, _Död og Pinsel_, no longer had any +effect. But when Edwarda was speaking, he was always on the spot, +correcting her language, embarrassing her with little shades of meaning, +keeping her down with calm superiority. + +She said: + +“... until I go over the valley of death.” + +And the Doctor asked: + +“Over what?” + +“The valley of death. Isn't that what it's called--the valley of death?” + +“I have heard of the river of death. I presume that is what you mean.” + +Later on, she talked of having something guarded like a ... + +“Dragon,” put in the Doctor. + +“Yes, like a dragon,” she answered. + +But the Doctor said: + +“You can thank me for saving you there. I am sure you were going to say +Argus.” + +The Baron raised his eyebrows and looked at the Doctor in surprise +through his thick glasses, as if he had never heard such ridiculous +things. But the Doctor paid no heed. What did he care for the Baron? + +I still lurked by the door. The dancers swept through the room. I +managed to start a conversation with the governess from the vicarage. We +talked about the war, the state of affairs in the Crimea, the happenings +in France, Napoleon as Emperor, his protection of the Turks; the young +lady had read the papers that summer, and could tell me the news. At +last we sat down on a sofa and went on talking. + +Edwarda, passing, stopped in front of us. Suddenly she said: + +“You must forgive me, Lieutenant, for surprising you outside like that. +I will never do it again.” + +And she laughed again, and did not look at me. + +“Edwarda,” I said, “do stop.” + +She had spoken very formally, which meant no good, and her look was +malicious. I thought of the Doctor, and shrugged my shoulders +carelessly, as he would have done. She said: + +“But why don't you go out in the kitchen? Eva is there. I think you +ought to stay there.” + +And there was hate in her eyes. + +I had not been to parties often; certainly I had never before heard such +a tone at any of the few I had been to. I said: + +“Aren't you afraid of being misunderstood, Edwarda?” + +“Oh, but how? Possibly, of course, but how?” + +“You sometimes speak without thinking. Just now, for instance, it +_seemed_ to me as if you were actually telling me to go to the kitchen +and stay there; and that, of course, must be a misunderstanding--I know +quite well that you did not intend to be so rude.” + +She walked a few paces away from us. I could see by her manner that she +was thinking all the time of what I had said. She turned round, came +back, and said breathlessly: + +“It was no misunderstanding, Lieutenant; you heard correctly--I did tell +you to go to the kitchen.” + +“Oh, Edwarda!” broke out the terrified governess. + +And I began talking again about the war and the state of affairs in the +Crimea; but my thoughts were far distant. I was no longer intoxicated, +only hopelessly confused. The earth seemed fading from under my feet, +and I lost my composure, as at so many unfortunate times before. I got +up from the sofa and made as if to go out. The Doctor stopped me. + +“I have just been hearing your praises,” he said. + +“Praises! From whom?” + +“From Edwarda. She is still standing away off there in the corner, +looking at you with glowing eyes. I shall never forget it; her eyes were +absolutely in love, and she said out loud that she admired you.” + +“Good,” I said with a laugh. Alas, there was not a clear thought in my +head. + +I went up to the Baron, bent over him as if to whisper something--and +when I was close enough, I spat in his ear. He sprang up and stared +idiotically at me. Afterwards I saw him telling Edwarda what had +occurred; I saw how disgusted she was. She thought, perhaps, of her shoe +that I had thrown into the water, of the cups and glasses I had so +unfortunately managed to break, and of all the other breaches of good +taste I had committed; doubtless all those things flashed into her mind +again. I was ashamed. It was all over with me; whichever way I turned, I +met frightened and astonished looks. And I stole away from Sirilund, +without a word of leave-taking or of thanks. + + + + +XXVII + + +The Baron is going away. Well and good: I will load my gun, go up into +the hills, and fire a salvo in his honour and Edwarda's. I will bore a +deep hole in a rock and blow up a mountain in his honour and Edwarda's. +And a great boulder shall roll down the hillside and dash mightily into +the sea just as his ship is passing by. I know a spot--a channel down +the hillside--where rocks have rolled before and made a clean road to +the sea. Far below there is a little boat-house. + +“Two mining drills,” I say to the smith. + +And the smith whets two drills... + +Eva has been put to driving back and forth between the mill and the +quay, with one of Herr Mack's horses. She has to do a man's work, +transporting sacks of corn and flour. I meet her; her face is +wonderfully fresh and glowing. Dear God, how tender and warm is her +smile! Every evening I meet her. + +“You look as if you had no troubles, Eva, my love.” + +“You call me your love! I am an ignorant woman, but I will be true to +you. I will be true to you if I should die for it. Herr Mack grows +harsher and harsher every day, but I do not mind it; he is furious, but +I do not answer him. He took hold of my arm and went grey with fury. +One thing troubles me.” + +“And what is it that troubles you?” “Herr Mack threatens you. He says to +me: 'Aha, it's that lieutenant you've got in your head all the time!' I +answer: 'Yes, I am his.' Then he says: 'Ah, you wait. I'll soon get rid +of him.' He said that yesterday.” + +“It doesn't matter; let him threaten...” And with closed eyes she +throws her arms about my neck. A quiver passes through her. The horse +stands waiting. + + + + +XXVIII + + +I sit up in the hills, mining. The autumn air is crystal about me. The +strokes of my drill ring steady and even. Æsop looks at me with +wondering eyes. Wave after wave of content swells through my breast. No +one knows that I am here among the lonely hills. + +The birds of passage have gone; a happy journey and welcome back again! +Titmouse and blackcap and a hedge-sparrow or so live now alone in the +bush and undergrowth: tuitui! All is so curiously changed--the dwarf +birch bleeds redly against the grey stones, a harebell here and there +shows among the heather, swaying and whispering a little song: sh! But +high above all hovers an eagle with outstretched neck, on his way to the +inland ridges. + +And the evening comes; I lay my drill and my hammer in under the rock +and stop to rest. All things are glooming now. The moon glides up in the +north; the rocks cast gigantic shadows. The moon is full; it looks like +a glowing island, like a round riddle of brass that I pass by and wonder +at. Æsop gets up and is restless. + +“What is it, Æsop? As for me, I am tired of my sorrow; I will forget it, +drown it. Lie still, Æsop, I tell you; I will not be pestered. Eva asks: +'Do you think of me sometimes?' I answer: 'Always.' Eva asks again: 'And +is it any joy to you, to think of me?' I answer: 'Always a joy, never +anything but a joy.' Then says Eva: 'Your hair is turning grey.' I +answer: 'Yes, it is beginning to turn grey.' But Eva says: 'Is it +something you think about, that is turning it grey?' And to that I +answer: 'Maybe.' At last Eva says: 'Then you do not think only of me...' +Æsop, lie still; I will tell you about something else instead...” + +But Æsop stands sniffing excitedly down towards the valley, pointing, +and dragging at my clothes. When at last I get up and follow, he cannot +get along fast enough. A flush of red shows in the sky above the woods. +I go on faster; and there before my eyes is a glow, a huge fire. I stop +and stare at it, go on a few steps and stare again. + +My hut is ablaze. + + + + +XXIX + + +The fire was Herr Mack's doing. I saw through it from the first. I lost +my skins and my birds' wings, I lost my stuffed eagle; everything was +destroyed. What now? I lay out for two nights under the open sky, +without going to Sirilund to ask for shelter. At last I rented a +deserted fisher-hut by the quay. I stopped the cracks with dried moss, +and slept on a load of red horseberry ling from the hills. Once more my +needs were filled. + +Edwarda sent me a message to say she had heard of my misfortune and that +she offered me, on her father's behalf, a room at Sirilund. Edwarda +touched! Edwarda generous! I sent no answer. Thank Heaven, I was no +longer without shelter, and it gave me a proud joy to make no answer to +Edwarda's offer. I met her on the road, with the Baron; they were +walking arm in arm. I looked them both in the face and bowed as I +passed. She stopped, and asked: + +“So you will not come and stay with us, Lieutenant?” + +“I am already settled in my new place,” I said, and stopped also. + +She looked at me; her bosom was heaving. “You would have lost nothing +by coming to us,” she said. + +Thankfulness moved in my heart, but I could not speak. + +The Baron walked on slowly. + +“Perhaps you do not want to see me any more,” she said. + +“I thank you, Edwarda, for offering me shelter when my house was +burned,” I said. “It was the kinder of you, since your father was hardly +willing.” And with bared head I thanked her for her offer. + +“In God's name, will you not see me again, Glahn?” she said suddenly. + +The Baron was calling. + +“The Baron is calling,” I said, and took off my hat again respectfully. + +And I went up into the hills, to my mining. Nothing, nothing should +make me lose my self-possession any more. I met Eva. “There, what did I +say?” I cried. “Herr Mack cannot drive me away. He has burned my hut, +and I already have another hut...” She was carrying a tar-bucket and +brush. “What now, Eva?” + +Herr Mack had a boat in a shed under the cliff, and had ordered her to +tar it. He watched her every step--she had to obey. + +“But why in the shed there? Why not at the quay?” + +“Herr Mack ordered it so.. + +“Eva, Eva, my love, they make a slave of you and you do not complain. +See! now you are smiling again, and life streams through your smile, for +all that you are a slave.” + +When I got up to my mining work, I found a surprise. I could see that +someone had been on the spot. I examined the tracks and recognised the +print of Herr Mack's long, pointed shoes. What could he be ferreting +about here for? I thought to myself, and looked round. No one to be +seen--I had no suspicion. + +And I fell to hammering with my drill, never dreaming what harm I did. + + + + +XXX + + +The mail-packet came; it brought my uniform; it was to take the Baron +and all his cases of scales and seaweeds on board. Now it was loading +up barrels of herrings and oil at the quay; towards evening it would be +off again. + +I took my gun and put a heavy load of powder in each barrel. When I had +done that, I nodded to myself. I went up into the hills and filled my +mine with powder as well; I nodded again. Now everything was ready. I +lay down to wait. + +I waited for hours. All the time I could hear the steamer's winches at +work hoisting and lowering. It was already growing dusk. At last the +whistle sounded: the cargo was on board, the ship was putting off. I +still had some minutes to wait. The moon was not up, and I stared like +a madman through the gloom of the evening. + +When the first point of the bow thrust out past the islet, I lit my slow +match and stepped hurriedly away. A minute passed. Suddenly there was a +roar--a spurt of stone fragments in the air--the hillside trembled, and +the rock hurtled crashing down the abyss. The hills all round gave echo. +I picked up my gun and fired off one barrel; the echo answered time and +time again. After a moment I fired the second barrel too; the air +trembled at the salute, and the echo flung the noise out into the wide +world; it was as if all the hills had united in a shout for the vessel +sailing away. + +A little time passed; the air grew still, the echoes died away in all +the hills, and earth lay silent again. The ship disappeared in the +gloom. + +I was still trembling with a strange excitement. I took my drills and +my gun under my arm and set off with slack knees down the hillside. I +took the shortest way, marking the smoking track left by my avalanche. +Æsop followed me, shaking his head all the time and sneezing at the +smell of burning. + +When I came down to the shed, I found a sight that filled me with +violent emotion. A boat lay there, crushed by the falling rock. And +Eva--Eva lay beside it, mangled and broken, dashed to pieces by the +shock--torn beyond recognition. Eva--lying there, dead. + + + + +XXXI + + +What more have I to write? I fired no shot for many days; I had no food, +and did not eat at all; I sat in my shed. Eva was carried to the church +in Herr Mack's white-painted house-boat. I went there overland on +foot... + +Eva is dead. Do you remember her little girlish head, with hair like a +nun's? She came so quietly, laid down her head and smiled. And did you +see how full of life that smile was? Be still, Æsop; I remember a +strange saga story, of four generations ago, of Iselin's time, when +Stamer was a priest. + +A girl sat captive in a stone tower. She loved a lord. Why? Ask the +winds and the stars, ask the God of life, for there is none that knows +such things. The lord was her friend and lover; but time went on, and +one fine day he saw another and his liking changed. + +Like a youth he loved his maid. Often he called her his blessing and his +dove, and said: “Give me your heart!” And she did so. He said: “May I +ask for something, love?” And, wild with joy, she answered “Yes.” And +she gave him all, and yet he did not thank her. + +The other he loved as a slave, as a madman and a beggar. Why? Ask the +dust of the road and the leaves that fall, ask the mysterious God of +life, for there is no other that knows such things. She gave him +nothing--no, nothing did she give him--and yet he thanked her. She said, +“Give me your peace and your understanding!” and he was only sorry that +she did not ask his life. + +And his maid was set in the tower... + +“What do you there, maiden, sitting and smiling?” + +“I think of something ten years back. It was then I met him.” + +“You remember him still?” + +“I remember him still.” + +And time goes on. + +“What do you there, maiden? And why do you sit and smile?” + +“I am embroidering his name on a cloth.” + +“Whose name? His who shut you up here?” + +“Yes, the one I met twenty years ago.” + +“You remember him still?” + +“I remember him as I did before.” + +And time goes on... + +“What do you there, prisoner?” + +“I grow old, and can no longer see to sew; I scrape the plaster from the +walls. And of that I am making an urn to be a little gift for him.” + +“Of whom are you speaking?” + +“Of my lover, who shut me in the tower.” + +“And do you smile at that, because he locked you in the tower?” + +“I am thinking of what he will say now. 'Look, look,' he will say, 'my +maiden has sent me a little urn; she has not forgotten me in thirty +years.'” + +And time goes on... + +“What, prisoner! sit you there idle, and smile?” + +“I grow old, I grow old, my eyes are blind, I am only thinking.” + +“Of him that you met forty years ago?” + +“Of him whom I met when I was young. Maybe it was forty years ago.” + +“But do you not know, then, that he is dead? ... Pale beldam, you do +not answer; your lips are white, you breathe no more...” + +There! That was the strange tale of the girl in the tower. Wait, Æsop, +wait a little: there was something I forgot. One day she heard her +lover's voice in the courtyard, and she fell on her knees and blushed. +And that was when she was forty years... + +I bury you, Eva, and in humility kiss the sand above your grave. A +luxuriant, rose-red memory flowers in me when I think of you; I am as if +drenched in blessing at the memory of your smile. You gave all; all did +you give, and it cost you nothing, for you were the wild child of life +itself. But others, the miserly ones who begrudge even a glance, can +have all my thoughts. Why? Ask the twelve months and the ships on the +sea; ask the mysterious God of the heart... + + + + +XXXII + + +A man said: + +“You never go out shooting now? Æsop is running loose in the woods; he +is after a hare.” + +I said: + +“Go and shoot it for me.” + +Some days passed. Herr Mack looked me up. He was hollow-eyed; his face +was grey. I thought: Is it true that I can see through my fellows, or is +it not? I do not know, myself. + +Herr Mack spoke of the landslip, the catastrophe. It was a misfortune, +a sad accident; I was in no way to blame. + +I said: + +“If it was someone who wished to separate Eva and me at any price, he +has gained his end. God's curse be on him!” + +Herr Mack looked at me suspiciously. He murmured something about the +fine funeral. Nothing had been spared. + +I sat admiring the alertness of his mind. He would have no compensation +for the boat that my landslide had crushed. + +“Oh, but surely,” I said, “will you not have some payment for the boat +and the tar-bucket and the brush?” + +“No, my dear Lieutenant,” he answered. “How could you think of such a +thing?” And he looked at me with hatred in his eyes. + +For three weeks I saw nothing of Edwarda. Yes, once I met her at the +store: when I went to buy some bread, she stood inside the counter +looking over some different sorts of cloth stuff. Only the two +assistants were there besides. + +I greeted her aloud, and she looked up, but did not answer. It occurred +to me that I could not ask for bread while she was there; I turned to +the assistants and asked for powder and shot. While they were weighing +it out, I watched her. + +A grey dress, much too small for her, with the buttonholes worn; her +flat breast heaved restlessly. How she had grown that summer! Her brow +was knit in thought; those strangely curved eyebrows stood in her face +like two riddles; all her movements were grown more mature. I looked at +her hands; the contour of her long, delicate fingers moved me violently, +made me tremble. She was still turning over the stuffs. + +I stood wishing that Æsop would run to her behind the counter--then I +could call him back at once and apologise. What would she say then? + +“Here you are,” said the storekeeper. + +I paid for the things, took up my parcels, and took my leave of her. She +looked up, but again without speaking. Good, I thought to myself. She +is the Baron's bride already, as like as not. And I went, without my +bread. + +When I got outside, I looked up at the window. No one was watching me. + + + + +XXXIII + + +Then one night the snow came, and it began to be cold in my hut. There +was a fireplace where I cooked my food, but the wood burned poorly and +it was very draughty, though I had caulked the walls as well as I could. +The autumn was past, and the days were growing shorter. The first snow +was still melting under the rays of the sun. Presently the ground was +bare again, but the nights were cold, and the water froze. And all the +grass and all the insects died. + +A secret stillness fell upon people; they pondered and were silent; +their eyes awaited the winter. No more calling from the drying grounds: +the harbour lay quiet. Everything was moving towards the eternal winter +of the northern lights, when the sun sleeps in the sea. Dull came the +sound of the oars from a lonely boat. + +A girl came rowing. + +“Where have you been, my girl?” + +“Nowhere.” + +“Nowhere? Look, I recognize you: I met you last summer.” + +She brought the boat in, stepped ashore, made fast. + +“You were herding goats. You stopped to fasten your stocking. I met you +one night.” + +A little flush rose to her cheeks, and she laughed shyly. + +“Little goat-girl, come into the hut and let me look at you. I knew your +name, too--it is Henriette.” + +But she walked past me without speaking. The autumn, the winter, had +laid hold of her too; her senses drowsed. + +Already the sun had gone to sea. + + + + +XXXIV + + +And I put on my uniform for the first time, and went down to Sirilund. +My heart was beating. + +I remembered everything from the day when Edwarda had come hurrying to +me and embraced me before them all. Now she had thrown me hither and +thither for many months, and made my hair turn grey. My own fault? Yes, +my star had led me astray. I thought: How she would chuckle if I were to +throw myself at her feet and tell her the secret of my heart to-day! +She would offer me a chair and have wine brought in, and just as she was +raising the glass to her lips to drink with me, she would say: +“Lieutenant, I thank you for the time we have been together. I shall +never forget it!” But when I grew glad and felt a little hope, she'd +pretend to drink, and set down the glass untouched. And she wouldn't +hide from me that she'd only been pretending to drink; she'd be careful +to let me see it. That was her way. + +Good--it was nearing the last hour now. + +And as I walked down the road I thought further: My uniform will impress +her; the trappings are new and handsome. The sword will rattle against +the floor. A nervous joy thrilled me, and I whispered to myself: Who +knows what may happen yet? I raised my head and threw out a hand. No +more humility now--a man's honour and pride! Whatever came of it, I +would make no more advances now. Pardon me, my fair one, for not asking +your hand... + +Herr Mack met me in the courtyard, greyer still, more hollow-eyed. + +“Going away? So? I suppose you've not been very comfortable lately, eh? +Your hut burned down...” And Herr Mack smiled. + +In a moment it seemed as if the wisest man in the world stood before my +eyes. + +“Go indoors, Lieutenant; Edwarda is there. Well, I will say good-bye. +See you on the quay, I suppose, when the vessel sails.” He walked off, +with head bowed in thought, whistling. + +Edwarda was sitting indoors, reading. At the instant of my entering, she +started at my uniform; she looked at me sideways like a bird, and even +blushed. She opened her mouth. + +“I have come to say good-bye,” I managed to get out at last. + +She rose quickly to her feet, and I saw that my words had had some +effect. + +“Glahn, are you going away? Now?” + +“As soon as the boat comes.” I grasped her hand--both her hands--a +senseless delight took possession of me--I burst out, “Edwarda!” and +stared at her. + +And in a moment she was cold--cold and defiant. Her whole being +resisted me; she drew herself up. I found myself standing like a beggar +before her. I loosed her hand and let her go. I remember that from that +moment I stood repeating mechanically: “Edwarda, Edwarda!” again and +again without thinking, and when she asked: “Yes? What were you going to +say?” I explained nothing. + +“To think you are going already,” she said again. “Who will come next +year, I wonder?” + +“Another,” I answered. “The hut will be built up again, no doubt.” + +Pause. She was already reaching for her book. + +“I am sorry my father is not in,” she said. “But I will tell him you +were here.” + +I made no answer to this. I stepped forward, took her hand once more, +and said: + +_“Farvel,_ Edwarda.” + +_“Farvel,”_ she answered. + +I opened the door as if to go. Already she was sitting with the book in +her hand, reading--actually reading and turning the page. Nothing +affected, not the least in the world affected by my saying good-bye. + +I coughed. + +She turned and said in surprise: + +“Oh, are you not gone? I thought you were.” + +Heaven alone knows, but it struck me that her surprise was too great; +that she was not careful, that she overdid it. And it came into my head +that perhaps she had known all the time that I was standing behind her. + +“I am going now,” I said. + +Then she rose and came over to me. + +“I should like to have something to remember you by when you go,” she +said. “I thought of asking you for something, but perhaps it is too +much. Will you give me Æsop?” + +I did not hesitate. I answered “Yes.” + +“Then, perhaps, you would come and bring him to-morrow,” she said. + +I went. + +I looked up at the window. No one there. + +It was all over now... + + * * * * * + +The last night in the hut. I sat in thought, I counted the hours; when +the morning came I made ready my last meal. It was a cold day. + +Why had she asked me to come myself and bring the dog? Would she tell me +something, speak to me, for the last time? I had nothing more to hope +for. And how would she treat Æsop? Æsop, Æsop, she will torture you! For +my sake she will whip you, caress you too, perhaps, but certainly whip +you, with and without reason; ruin you altogether... + +I called Æsop to me, patted him, put our two heads together, and picked +up my gun. He was already whining with pleasure, thinking we were going +out after game. I put our heads together once more; I laid the muzzle of +the gun against Æsop's neck and fired... + +I hired a man to carry Æsop's body to Edwarda. + + + + +XXXV + + +The mail-packet was to sail in the afternoon. + +I went down to the quay. My things were already on board. Herr Mack +pressed my hand, and said encouragingly that it would be nice weather, +pleasant weather; he would not mind making the trip himself in such +weather. The Doctor came walking down. Edwarda was with him; I felt my +knees beginning to tremble. + +“Came to see you safely off,” said the Doctor. + +I thanked him. + +Edwarda looked me straight in the face and said: + +“I must thank you for your dog.” She pressed her lips together; they +were quite white. Again she had called me “_Eder_.” [Footnote: The +most formal mode of address.] + +“When does the boat go?” the Doctor asked a man. + +“In half an hour.” + +I said nothing. + +Edwarda was turning restlessly this way and that. + +“Doctor, don't you think we may as well go home again?” she said. “I +have done what I came for to do.” + +“You have done what you came _to do_,” said the Doctor. + +She laughed, humiliated by his everlasting correction, and answered: + +“Wasn't that almost what I said?” + +“No,” he answered shortly. + +I looked at him. The little man stood there cold and firm; he had made a +plan, and he carried it out to the last. And if he lost after all? In +any case, he would never show it; his face never betrayed him. + +It was getting dusk. + +“Well, good-bye,” I said. “And thanks for--everything.” + +Edwarda looked at me dumbly. Then she turned her head and stood looking +out at the ship. + +I got into the boat. Edwarda was still standing on the quay. When I got +on board, the Doctor called out “Good-bye!” I looked over to the shore. +Edwarda turned at the same time and walked hurriedly away from the quay, +the Doctor far behind. That was the last I saw of her. + +A wave of sadness went through my heart... + +The vessel began to move; I could still see Herr Mack's sign: “Salt and +Barrels.” But soon it disappeared. The moon and the stars came out; the +hills towered round about, and I saw the endless woods. There is the +mill; there, there stood my hut, that was burned; the big grey stone +stands there all alone on the site of the fire. Iselin, Eva... + +The night of the northern lights spreads over valley and hill. + + + + +XXXVI + + +I have written this to pass the time. It has amused me to look back to +that summer in Nordland, when I often counted the hours, but when time +flew nevertheless. All is changed. The days will no longer pass. + +I have many a merry hour even yet. But time--it stands still, and I +cannot understand how it can stand so still. I am out of the service, +and free as a prince; all is well; I meet people, drive in carriages; +now and again I shut one eye and write with one finger up in the sky; I +tickle the moon under the chin, and fancy that it laughs--laughs broadly +at being tickled under the chin. All things smile. I pop a cork and +call gay people to me. + +As for Edwarda, I do not think of her. Why should I not have forgotten +her altogether, after all this time? I have some pride. And if anyone +asks whether I have any sorrows, then I answer straight out, “No--none.” + +Cora lies looking at me. Æsop, it used to be, but now it is Cora that +lies looking at me. The clock ticks on the mantel; outside my open +window sounds the roar of the city. A knock at the door, and the postman +hands me a letter. A letter with a coronet. I know who sent it; I +understand it at once, or maybe I dreamed it one sleepless night. But in +the envelope there is no letter at all--only two green bird's feathers. + +An icy horror thrills me; I turn cold. Two green feathers! I say to +myself: Well, and what of it? But why should I turn cold? Why, there is +a cursed draught from those windows. + +And I shut the windows. + +There lie two bird's feathers, I think to myself again. I seem to know +them; they remind me of a little jest up in Nordland, just a little +episode among a host of others. It is amusing to see those two feathers +again. And suddenly I seem to see a face and hear a voice, and the voice +says: “Her, Herr Lieutenant: here are your feathers.” + +“Your feathers.”... + +Cora, lie still--do you hear? I will kill you if you move! + +The weather is hot, an intolerable heat is in the room; what was I +thinking of to close the windows? Open them again--open the door too; +open it wide--this way, merry souls, come in! Hey, messenger, an +errand--go out and fetch me a host of people... + +And the day passes; but time stands still. + +Now I have written this for my own pleasure only, and amused myself with +it as best I could. No sorrow weighs on me, but I long to be +away--where, I do not know, but far away, perhaps in Africa or India. +For my place is in the woods, in solitude... + + + + + +GLAHN'S DEATH + +A DOCUMENT OF 1861 + + + + +I + + +The Glahn family can go on advertising as long as they please for +Lieutenant Thomas Glahn, who disappeared; but he will never come back. +He is dead, and, what is more, I know how he died. + +To tell the truth, I am not surprised that his people should still keep +on seeking information; for Thomas Glahn was in many ways an uncommon +and likable man. I admit this, for fairness' sake, and despite the fact +that Glahn is still repellant to my soul, so that the bare memory of him +arouses hatred. He was a splendidly handsome man, full of youth, and +with an irresistible manner. When he looked at you with his hot animal +eyes, you could not but feel his power; even I felt it so. A woman, they +say, said: “When he looks at me, I am lost; I feel a sensation as if he +were touching me.” + +But Thomas Glahn had his faults, and I have no intention of hiding them, +seeing that I hate him. He could at times be full of nonsense like a +child, so kindly natured was he; and perhaps it was that which made him +so irresistible to women. God knows! He could chat with them and laugh +at their senseless twaddle; and so he made an impression. Once, speaking +of a very corpulent man in the place, he said that he looked as if he +went about with his breeches full of lard. And he laughed at that joke +himself, though I should have been ashamed of it. Another time, after we +had come to live in the same house together, he showed his foolishness +in an unmistakable way. My landlady came in one morning and asked what I +would have for breakfast, and in my hurry I happened to answer: “A bread +and a slice of egg.” Thomas Glahn was sitting in my room at the time--he +lived in the attic up above, just under the roof--and he began to +chuckle and laugh childishly over my little slip of the tongue. “A bread +and a slice of egg!” he repeated time over and over, until I looked at +him in surprise and made him stop. + +Maybe I shall call to mind other ridiculous traits of his later on. If +so, I will write them down too, and not spare him, seeing that he is +still my enemy. Why should I be generous? But I will admit that he +talked nonsense only when he was drunk. But is it not a great mistake to +be drunk at all? + +When I first met him, in the autumn of 1859, he was a man of +two-and-thirty--we were of an age. He wore a full beard at that time, +and affected woolen sports shirts with an exaggerated lowness of neck; +not content with that, he sometimes left the top button undone. His neck +appeared to me at first to be remarkably handsome; but little by little +he made me his deadly enemy, and then I did not consider his neck +handsomer than mine, though I did not show off mine so openly. I met him +first on a river boat, and we were going to the same place, on a hunting +trip; we agreed to go together up-country by ox-wagon when we came to +the end of the railway. I purposely refrained from stating the place we +were going to, not wishing to set anyone on the track. But the Glahns +can safely stop advertising for their relative; for he died at the place +we went to, which I will not name. + +I had heard of Thomas Glahn, by the way, before I met him; his name was +not unknown to me. I had heard of some affair of his with a young girl +from Nordland, from a big house there, and that he had compromised her +in some way, after which she broke it off. This he had sworn, in his +foolish obstinacy, to revenge upon himself, and the lady calmly let him +do as he pleased in that respect, considering it no business of hers. +From that time onwards, Thomas Glahn's name began to be well known; he +turned wild, mad; he drank, created scandal after scandal, and resigned +his commission in the army. A queer way of taking vengeance for a girl's +refusal! + +There was also another story of his relations with that young lady, to +the effect that he had not compromised her in any way, but that her +people had showed him the door, and that she herself had helped in it, +after a Swedish Count, whose name I will not mention, had proposed to +her. But this account I am less inclined to trust; I regard the first +as true, for after all I hate Thomas Glahn and believe him capable of +the worst. But, however it may have been, he never spoke himself of the +affair with that noble lady, and I did not ask him about it. What +business was it of mine? + +As we sat there on the boat, I remember we talked about the little +village we were making for, to which neither of us had been before. + +“There's a sort of hotel there, I believe,” said Glahn, looking at the +map. “Kept by an old half-caste woman, so they say. The chief lives in +the next village, and has a heap of wives, by all accounts--some of them +only ten years old.” + +Well, I knew nothing about the chief and his wives, or whether there was +a hotel in the place, so I said nothing. But Glahn smiled, and I thought +his smile was beautiful. + +I forgot, by the way, that he could not by any means be called a perfect +man, handsome though he was. He told me himself that he had an old +gunshot wound in his left foot, and that it was full of gout whenever +the weather changed. + + + + +II + + +A week later we were lodged in the big hut that went by the name of +hotel, with the old English half-caste woman. What a hotel it was! The +walls were of clay, with a little wood, and the wood was eaten through +by the white ants that crawled about everywhere. I lived in a room next +the main parlor, with a green glass window looking on to the street--a +single pane, not very clear at that--and Glahn had chosen a little bit +of a hole up in the attic, much darker, and a poor place to live in. The +sun heated the thatched roof and made his room almost insufferably hot +at night and day; besides which, it was not a stair at all that led up +to it, but a wretched bit of a ladder with four steps. What could I do? +I let him take his choice, and said: + +“Here are two rooms, one upstairs and one down; take your choice.” + +And Glahn looked at the two rooms and took the upper one, possibly to +give me the better of the two--but was I not grateful for it? I owe him +nothing. + +As long as the worst of the heat lasted, we left the hunting alone and +stayed quietly in the hut, for the heat was extremely uncomfortable. We +lay at night with a mosquito net over the bedplace, to keep off the +insects; but even then it happened sometimes that blind bats would come +flying silently against our nets and tear them. This happened too often +to Glahn, because he was obliged to have a trap in the roof open all the +time, on account of the heat; but it did not happen to me. In the +daytime we lay on mats outside the hut, and smoked and watched the life +about the other huts. The natives were brown, thick-lipped folk, all +with rings in their ears and dead, brown eyes; they were almost naked, +with just a strip of cotton cloth or plaited leaves round the middle, +and the women had also a short petticoat of cotton stuff to cover them. +All the children went about stark naked night and day, with great big +prominent bellies simply glistening with oil. + +“The women are too fat,” said Glahn. + +And I too thought the women were too fat. Perhaps it was not Glahn at +all, but myself, who thought so first; but I will not dispute his +claim--I am willing to give him the credit. As a matter of fact, not all +the women were ugly, though their faces were fat and swollen. I had met +a girl in the village, a young half-Tamil with long hair and snow-white +teeth; she was the prettiest of them all. I came upon her one evening at +the edge of a rice field. She lay flat on her face in the high grass, +kicking her legs in the air. She could talk to me, and we did talk, too, +as long as I pleased. Glahn sat that evening in the middle of our +village outside a hut with two other girls, very young--not more than +ten years old, perhaps. He sat there talking nonsense to them, and +drinking rice beer; that was the sort of thing he liked. + +A couple of days later, we went out shooting. We passed by tea gardens, +rice fields, and grass plains; we left the village behind us and went in +the direction of the river, and came into forests of strange foreign +trees, bamboo and mango, tamarind, teak and salt trees, oil--and +gum-bearing plants--Heaven knows what they all were; we had, between us, +but little knowledge of the things. But there was very little water in +the river, and so it remained until the rainy season. We shot wild +pigeons and partridges, and saw a couple of panthers one afternoon; +parrots, too, flew over our heads. Glahn was a terribly accurate shot; +he never missed. But that was merely because his gun was better than +mine; many times I too shot terribly accurately. I never boasted of it, +but Glahn would often say: “I'll get that fellow in the tail,” or “that +one in the head.” He would say that before he fired; and when the bird +fell, sure enough, it was hit in the tail or the head as he had said. +When we came upon the two panthers, Glahn was all for attacking them too +with his shot-gun, but I persuaded him to give it up, as it was getting +dusk, and we had no more than two or three cartridges left. He boasted +of that too--of having had the courage to attack panthers with a +shot-gun. + +“I am sorry I did not fire at them after all,” he said to me. “What do +you want to be so infernally cautious for? Do you want to go on living?” + “I'm glad you consider me wiser than yourself,” I answered. + +“Well, don't let us quarrel over a trifle,” he said. + +Those were his words, not mine; if he had wished to quarrel, I for my +part had no wish to prevent him. I was beginning to feel some dislike +for him for his incautious behavior, and for his manner with women. Only +the night before, I had been walking quietly along with Maggie, the +Tamil girl that was my friend, and we were both as happy as could be. +Glahn sits outside his hut, and nods and smiles to us as we pass. It was +then that Maggie saw him for the first time, and she was very +inquisitive about him. So great an impression had he made on her that, +when it was time to go, we went each our own way; she did not go back +home with me. + +Glahn would have put this by as of no importance when I spoke to him +about it. But I did not forget it. And it was not to me that he nodded +and smiled as we passed by the hut! it was to Maggie. + +“What's that she chews?” he asked me. + +“I don't know,” I answered. “She chews--I suppose that's what her teeth +are for.” + +And it was no news to me either that Maggie was always chewing +something; I had noticed it long before. But it was not betel she was +chewing, for her teeth were quite white; she had, however, a habit of +chewing all sorts of other things--putting them in her mouth and chewing +as if they were something nice. Anything would do--a piece of money, a +scrap of paper, feathers--she would chew it all the same. Still, it was +nothing to reproach her for, seeing that she was the prettiest girl in +the village, anyway. Glahn was jealous of me, that was all. + +I was friends again with Maggie, though, next evening, and we saw +nothing of Glahn. + + + + +III + + +A week passed, and we went out shooting every day, and shot a heap of +game. One morning, just as we were entering the forest, Glahn gripped me +by the arm and whispered: “Stop!” At the same moment he threw up his +rifle and fired. It was a young leopard he had shot, I might have fired +myself, but Glahn kept the honour to himself and fired first. Now he'll +boast of that later on, I said to myself. We went up to the dead beast. +It was stone dead, the left flank all torn up and the bullet in its +back. + +Now I do not like being gripped by the arm, so I said: + +“I could have managed that shot myself.” + +Glahn looked at me. + +I said: “You think perhaps I couldn't have done it?” + +Still Glahn made no answer. Instead, he showed his childishness once +more, shooting the dead leopard again, this time through the head. I +looked at him in utter astonishment. + +“Well, you know,” he explains, “I shouldn't like to have it said that I +shot a leopard in the flank.” + +“You are very amiable this evening,” I said. + +It was too much for his vanity to have made such a poor shot; he must +always be first. What a fool he was! But it was no business of mine, +anyway. I was not going to show him up. + +In the evening, when we came back to the village with the dead leopard, +a lot of the natives came out to look at it. Glahn simply said we had +shot it that morning, and made no sort of fuss about it himself at the +time. Maggie came up too. + +“Who shot it?” she asked. + +And Glahn answered: + +“You can see for yourself--twice hit. We shot it this morning when we +went out.” And he turned the beast over and showed her the two bullet +wounds, both that in the flank and that in the head. “That's where mine +went,” he said, pointing to the side--in his idiotic fashion he wanted +me to have the credit of having shot it in the head. I did not trouble +to correct him; I said nothing. After that, Glahn began treating the +natives with rice beer--gave them any amount of it, as many as cared to +drink. + +“Both shot it,” said Maggie to herself; but she was looking at Glahn all +the time. + +I drew her aside with me and said: + +“What are you looking at him all the time for? I am here too, I +suppose?” + +“Yes,” she said. “And listen: I am coming this evening.” + +It was the day after this that Glahn got the letter. There came a letter +for him, sent up by express messenger from the river station, and it had +made a detour of a hundred and eighty miles. The letter was in a +woman's hand, and I thought to my self that perhaps it was from that +former friend of his, the noble lady. Glahn laughed nervously when he +had read it, and gave the messenger extra money for bringing it. But it +was not long before he turned silent and gloomy, and did nothing but sit +staring straight before him. That evening he got drunk--sat drinking +with an old dwarf of a native and his son, and clung hold of me too, and +did all he could to make me drink as well. + +Then he laughed out loud and said: + +“Here we are, the two of us, miles away in the middle of all India +shooting game--what? Desperately funny, isn't it? And hurrah for all the +lands and kingdoms of the earth, and hurrah for all the pretty women, +married or unmarried, far and near. Hoho! Nice thing for a man when a +married woman proposes to him, isn't it--a married woman?” + +“A countess,” I said ironically. I said it very scornfully, and that cut +him. He grinned like a dog because it hurt him. Then suddenly he +wrinkled his forehead and began blinking his eyes, and thinking hard if +he hadn't said too much--so mighty serious was he about his bit of a +secret. But just then a lot of children came running over to our hut and +crying out: “Tigers, ohoi, the tigers!” A child had been snapped up by a +tiger quite close to the village, in a thicket between it and the river. + +That was enough for Glahn, drunk as he was, and cut up about something +into the bargain. He picked up his rifle and raced off at once to the +thicket--didn't even put on his hat. But why did he take his rifle +instead of a shot-gun, if he was really as plucky as all that? He had to +wade across the river, and that was rather a risky thing in itself--but +then, the river was nearly dry now, till the rains. A little later I +heard two shots, and then, close on them, a third. Three shots at a +single beast, I thought; why, a lion would have fallen for two, and this +was only a tiger! But even those three shots were no use: the child was +torn to bits and half eaten by the time Glahn come up. If he hadn't been +drunk he wouldn't have made the attempt to save it. + +He spent the night drinking and rioting in the hut next door. For two +days he was never sober for a minute, and he had found a lot of +companions, too, to drink with him. He begged me in vain to take part in +the orgy. He was no longer careful of what he said, and taunted me with +being jealous of him. + +“Your jealousy makes you blind,” he said. + +My jealousy? I, jealous of him? + +“Good Lord!” I said, “I jealous of you? What's there for me to be +jealous about?” + +“No, no, of course you're not jealous of me,” he answered. “I saw Maggie +this evening, by the way. She was chewing something, as usual.” + +I made no answer; I simply walked off. + + + + +IV + + +We began going out shooting again. Glahn felt he had wronged me, and +begged my pardon. + +“And I'm dead sick of the whole thing,” he said. “I only wish you'd make +a slip one day and put a bullet in my throat.” It was that letter from +the Countess again, perhaps, that was smouldering in his mind. I +answered: + +“As a man soweth, so shall he also reap.” + +Day by day he grew more silent and gloomy. He had given up drinking +now, and didn't say a word, either; his cheeks grew hollow. + +One day I heard talking and laughter outside my window; Glahn had turned +cheerful again, and he stood there talking out loud to Maggie. He was +getting in all his fascinating tricks. Maggie must have come straight +from her hut, and Glahn had been watching and waiting for her. They +even had the nerve to stand there making up together right outside my +glass window. + +I felt a trembling in all my limbs. I cocked my gun; then I let the +hammer down again. I went outside and took Maggie by the arm; we walked +out of the village in silence; Glahn went back into the hut again at +once. + +“What were you talking with him again for?” I asked Maggie. + +She made no answer. + +I was thoroughly desperate. My heart beat so I could hardly breathe. I +had never seen Maggie look so lovely as she did then--never seen a real +white girl so beautiful. And I forgot she was a Tamil--forgot everything +for her sake. + +“Answer me,” I said. “What were you talking to him for?” + +“I like him best,” she said. + +“You like him better than me?” + +“Yes.” + +Oh, indeed! She liked him better than me, though I was at least as good +a man! Hadn't I always been kind to her, and given her money and +presents? And what had he done? + +“He makes fun of you; he says you're always chewing things,” I said. + +She did not understand that, and I explained it better; how she had a +habit of putting everything in her mouth and chewing it, and how Glahn +laughed at her for it. That made more impression on her than all the +rest I said. + +“Look here, Maggie,” I went on, “you shall be mine for always. Wouldn't +you like that? I've been thinking it over. You shall go with me when I +leave here; I will marry you, do you hear? and we'll go to our own +country and live there. You'd like that, wouldn't you?” + +And that impressed her too. Maggie grew lively and talked a lot as we +walked. She only mentioned Glahn once; she asked: + +“And will Glahn go with us when we go away?” + +“No,” I said. “He won't. Are you sorry about that?” + +“No, no,” she said quickly. “I am glad.” + +She said no more about him, and I felt easier. And Maggie went home +with me, too, when I asked her. + +When she went, a couple of hours later, I climbed up the ladder to +Glahn's room and knocked at the thin reed door. He was in. I said: + +“I came to tell you that perhaps we'd better not go out shooting +to-morrow.” + +“Why not?” said Glahn. + +“Because I'm not so sure but I might make a little mistake and put a +bullet in your throat.” + +Glahn did not answer, and I went down again. After that warning he +would hardly dare to go out to-morrow--but what did he want to get +Maggie out under my window for, and fool with her there at the top of +his voice? Why didn't he go back home again, if the letter really asked +him, instead of going about as he often did, clenching his teeth and +shouting at the empty air: “Never, never! I'll be drawn and quartered +first?” + +But the morning after I had warned him, as I said, there was Glahn the +same as ever, standing by my bed, calling out: + +“Up with you, comrade! It's a lovely day; we must go out and shoot +something. That was all nonsense you said yesterday.” + +It was no more than four o'clock, but I got up at once and got ready to +go with him, in spite of my warning. I loaded my gun before starting +out, and I let him see that I did. And it was not at all a lovely day, +as he had said; it was raining, which showed that he was only trying to +irritate me the more. But I took no notice, and went with him, saying +nothing. + +All that day we wandered round through the forest, each lost in his own +thoughts. We shot nothing--lost one chance after another, through +thinking of other things than sport. About noon, Glahn began walking a +bit ahead of me, as if to give me a better chance of doing what I liked +with him. He walked right across the muzzle of my gun; but I bore with +that too. We came back that evening. Nothing had happened. I thought to +myself: “Perhaps he'll be more careful now, and leave Maggie alone.” + +“This has been the longest day of my life,” said Glahn when we got back +to the hut. + +Nothing more was said on either side. + +The next few days he was in the blackest humor, seemingly all about the +same letter. “I can't stand it; no, it's more than I can bear,” he would +say sometimes in the night; we could hear it all through the hut. His +ill temper carried him so far that he would not even answer the most +friendly questions when our landlady spoke to him; and he used to groan +in his sleep. He must have a deal on his conscience, I thought--but why +in the name of goodness didn't he go home? Just pride, no doubt; he +would not go back when he had been turned off once. + +I met Maggie every evening, and Glahn talked with her no more. I noticed +that she had given up chewing things altogether; she never chewed now. I +was pleased at that, and thought: She's given up chewing things; that is +one failing the less, and I love her twice as much as I did before! + +One day she asked about Glahn--asked very cautiously. Was he not well? +Had he gone away? + +“If he's not dead, or gone away,” I said, “he's lying at home, no doubt. +It's all one to me. He's beyond all bearing now.” + +But just then, coming up to the hut, we saw Glahn lying on a mat on the +ground, hands at the back of his neck, staring up at the sky. + +“There he is,” I said. + +Maggie went straight up to him, before I could stop her, and said in a +pleased sort of voice: + +“I don't chew things now--nothing at all. No feathers or money or bits +of paper--you can see for yourself.” + +Glahn scarcely looked at her. He lay still. Maggie and I went on. When +I reproached her with having broken her promise and spoken to Glahn +again, she answered that she had only meant to show him he was wrong. + +“That's right--show him he's wrong,” I said. “But do you mean it was +for his sake you stopped chewing things?” + +She didn't answer. What, wouldn't she answer? + +“Do you hear? Tell me, was it for his sake?” + +And I could not think otherwise. Why should she do anything for Glahn's +sake? + +That evening Maggie promised to come to me, and she did. + + + + +V + + +She came at ten o'clock. I heard her voice outside; she was talking +loud to a child whom she led by the hand. Why did she not come in, and +what had she brought the child for? I watched her, and it struck me that +she was giving a signal by talking out loud to the child; I noticed, +too, that she kept her eyes fixed on the attic--on Glahn's window up +there. Had he nodded to her, I wondered, or beckoned to her from inside +when he heard her talking outside? Anyhow, I had sense enough myself to +know there was no need to look up aloft when talking to a child on the +ground. + +I was going out to take her by the arm. But just then she let go the +child's hand, left the child standing there, and came in herself, +through the door to the hut. She stepped into the passage. Well, there +she was at last; I would take care to give her a good talking to when +she came! + +Well, I stood there and heard Maggie step into the passage. There was no +mistake: she was close outside my door. But instead of coming in to me, +I heard her step up the ladder--up to the attic--to Glahn's hole up +there. I heard it only too well. I threw my door open wide, but Maggie +had gone up already. That was ten o'clock. + +I went in, sat down in my room, and took my gun and loaded it. At twelve +o'clock I went up the ladder and listened at Glahn's door. I could hear +Maggie in there; I went down again. At one I went up again; all was +quiet this time. I waited outside the door. Three o'clock, four o'clock, +five. Good, I thought to myself. But a little after, I heard a noise and +movement below in the hut, in my landlady's room; and I had to go down +again quickly, so as not to let her find me there. I might have +listened much more, but I had to go. + +In the passage I said to myself: “See, here she went: she must have +touched my door with her arm as she passed, but she did not open the +door: she went up the ladder, and here is the ladder itself--those four +steps, she has trodden them.” + +My bed still lay untouched, and I did not lie down now, but sat by the +window, fingering my rifle now and again. My heart was not beating--it +was trembling. + +Half an hour later I heard Maggie's footstep on the ladder again. I lay +close up to the window and saw her walk out of the hut. She was wearing +her little short cotton petticoat, that did not even reach to her knees, +and over her shoulders a woolen scarf borrowed from Glahn. She walked +slowly, as she always did, and did not so much as glance towards my +window. Then she disappeared behind the huts. + +A little after came Glahn, with his rifle under his arm, all ready to go +out. He looked gloomy, and did not even say good-morning. I noticed, +though, that he had got himself up and taken special care about his +dress. + +I got ready at once and went with him. Neither of us said a word. The +first two birds we shot were mangled horribly, through shooting them +with the rifle; but we cooked them under a tree as best we could, and +ate in silence. So the day wore on till noon. + +Glahn called out to me: + +“Sure your gun is loaded? We might come across something unexpectedly. +Load it, anyhow.” + +“It is loaded,” I answered. + +Then he disappeared a moment into the bush. I felt it would be a +pleasure to shoot him then--pick him off and shoot him down like a dog. +There was no hurry; he could still enjoy the thought of it for a bit. He +knew well enough what I had in mind: that was why he had asked if my gun +were loaded. Even to-day he could not refrain from giving way to his +beastly pride. He had dressed himself up and put on a new shirt; his +manner was, lordly beyond all bounds. + +About one o'clock he stopped, pale and angry, in front of me, and said: + +“I can't stand this! Look and see if you're loaded, man--if you've +anything in your gun.” + +“Kindly look after your own gun,” I answered. But I knew well enough +why he kept asking about mine. + +And he turned away again. My answer had so effectively put him in his +place that he actually seemed cowed: he even hung his head as he walked +off. + +After a while I shot a pigeon, and loaded again. While I was doing so, +I caught sight of Glahn standing half hidden behind a tree, watching me +to see if I really loaded. A little later he started singing a hymn--and +a wedding hymn into the bargain. Singing wedding hymns, and putting on +his best clothes, I thought to myself--that's his way of being extra +fascinating to-day. Even before he had finished the hymn he began +walking softly in front of me, hanging his head, and still singing as he +walked. He was keeping right in front of the muzzle of my gun again, as +if thinking to himself: Now it is coming, and that is why I am singing +this wedding hymn! But it did not come yet, and when he had finished his +singing he had to look back at me. + +“We shan't get much to-day anyhow, by the look of it,” he said, with a +smile, as if excusing himself, and asking pardon of me for singing while +we were out after game. But even at that moment his smile was beautiful. +It was as if he were weeping inwardly, and his lips trembled, too, for +all that he boasted of being able to smile at such a solemn moment. + +I was no woman, and he saw well enough that he made no impression on me. +He grew impatient, his face paled, he circled round me with hasty steps, +showing up now to the left, now to the right of me, and stopping every +now and then to wait for me to come up. + +About five, I heard a shot all of a sudden, and a bullet sang past my +left ear. I looked up. There was Glahn standing motionless a few paces +off, staring at me; his smoking rifle lay along his arm. Had he tried to +shoot me? I said: + +“You missed that time. You've been shooting badly of late.” + +But he had not been shooting badly. He never missed. He had only been +trying to irritate me. + +“Then take your revenge, damn you!” he shouted back. + +“All in good time,” I said, clenching my teeth. + +We stood there looking at each other. And suddenly Glahn shrugged his +shoulders and called out “Coward” to me. And why should he call me a +coward? I threw my rifle to my shoulder--aimed full in his face--fired. + +As a man soweth... + +Now, there is no need, I insist, for the Glahns to make further +inquiry about this man. It annoys me to be constantly seeing their +advertisements offering such and such reward for information about a +dead man. Thomas Glahn was killed by accident--shot by accident when +out on a hunting trip in India. The court entered his name, with the +particulars of his end, in a register with pierced and threaded +leaves. And in that register it says that he is dead--_dead_, I tell +you--and what is more, that he was killed by accident. + + +THE END + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pan, by Knut Hamsun + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PAN *** + +***** This file should be named 7214-0.txt or 7214-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/2/1/7214/ + +Produced by Tim Becker, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks, and +the Online Distributed Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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