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diff --git a/7214-h/7214-h.htm b/7214-h/7214-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4be6e9a --- /dev/null +++ b/7214-h/7214-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7360 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + Pan, by Knut Hamsun + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + .side { float: right; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; margin-left: 0.8em; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +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 *** + + + + +Text file produced by Tim Becker, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks, and +the Online Distributed Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + PAN + </h1> + <h2> + By Knut Hamsun + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h4> + Translated from the Norwegian of Knut Hamsun By W. W. Worster <br /> <br /> + With an Introduction by Edwin Björkman <br /> <br /> New York + </h4> + <h5> + Alfred A. Knopf <br /> <br /> 1927 + </h5> + <h6> + Published July, 1921<br /> Second printing August, 1921<br /> Third printing + September, 1921<br /> Fourth printing February, 1922<br /> Fifth printing + January, 1927 + </h6> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> KNUT HAMSUN: FROM HUNGER TO HARVEST </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>PAN</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> XXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> XXVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> XXVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> XXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> XXX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> XXXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> XXXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> XXXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> XXXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> XXXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> XXXVI </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> <b>GLAHN'S DEATH</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> V </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + KNUT HAMSUN: FROM HUNGER TO HARVEST + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>reform</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <h3> + EDWIN BJÖRKMAN. + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PAN + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Many a night passed just that way. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Quick! Get in here till it stops!” + </p> + <p> + I got up. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + He introduced the little black-bearded man who was with him; a doctor, + staying down near the church. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Edwarda gave me one glance through her veil, and went on whispering to the + dog, and reading on its collar: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Then up in the woods hunting, sometimes finding game, sometimes none... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + And in the midst of the storm, a little coal-black steamer fighting its + way in... + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “You should always wear a white kerchief like that; it suits you well.” + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + It sends a strip of sweetness through me from head to foot when the sun + comes up; I shoulder my gun with quiet delight. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + So more than one day passed. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Well, well... + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + After that I saw no one for days. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Edwarda suddenly, “what do you live on when it's closed season + for all game?” + </p> + <p> + “Fish,” I said. “Fish mostly. But there's always something to eat.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + And I cooked the bird. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Was he an Irishman then?” asked the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “An Irishman...?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—since he was a Roman Catholic.” + </p> + <p> + Edwarda blushed, and stammered and looked away. + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, perhaps he was an Irishman.” + </p> + <p> + After that she lost her liveliness. I felt sorry for her, and tried to put + matters straight again. I said: + </p> + <p> + “No, of course you are right: he was an Englishman. Irishmen don't go + travelling about in Norway.” + </p> + <p> + We agreed to row over one day and see the fish-drying grounds... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + A breath of something strange met me as I entered the hut again; it seemed + as if I were no longer alone there. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + But when we come to the edge of the wood there was no one there. No, all + was quiet; there was no one there. + </p> + <p> + “There is no one here,” I said to myself. And yet it was no worse than I + had expected. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Herr Mack received me with the greatest friendliness, and asked me to stay + to supper. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I upset my glass, and felt ashamed, and stood up. + </p> + <p> + “There—I have upset my glass,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Edwarda burst out laughing, and answered: + </p> + <p> + “Well, we can see that.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Pause. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “If you fudge a little?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + I felt as if I could read in his eyes... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + We went out. + </p> + <p> + He pointed up the road towards the blacksmith's and said: + </p> + <p> + “This way—it's the shortest.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said. “Round by the quay is the shortest way.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + We set off, and he was soon lost to sight in the wood. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “What did I say? I always go this way—it <i>is</i> the shortest.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + I saw his back as he disappeared into the wood again. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + It was one o'clock; I could tell by the look of the sea and the grass. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “See now,” I thought, “they might come.” And Iselin would lead Diderik + away to a tree and say: + </p> + <p> + “Stand here, Diderik, and keep guard; keep watch; I will let this huntsman + tie my shoestring.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Tie my shoe-string,” she says, with flushed cheeks. ... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + An hour after, she speaks, close to my mouth: + </p> + <p> + “Now I must leave you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + But Diderik steps out from under the tree and says: + </p> + <p> + “Iselin, what have you done? I saw you.” + </p> + <p> + She answers: + </p> + <p> + “Diderik, what did you see? I have done nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Iselin, I saw what you did,” he says again; “I saw you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Where do you come from?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “From the mill,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + But what could she have been doing at the mill so late at night? + </p> + <p> + “How can you venture into the woods so late?” I said—“you so slight + and young?” + </p> + <p> + She laughed, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I am not so young—I am nineteen.” + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + “Sit down,” I said, “and tell me your name.” + </p> + <p> + And she sat down, blushing, by my side, and told me her name was + Henriette. + </p> + <p> + Then I asked her: + </p> + <p> + “Have you a lover, Henriette, and has he ever taken you in his arms?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, smiling shyly. + </p> + <p> + “How many times?” + </p> + <p> + She was silent. + </p> + <p> + “How many times?” I asked her again. + </p> + <p> + “Twice,” she answered softly. + </p> + <p> + I drew her to me and said: + </p> + <p> + “How did he do it? Was it like this?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she whispered, trembling. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX + </h2> + <p> + I had some talk with Edwarda. + </p> + <p> + “We shall have rain before long,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “What time is it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + I looked at the sun and answered: + </p> + <p> + “About five.” + </p> + <p> + She asked: + </p> + <p> + “Can you tell so nearly by the sun?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered; “I can.” + </p> + <p> + Pause. + </p> + <p> + “But when you can't see the sun, how do you tell the time then?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I see.” + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + When I asked her if she understood all this, she said, “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + 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>I</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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” she said, and drew herself up. + </p> + <p> + The first drops of rain began to fall. + </p> + <p> + “It is raining,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Yes, it is raining,” she said, and went away on the instant. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow? Yes, indeed. I shall have time enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I forgot it,” she said again, and smiled. + </p> + <p> + As she went, I noticed her thin, pretty calves; they were wet far above + the ankle. Her shoes were worn through. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Hi, look after the hamper with the bottles, you madcaps there. Doctor, I + shall hold you responsible for the wine.” + </p> + <p> + “Right!” cried the Doctor. And just those few words from one boat to + another seemed to me pleasant and merry to hear. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + And there was a host of seabirds chattering and screaming, in the air and + on the shore. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + And cheeks were flushed. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + “I've heard you've such a queer little hut up there, Lieutenant?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Another came up and said kindly: + </p> + <p> + “You have not been up here in the north before?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + A third came up. She was charming by reason of her voice and her small + hands. How charming they all were! This one said: + </p> + <p> + “Shall we change flowers? It brings luck, they say.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + But she drew back her harebells and said curtly: + </p> + <p> + “What are you thinking about? It was not you I meant.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + But, Heavens—the girl had kissed me openly in sight of them all! + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” she answered. “Only—that I wanted to. It doesn't matter.” + </p> + <p> + I took off my cap and brushed back my hair mechanically as I stood looking + at her. “Doesn't matter...?” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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 “<i>Enke</i>,” she said: + </p> + <p> + “I shall have Lieutenant Glahn. I don't care to run after anyone else.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Saa for Satan</i>, [Footnote: Expletive, equivalent to “The Devil!” or + “Damnation!”] girl, be quiet!” I whispered, stamping my foot. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Afterwards,” I said, “No more now. We can meet again to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + She came towards me with hot cheeks, with a face all beaming. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been waiting?” she said. “I was afraid you would have to wait.” + </p> + <p> + I had not been waiting; she was on the way before me. + </p> + <p> + “Have you slept well?” I asked. I hardly knew what to say. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Someone was outside my hut last night,” I said. “I saw tracks in the + grass this morning.” + </p> + <p> + And her face colored; she took my hand there, on the road, and made no + answer. I looked at her, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Was it you, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + There were several places where we could meet—at the mill, on the + road, even in my hut. She came wherever I would. <i>“Goddag!”</i> she + cried, always first, and I answered <i>“Goddag!”</i> + </p> + <p> + “You are happy to-day,” she says, and her eyes sparkle. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + And that was true. Many a night I lay and could not sleep. + </p> + <p> + We walk side by side along the road. + </p> + <p> + “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...” + </p> + <p> + “What can never come to any good?” I ask. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, please, don't when I ask you; <i>please</i>,” says she. + </p> + <p> + Those few words! There was something so helpless about her saying it so, + the wrong way round: “Please don't when I ask you.”... + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Edwarda glanced up at me. + </p> + <p> + “Yes? And what then?” + </p> + <p> + “That is all,” I said. “There was nothing more. But I thought it was nice + of her.” + </p> + <p> + Pause. + </p> + <p> + “Where is that lady now?” + </p> + <p> + “Abroad.” + </p> + <p> + We spoke no more of that. But when it was time for her to go home, she + said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-night. But you won't go thinking of that lady any more, will + you? I don't think of anyone but you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + And all at once she threw her arms round my neck, there in the middle of + the road, and kissed me. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Light footsteps, a human breathing, a happy “<i>Godaften</i>.” + </p> + <p> + And I answer, and throw myself down on the road. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Godaften</i>, Edwarda,” I say again, worn out with joy. + </p> + <p> + “That you should care for me so!” she whispers. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why are you so fond of me this evening?” she asks. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + “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.'” + </p> + <p> + Edwarda looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “Let us sit down,” she said. + </p> + <p> + And we sat down in the heather. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Who was that, your friend?” + </p> + <p> + “I will not tell you,” she said. “But it was one of those that were out on + the island that day.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then.” + </p> + <p> + And then we spoke of other things. + </p> + <p> + “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, <i>will</i> you? Or I shall not ask her + at all.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I got up abruptly, and, in my confusion, could only say: + </p> + <p> + “So your father is going to Russia?” + </p> + <p> + “What did you get up like that for, so quickly?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Because it is late, Edwarda,” I said. “Now the white flowers are closing + again. The sun is getting up; it will soon be day.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Edwarda's good-night was still in my ears. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + And had it not? + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I hear it. Why do you ask me that?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “No, not to-morrow,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + I did not ask her why. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + And my heart was lightened unspeakably. + </p> + <p> + She went off, nodding farewell. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Yesterday! No longer ago than yesterday she had thought of me. All was + well again now. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Two of the ladies clasped their hands aghast, but the Doctor extricated + himself, and said jestingly: + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Edwarda was following him with her eyes. I placed myself near her, and + said: + </p> + <p> + “Shall we play '<i>Enke</i>' to-day?” + </p> + <p> + She started slightly, and got up. + </p> + <p> + “Be careful not to say '<i>Du</i>' to each other now,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + Now I had not said “<i>Du</i>” at all. I walked away. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “No one could be more happier than I the day ...” + </p> + <p> + “'More happier'...?” said the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “What?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “'More happier.'” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand.” + </p> + <p> + “You said 'more happier,' I think.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + And she promised to come. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Thanks very much; let us look at the things. It's always been a marvel to + me how those flies were put together.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Edwarda cast one careless glance at me and my book, and went on talking + with her girl friends. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, here are some of the feathers,” said the Doctor. “Look, these are + really fine.” + </p> + <p> + Edwarda looked up. + </p> + <p> + “The green ones are pretty,” she said; “let me look, Doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “Keep them,” I cried. “Yes, do, I beg you, now. Two green feathers. Do, as + a kindness, let them be a keepsake.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at them and said: + </p> + <p> + “They are green and gold, as you turn them in the sun. Thank you, if you + will give me them.” + </p> + <p> + “I should be glad to,” I said. + </p> + <p> + And she took the feathers. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for the feathers. You will come in the boat with me, won't + you?” + </p> + <p> + “If you wish it,” I said. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “I never saw such a thing!” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + When we went ashore I made an apology to Edwarda. + </p> + <p> + “If you knew how I wished myself back in my hut!” I said. “This has been a + long and painful day.” + </p> + <p> + “Has it been a painful day for you, Lieutenant?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—an extraordinary thing to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me,” I said. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI + </h2> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + “Edwarda, I have not seen you for four days.” + </p> + <p> + “Four days, yes—so it is. Oh, but I have been so busy. Come and + look.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + These were her preparations for “the ball.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful,” I said. + </p> + <p> + We went out of the room. + </p> + <p> + I said: “Listen, Edwarda—have you quite forgotten me?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have not forgotten you,” she cried, blushing, and slipped her arm + suddenly into mine. + </p> + <p> + “No? Well, perhaps you have not forgotten me. But if so, then I do not + know what I am saying. One or the other.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have an invitation to-morrow. You must dance with me. Oh, how + we will dance!” + </p> + <p> + “Will you go a little way with me?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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...?” + </p> + <p> + A carriage stops outside. + </p> + <p> + “Is the Doctor driving to-day?” I ask. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I sent a horse for him. I wanted to ...” + </p> + <p> + “Spare his bad foot, yes. Well, I must be off. <i>Goddag, Goddag</i>, + Doctor. Pleased to see you again. Well and fit, I hope? Excuse my running + off...” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Goddag</i>, Eva!” I called to her. + </p> + <p> + She stood by the big grey stone, her face all red, sucking one finger. + </p> + <p> + “Is it you, Eva? What is the matter?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Æsop has bitten me,” she answered, with some awkwardness, and cast down + her eyes. + </p> + <p> + I looked at her finger. She had bitten it herself. A thought flashed into + my mind, and I asked her: + </p> + <p> + “Have you been waiting here long?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not very long,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + And without a word more from either of us, I took her by the hand and let + her into the hut. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “The first dance with me,” she said. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “That black dress...” I began. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + A lady asked me to dance. Edwarda was sitting near, and I answered loudly: + </p> + <p> + “No; I am going home directly.” + </p> + <p> + Edwarda threw a questioning glance at me, and said: “Going? Oh, no, you + mustn't go.” + </p> + <p> + I started, and felt that I was biting my lip. I got up. + </p> + <p> + “What you said then seemed very significant to me, Edwarda,” I said + darkly, and made a few steps towards the door. + </p> + <p> + The Doctor put himself in my way, and Edwarda herself came hurrying up. + </p> + <p> + “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 <i>daler</i> for saving my shoe. It was too much.” And she laughed + heartily and turned round to the rest. + </p> + <p> + I stood with open mouth, disarmed and confused. + </p> + <p> + “You are pleased to be witty,” I said. “I never gave your boatman five <i>daler</i> + at all.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Jakob. + </p> + <p> + “And you were given five <i>daler</i> for saving it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you gave me...” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, that will do, you can go.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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 <i>daler</i> for + your shoe. I ought to have done so, perhaps, but up to now it has not been + done.” + </p> + <p> + “Whereupon we shall continue the dance,” she said, frowning. “Why aren't + we dancing?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Skaal</i>,” I said, and lifted a glass to drink with her. + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing in my glass,” she answered shortly. + </p> + <p> + But her glass was standing in front of her, quite full. + </p> + <p> + “I thought that was your glass.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is not mine,” she answered, and turned away, and was in deep + conversation with someone else. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon then,” said I. + </p> + <p> + Several of the guests had noticed this little scene. + </p> + <p> + My heart was hissing within me. I said offendedly: “But at least you owe + me an explanation...” + </p> + <p> + She rose, took both my hands, and said earnestly: + </p> + <p> + “But not to-day; not now. I am so miserable. Heavens, how you look at me. + We were friends once...” + </p> + <p> + Overwhelmed, I turned right about, and went in to the dancers again. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I have never learned to play,” she said, looking at me with dark eyes. + “If I only could!” + </p> + <p> + I could make no answer to this. But my heart flew out towards her once + more, and I asked: + </p> + <p> + “Why are you so unhappy all at once, Edwarda? If you knew how it hurts me + to see—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Kept walking after me, street after street, and smiling across at me,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + “Why, was he blind, then?” I broke in, thinking to please Edwarda. And I + shrugged my shoulders as well. + </p> + <p> + The young lady understood my coarseness at once, and answered: + </p> + <p> + “He must have been blind indeed, to run after any one so old and ugly as I + am.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>Död og Pinsel</i>, [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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Splendid!” I cried, and choked with laughter, though I was not in the + least bit drunk. + </p> + <p> + Edwarda too seemed delighted. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Edwarda came in again. At sight of me she stood a moment in surprise; then + she said with a smile: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, are you there? It was kind of you to wait till the last. I am tired + out now.” + </p> + <p> + She remained standing. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be all right when I have slept.” + </p> + <p> + I had no more to add. I went towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “No need,” I said; “do not trouble, I can find my way...” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Your stick—do not forget your stick.” + </p> + <p> + And there before my eyes she handed me the Doctor's stick. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “So, he has forgotten his stick,” I thought to myself. “And he will come + back this way to fetch it. He would not let <i>me</i> 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: + </p> + <p> + “I gave you no greeting.” + </p> + <p> + He came a step nearer and stared at me. + </p> + <p> + “You gave me no greeting...?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I. + </p> + <p> + Pause. + </p> + <p> + “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: + </p> + <p> + “Over!” + </p> + <p> + And I whistled, as if coaxing him to jump over. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “What do you really mean by all this?” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer, but his words affected me. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he held out his hand to me, and said gently: + </p> + <p> + “There is something wrong with you. If you will tell me what it is, then + perhaps...” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + A little after there came a knock at the door. + </p> + <p> + It was the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “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...?” + </p> + <p> + He was perfectly sober. “Did you see Edwarda? Did you get your stick?” I + asked. + </p> + <p> + “I found my stick. But Edwarda had gone to bed... What's that? Heavens, + man, you're bleeding!” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Sit still—I must get that boot off. I <i>thought</i> it was a shot + I heard.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII + </h2> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + And later the talk turned on her again, and I interrupted him once more—God + knows what it was I dreaded to hear. + </p> + <p> + “What do you break off like that for?” he asked. “Is it that you can't + bear to hear me speak her name?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” I said, “what is your honest opinion of Edwarda? I should be + interested to know.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “My honest opinion?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “So that was what you were afraid of?” + </p> + <p> + “Afraid of? My dear Doctor!” + </p> + <p> + Pause. + </p> + <p> + “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...” + </p> + <p> + “You're wrong there—it was someone else said I had eyes like an + animal.” + </p> + <p> + “Someone else? Who?” + </p> + <p> + “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...” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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-<i>daler</i> note you were + supposed to have given someone?” + </p> + <p> + “A jest. It was nothing...” + </p> + <p> + “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 + <i>daler</i> 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there no one, then, that can win her?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oho,” thought I to myself, “the Doctor has something to revenge.” And I + said: + </p> + <p> + “Doctor, what made you trouble to tell me all that long story? What was it + for? Am I to help you with her upbringing?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Brought a man back with him?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And he went away again? Where did he go?” I asked, looking fixedly at + him. + </p> + <p> + “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. <i>Au revoir.</i>” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX + </h2> + <p> + A woman's voice outside the hut. The blood rushed to my head—it was + Edwarda. “Glahn—Glahn is ill, so I have heard.” + </p> + <p> + And my washerwoman answered outside the door: + </p> + <p> + “He's nearly well again now.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>her</i>! + I thought to myself. + </p> + <p> + I got up and remained standing. + </p> + <p> + “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...” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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...” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + We went on talking for a few minutes. I asked her: + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Pause. + </p> + <p> + “One cannot always be the same...” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She looked out the window, towards the far horizon; stood looking out + thoughtfully and answered me as I sat there behind her: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You must excuse me if I cannot see you home,” I said. + </p> + <p> + When she had gone, I sat down again to think it all over. I wrote a + letter, and asked to have my uniform sent. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX + </h2> + <p> + The first day in the woods. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + “<i>Hiv ... ohoi...</i>” 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. + </p> + <p> + Weariness came over me; I fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <i>Lul! lul!</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <i>Lul! lul!</i> A voice speaking, as if the Seven Stars themselves were + singing through my blood; Iselin's voice: + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'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?' + </p> + <p> + “An hour after midnight he came back.” + </p> + <p> + “'May I sit there by you?' he said. + </p> + <p> + “'Yes,' I told him. 'Yes.' + </p> + <p> + “We sat there on the sofa; I moved away. I looked down. + </p> + <p> + “'You are cold,' he said, and took my hand. A little after he said: 'How + cold you are!' and put his arm round me. + </p> + <p> + “And I was warmed with his arm. So we sat a little while. Then a cock + crew. + </p> + <p> + “'Did you hear,' he said, 'a cock crow? It is nearly dawn.' + </p> + <p> + “'Are you quite sure it was the cock crow?' I stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Then the day came—already it was morning. Something was thrilling + all through me. What hour was it that struck just now? + </p> + <p> + “My maid came in. + </p> + <p> + “'Your flowers have not been watered,' she said. + </p> + <p> + “I had forgotten my flowers. + </p> + <p> + “A carriage drove up to the gate. + </p> + <p> + “'Your cat has had no milk,' said the maid. + </p> + <p> + “But I had no thought for my flowers, or my cat; I asked: + </p> + <p> + “'Is that Dundas outside there? Ask him to come in here to me at once; I + am expecting him; there was something...' + </p> + <p> + “He knocked. I opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “'Iselin!' he cried, and kissed my lips a whole minute long. + </p> + <p> + “'I did not send for you,' I whispered to him. + </p> + <p> + “'Did you not?' he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Then I answered: + </p> + <p> + “'Yes, I did—I sent for you. I was longing so unspeakably for you + again. Stay here with me a little.' + </p> + <p> + “And I covered my eyes for love of him. He did not loose me; I sank + forward and hid myself close to him. + </p> + <p> + “'Surely that was something crowing again,' he said, listening. + </p> + <p> + “But when I heard what he said, I cut off his words as swiftly as I could, + and answered: + </p> + <p> + “'No, how can you imagine it? There was nothing crowing then.' + </p> + <p> + “He kissed me. + </p> + <p> + “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... + </p> + <p> + “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...” + </p> + <p> + Through my helf-sleep I heard a cock crowing down at Sirilund. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You must not think...” she stammered out. + </p> + <p> + “What is it I must not think, Eva?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I did not come this way to meet you; I was just passing...” + </p> + <p> + And her face darkened in a blush. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The days went on. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I met the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “They have taken my boat away,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse my not getting up,” she said, quite shortly, and offered her hand. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. <i>Basta!</i> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Delighted, Herr Lieutenant. Have you been here long, may I ask?” + </p> + <p> + “A few months.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The Baron spoke of my accident—that unfortunate shot. Was I well + again now? Pleased to hear it. + </p> + <p> + Now who had told him of that? I asked: + </p> + <p> + “And how did you hear of that, Baron?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, who was it, now? Fröken Mack, I think. Was it not you, Fröken Mack?” + </p> + <p> + Edwarda flushed hotly. + </p> + <p> + 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. <i>Godnat.</i> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + And Herr Mack stood chatting eagerly with the Baron. He was talking of his + grandfather, Consul Mack: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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... + </p> + <p> + I reached the hut, found my fish, and had a meal. + </p> + <p> + 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, <i>Hei</i>... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Another day passed. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I tied up Æsop, took my fishing tackle and my gun, and went down to the + quay. I was quite unusually troubled in mind. + </p> + <p> + “When will the mail-packet be in?” I asked a fisherman there. + </p> + <p> + “The mail-packet? In three weeks' time,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “I am expecting my uniform,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Then I met one of Herr Mack's assistants from the store. I shook hands + with him, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, do you never play whist now at Sirilund?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, often,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + Pause. + </p> + <p> + “I have not been there lately,” I said. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + When I came in to the quay the blacksmith was there at work. A thought + occurred to me; I asked him: + </p> + <p> + “Going up my way?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said he, “Herr Mack's given me a bit of work to do here that'll keep + me till midnight.” + </p> + <p> + I nodded, and thought to myself that it was well. + </p> + <p> + I took my fish and went off, going round by way of the blacksmith's house. + Eva was there alone. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered, frightened. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + We talked together, sitting all the time on a long bench, talking to each + other of many things. I said: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But we weren't going to talk of her any more.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right. I forgot.” + </p> + <p> + A little pause. I was thinking of something, and fell silent. + </p> + <p> + “Why are your eyes wet?” asked Eva. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” says Eva; “but what of it?” + </p> + <p> + “And as far as I remember, she said, too, that Æsop had Xanthus for his + teacher. Hahaha!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I sit silent and thoughtful, silent and thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + I hardly heard that yes, but I felt it in her breath and all through her. + We held each other fiercely. + </p> + <p> + An hour later I kissed Eva good-bye and went away. At the door I meet Herr + Mack. + </p> + <p> + Herr Mack himself. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You did not expect to find me here,” I said, raising my cap. + </p> + <p> + Eva did not move. + </p> + <p> + Herr Mack regained his composure; a curious confidence appeared in his + manner, and he answered: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I shot two guillemots,” I said helplessly. I saw at once that the man was + in the right. + </p> + <p> + “Two guillemots or two eiderducks—it is all the same. You were + within the prohibited limit.” + </p> + <p> + “I admit it,” I said. “It had not occurred to me before.” + </p> + <p> + “But it ought to have occurred to you.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That is another matter,” answered Herr Mack shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, devil take it, you know what you have to do, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly well,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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, <i>everything</i>, + would be settled with Herr Mack and his house. After all, it was going off + so beautifully quickly and neatly... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I remember every trifle of that day and the next. Hoho! I was hard put to + it then! ... + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Goddag!</i>” she called, speaking first. + </p> + <p> + I waited till I had come some paces nearer, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Fair one, I give you greeting.” + </p> + <p> + She started in surprise at my jesting tone. Alas, I knew not what I was + saying. She smiled timidly, and looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “For Heaven's sake put it on again,” she cried. “Don't do that! Are you so + angry with me? <i>Herregud!</i> put your jacket on, do, before you get wet + through.” + </p> + <p> + I put on my jacket again. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” I asked sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “No—nowhere ... I can't understand what made you take off your + jacket like that ...” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Glahn, I just wanted to tell you something ...” + </p> + <p> + I interrupted her: + </p> + <p> + “May I beg you to convey my respects to the Duke?” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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 ...” + </p> + <p> + I shrugged my shoulders and went on: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but do listen a minute ...” + </p> + <p> + Æsop, my dog, was waiting for me in the hut. I took off my cap, bowed to + her again, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Fair one, I give you farewell.” + </p> + <p> + And I started off. + </p> + <p> + She gave a cry: + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” I said, and stopped again. “You had something to say to me?” + </p> + <p> + But at this scorn of mine she wearied of me. + </p> + <p> + “Something to say to you? But I have told you—did you not hear? No, + nothing—I have nothing to tell you any more...” + </p> + <p> + Her voice trembled strangely, but that did not move me. + </p> + <p> + Next morning Edwarda was standing outside the hut when I went out. + </p> + <p> + 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...?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I started at that, and answered: + </p> + <p> + “Who told you that?” + </p> + <p> + “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.' + </p> + <p> + “And then my father told me.” + </p> + <p> + I struggled with my despair; I said: + </p> + <p> + “What is more, Eva has been here.” + </p> + <p> + “Has she been here? In the hut?” + </p> + <p> + “More than once. I made her go in. We talked together.” + </p> + <p> + “Here too?” + </p> + <p> + Pause. “Be firm!” I said to myself; and then, aloud: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + Her words struck deep; I bowed my head and said: + </p> + <p> + “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...” + </p> + <p> + “There's no saying what mad thing you will do next,” she went on. “And it + is intolerable to be constantly looking after you.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “You might get Eva to look after you, perhaps. It's a pity though, that + she's married.” + </p> + <p> + “Eva! Eva married, did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, married!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, who is her husband?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely you know that. She is the blacksmith's wife.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought she was his daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “No, she is his wife. Do you think I am lying to you?” + </p> + <p> + I had not thought about it at all; I was simply astonished. I just stood + there thinking: Is Eva married? + </p> + <p> + “So you have made a happy choice,” says Edwarda. + </p> + <p> + Well, there seemed no end to the business. I was trembling with + indignation, and I said: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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...” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII + </h2> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + “I have not heard anything from Herr Mack about the two guillemots I + shot,” I said to the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “You can thank Edwarda for that,” he said. “I know. I heard that she set + herself against it.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not thank her for it,” said I... + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + “Heaven help you, Eva, are you married?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you know that?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn't know.” + </p> + <p> + She pressed my hand silently. + </p> + <p> + “God help you, child, what are we to do now?” “What <i>you</i> will. + Perhaps you are not going away just yet; I will be happy as long as you + are here.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Eva.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes—only as long as you are here.” + </p> + <p> + She looked forsaken, kept pressing my hand. + </p> + <p> + “No, Eva. Go—never any more!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + “Set the load down, Eva, and let me see if your eyes are as blue as ever.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were red. + </p> + <p> + “No—smile again, Eva! I can resist no more; I am your, I am + yours...” + </p> + <p> + Evening. Eva sings, I hear her singing, and a warmth goes through me. + </p> + <p> + “You are singing this evening, child?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am happy.” + </p> + <p> + And being smaller than I, she jumps up a little to put her arms round my + neck. + </p> + <p> + “But, Eva, you have scratched your hands. <i>Herregud</i>! oh, if you had + not scratched them so!” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't matter.” + </p> + <p> + Her face beams wonderfully. + </p> + <p> + “Eva, have you spoken to Herr Mack?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, once.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say, and what did you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why does he do that?” + </p> + <p> + Eva looks down. + </p> + <p> + “Why does he do that, Eva?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I love you.” + </p> + <p> + “But how could he know?” + </p> + <p> + “I told him.” + </p> + <p> + Pause. + </p> + <p> + “Would to Heaven he were not so harsh with you, Eva.” + </p> + <p> + “But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all now.” + </p> + <p> + And her voice is like a little tremulous song in the woods. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Then—the twenty-second of August and the three iron nights. + [Footnote: <i>Joernnætter</i>. Used of the nights in August when the first + frosts appear.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV + </h2> + <p> + The first iron night. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “The first iron night!” I say. And a confused, passionate delight in the + time and the place sends a strange shiver through me... + </p> + <p> + “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!” ... + </p> + <p> + I rise and listen. No one has heard me. I sit down again. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Æsop lifts his head and listens; he hears footsteps; Eva appears among the + trees. + </p> + <p> + “I am very thoughtful and sad this evening,” I say. + </p> + <p> + And in sympathy she makes no answer. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And which do you love most?” + </p> + <p> + “The dream.” + </p> + <p> + All still again. Æsop knows Eva; he lays his head on one side and looks at + her. I murmur: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What was she laughing at?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. At me, I suppose. Why do you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you know her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I bowed.” + </p> + <p> + “And didn't she know you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Pause. + </p> + <p> + I murmur again: + </p> + <p> + “What was she laughing at? She is a flirt; but what was she laughing at? + What had I done to harm her?” + </p> + <p> + Eva answers: + </p> + <p> + “It was cruel of her to laugh at you.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + And Eva goes home. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think so.” + </p> + <p> + “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...” + </p> + <p> + “You talk so strangely.” + </p> + <p> + “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. <i>Godnat</i>, + Eva.” + </p> + <p> + <i>“Godnat.”</i> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + I struggle a short while with a heavy melancholy; I was worn out with + emotions; I am deathly tired, and I sleep. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + It was over now. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXV + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + They all bowed and thanked her. + </p> + <p> + To me, she went on: + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. <i>Herregud!</i> 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + 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! ... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Then something happened. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVI + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + I made no answer to this; I only murmured: + </p> + <p> + “It was accidental; she just came out, and we met in the passage...” + </p> + <p> + Some time passed—an hour, perhaps. A glass was upset over a lady's + dress. As soon as Edwarda saw it, she cried: + </p> + <p> + “What has happened? That was Glahn, of course.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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, <i>Död og Pinsel</i>, 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. + </p> + <p> + She said: + </p> + <p> + “... until I go over the valley of death.” + </p> + <p> + And the Doctor asked: + </p> + <p> + “Over what?” + </p> + <p> + “The valley of death. Isn't that what it's called—the valley of + death?” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard of the river of death. I presume that is what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + Later on, she talked of having something guarded like a ... + </p> + <p> + “Dragon,” put in the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, like a dragon,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + But the Doctor said: + </p> + <p> + “You can thank me for saving you there. I am sure you were going to say + Argus.” + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Edwarda, passing, stopped in front of us. Suddenly she said: + </p> + <p> + “You must forgive me, Lieutenant, for surprising you outside like that. I + will never do it again.” + </p> + <p> + And she laughed again, and did not look at me. + </p> + <p> + “Edwarda,” I said, “do stop.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “But why don't you go out in the kitchen? Eva is there. I think you ought + to stay there.” + </p> + <p> + And there was hate in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you afraid of being misunderstood, Edwarda?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but how? Possibly, of course, but how?” + </p> + <p> + “You sometimes speak without thinking. Just now, for instance, it <i>seemed</i> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “It was no misunderstanding, Lieutenant; you heard correctly—I did + tell you to go to the kitchen.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Edwarda!” broke out the terrified governess. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I have just been hearing your praises,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Praises! From whom?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” I said with a laugh. Alas, there was not a clear thought in my + head. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVII + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Two mining drills,” I say to the smith. + </p> + <p> + And the smith whets two drills... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You look as if you had no troubles, Eva, my love.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVIII + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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...” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + My hut is ablaze. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIX + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “So you will not come and stay with us, Lieutenant?” + </p> + <p> + “I am already settled in my new place,” I said, and stopped also. + </p> + <p> + She looked at me; her bosom was heaving. “You would have lost nothing by + coming to us,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Thankfulness moved in my heart, but I could not speak. + </p> + <p> + The Baron walked on slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you do not want to see me any more,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “In God's name, will you not see me again, Glahn?” she said suddenly. + </p> + <p> + The Baron was calling. + </p> + <p> + “The Baron is calling,” I said, and took off my hat again respectfully. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “But why in the shed there? Why not at the quay?” + </p> + <p> + “Herr Mack ordered it so.. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + And I fell to hammering with my drill, never dreaming what harm I did. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXX + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXI + </h2> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + And his maid was set in the tower... + </p> + <p> + “What do you there, maiden, sitting and smiling?” + </p> + <p> + “I think of something ten years back. It was then I met him.” + </p> + <p> + “You remember him still?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember him still.” + </p> + <p> + And time goes on. + </p> + <p> + “What do you there, maiden? And why do you sit and smile?” + </p> + <p> + “I am embroidering his name on a cloth.” + </p> + <p> + “Whose name? His who shut you up here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the one I met twenty years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “You remember him still?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember him as I did before.” + </p> + <p> + And time goes on... + </p> + <p> + “What do you there, prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Of whom are you speaking?” + </p> + <p> + “Of my lover, who shut me in the tower.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you smile at that, because he locked you in the tower?” + </p> + <p> + “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.'” + </p> + <p> + And time goes on... + </p> + <p> + “What, prisoner! sit you there idle, and smile?” + </p> + <p> + “I grow old, I grow old, my eyes are blind, I am only thinking.” + </p> + <p> + “Of him that you met forty years ago?” + </p> + <p> + “Of him whom I met when I was young. Maybe it was forty years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “But do you not know, then, that he is dead? ... Pale beldam, you do not + answer; your lips are white, you breathe no more...” + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXII + </h2> + <p> + A man said: + </p> + <p> + “You never go out shooting now? Æsop is running loose in the woods; he is + after a hare.” + </p> + <p> + I said: + </p> + <p> + “Go and shoot it for me.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Herr Mack spoke of the landslip, the catastrophe. It was a misfortune, a + sad accident; I was in no way to blame. + </p> + <p> + I said: + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Herr Mack looked at me suspiciously. He murmured something about the fine + funeral. Nothing had been spared. + </p> + <p> + I sat admiring the alertness of his mind. He would have no compensation + for the boat that my landslide had crushed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but surely,” I said, “will you not have some payment for the boat and + the tar-bucket and the brush?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear Lieutenant,” he answered. “How could you think of such a + thing?” And he looked at me with hatred in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + “Here you are,” said the storekeeper. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + When I got outside, I looked up at the window. No one was watching me. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIII + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + A girl came rowing. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been, my girl?” + </p> + <p> + “Nowhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Nowhere? Look, I recognize you: I met you last summer.” + </p> + <p> + She brought the boat in, stepped ashore, made fast. + </p> + <p> + “You were herding goats. You stopped to fasten your stocking. I met you + one night.” + </p> + <p> + A little flush rose to her cheeks, and she laughed shyly. + </p> + <p> + “Little goat-girl, come into the hut and let me look at you. I knew your + name, too—it is Henriette.” + </p> + <p> + But she walked past me without speaking. The autumn, the winter, had laid + hold of her too; her senses drowsed. + </p> + <p> + Already the sun had gone to sea. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIV + </h2> + <p> + And I put on my uniform for the first time, and went down to Sirilund. My + heart was beating. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Good—it was nearing the last hour now. + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + Herr Mack met me in the courtyard, greyer still, more hollow-eyed. + </p> + <p> + “Going away? So? I suppose you've not been very comfortable lately, eh? + Your hut burned down...” And Herr Mack smiled. + </p> + <p> + In a moment it seemed as if the wisest man in the world stood before my + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I have come to say good-bye,” I managed to get out at last. + </p> + <p> + She rose quickly to her feet, and I saw that my words had had some effect. + </p> + <p> + “Glahn, are you going away? Now?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “To think you are going already,” she said again. “Who will come next + year, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + “Another,” I answered. “The hut will be built up again, no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + Pause. She was already reaching for her book. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry my father is not in,” she said. “But I will tell him you were + here.” + </p> + <p> + I made no answer to this. I stepped forward, took her hand once more, and + said: + </p> + <p> + <i>“Farvel,</i> Edwarda.” + </p> + <p> + <i>“Farvel,”</i> she answered. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I coughed. + </p> + <p> + She turned and said in surprise: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, are you not gone? I thought you were.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I am going now,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Then she rose and came over to me. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I did not hesitate. I answered “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, perhaps, you would come and bring him to-morrow,” she said. + </p> + <p> + I went. + </p> + <p> + I looked up at the window. No one there. + </p> + <p> + It was all over now... + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + I hired a man to carry Æsop's body to Edwarda. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXV + </h2> + <p> + The mail-packet was to sail in the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Came to see you safely off,” said the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + I thanked him. + </p> + <p> + Edwarda looked me straight in the face and said: + </p> + <p> + “I must thank you for your dog.” She pressed her lips together; they were + quite white. Again she had called me “<i>Eder</i>.” [Footnote: The most + formal mode of address.] + </p> + <p> + “When does the boat go?” the Doctor asked a man. + </p> + <p> + “In half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + I said nothing. + </p> + <p> + Edwarda was turning restlessly this way and that. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor, don't you think we may as well go home again?” she said. “I have + done what I came for to do.” + </p> + <p> + “You have done what you came <i>to do</i>,” said the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + She laughed, humiliated by his everlasting correction, and answered: + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't that almost what I said?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered shortly. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + It was getting dusk. + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-bye,” I said. “And thanks for—everything.” + </p> + <p> + Edwarda looked at me dumbly. Then she turned her head and stood looking + out at the ship. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + A wave of sadness went through my heart... + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + The night of the northern lights spreads over valley and hill. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVI + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + And I shut the windows. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Your feathers.”... + </p> + <p> + Cora, lie still—do you hear? I will kill you if you move! + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + And the day passes; but time stands still. + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GLAHN'S DEATH + </h2> + <h3> + A DOCUMENT OF 1861 + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Here are two rooms, one upstairs and one down; take your choice.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “The women are too fat,” said Glahn. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Well, don't let us quarrel over a trifle,” he said. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What's that she chews?” he asked me. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” I answered. “She chews—I suppose that's what her + teeth are for.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I was friends again with Maggie, though, next evening, and we saw nothing + of Glahn. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Now I do not like being gripped by the arm, so I said: + </p> + <p> + “I could have managed that shot myself.” + </p> + <p> + Glahn looked at me. + </p> + <p> + I said: “You think perhaps I couldn't have done it?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know,” he explains, “I shouldn't like to have it said that I + shot a leopard in the flank.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very amiable this evening,” I said. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Who shot it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + And Glahn answered: + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Both shot it,” said Maggie to herself; but she was looking at Glahn all + the time. + </p> + <p> + I drew her aside with me and said: + </p> + <p> + “What are you looking at him all the time for? I am here too, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said. “And listen: I am coming this evening.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Then he laughed out loud and said: + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Your jealousy makes you blind,” he said. + </p> + <p> + My jealousy? I, jealous of him? + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” I said, “I jealous of you? What's there for me to be jealous + about?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I made no answer; I simply walked off. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + We began going out shooting again. Glahn felt he had wronged me, and + begged my pardon. + </p> + <p> + “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: + </p> + <p> + “As a man soweth, so shall he also reap.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What were you talking with him again for?” I asked Maggie. + </p> + <p> + She made no answer. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Answer me,” I said. “What were you talking to him for?” + </p> + <p> + “I like him best,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You like him better than me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + “He makes fun of you; he says you're always chewing things,” I said. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + And that impressed her too. Maggie grew lively and talked a lot as we + walked. She only mentioned Glahn once; she asked: + </p> + <p> + “And will Glahn go with us when we go away?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said. “He won't. Are you sorry about that?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” she said quickly. “I am glad.” + </p> + <p> + She said no more about him, and I felt easier. And Maggie went home with + me, too, when I asked her. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “I came to tell you that perhaps we'd better not go out shooting + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” said Glahn. + </p> + <p> + “Because I'm not so sure but I might make a little mistake and put a + bullet in your throat.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + But the morning after I had warned him, as I said, there was Glahn the + same as ever, standing by my bed, calling out: + </p> + <p> + “Up with you, comrade! It's a lovely day; we must go out and shoot + something. That was all nonsense you said yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “This has been the longest day of my life,” said Glahn when we got back to + the hut. + </p> + <p> + Nothing more was said on either side. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + One day she asked about Glahn—asked very cautiously. Was he not + well? Had he gone away? + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “There he is,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Maggie went straight up to him, before I could stop her, and said in a + pleased sort of voice: + </p> + <p> + “I don't chew things now—nothing at all. No feathers or money or + bits of paper—you can see for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “That's right—show him he's wrong,” I said. “But do you mean it was + for his sake you stopped chewing things?” + </p> + <p> + She didn't answer. What, wouldn't she answer? + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear? Tell me, was it for his sake?” + </p> + <p> + And I could not think otherwise. Why should she do anything for Glahn's + sake? + </p> + <p> + That evening Maggie promised to come to me, and she did. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Glahn called out to me: + </p> + <p> + “Sure your gun is loaded? We might come across something unexpectedly. + Load it, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “It is loaded,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + About one o'clock he stopped, pale and angry, in front of me, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I can't stand this! Look and see if you're loaded, man—if you've + anything in your gun.” + </p> + <p> + “Kindly look after your own gun,” I answered. But I knew well enough why + he kept asking about mine. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “You missed that time. You've been shooting badly of late.” + </p> + <p> + But he had not been shooting badly. He never missed. He had only been + trying to irritate me. + </p> + <p> + “Then take your revenge, damn you!” he shouted back. + </p> + <p> + “All in good time,” I said, clenching my teeth. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + As a man soweth... + </p> + <p> + 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—<i>dead</i>, I tell you—and what is + more, that he was killed by accident. + </p> + <h3> + THE END + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pan, by Knut Hamsun + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PAN *** + +***** This file should be named 7214-h.htm or 7214-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/2/1/7214/ + + +Text file produced by Tim Becker, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks, and +the Online Distributed Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +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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