第 四 章 · Winter had set in--a raw, wet winter, almost without snow. A foggy,

dark, and everlasting night, without a single blast of fresh wind the

whole week through. The gas was lighted almost all the day in the

streets, and yet people jostled one another in the fog. Every sound,

the clang of the church bells, the jingling of the harness of the

droske horses, the people's voices, the beat of the hoofs, everything,

sounded choked and jangling through the close air, that penetrated and

muffled everything.

Week followed week, and the weather was, and remained, still the same.

And I stayed steadily down in Vaterland. I grew more and more closely

bound to this inn, this lodging-house for travellers, where I had found

shelter, in spite of my starving condition. My money was exhausted long

since; and yet I continued to come and go in this place as if I had a

right to it, and was at home there. The landlady had, as yet, said

nothing; but it worried me all the same that I could not pay her. In

this way three weeks went by. I had already, many days ago, taken to

writing again; but I could not succeed in putting anything together

that satisfied me. I had not longer any luck, although I was very

painstaking, and strove early and late; no matter what I attempted, it

was useless. Good fortune had flown; and I exerted myself in vain.

It was in a room on the second floor, the best guest-room, that I sat

and made these attempts. I had been undisturbed up there since the

first evening when I had money and was able to settle for what I got.

All the time I was buoyed up by the hope of at last succeeding in

getting together an article on some subject or another, so that I could

pay for my room, and for whatever else I owed. That was the reason I

worked on so persistently. I had, in particular, commenced a piece from

which I expected great things--an allegory about a fire--a profound

thought upon which I intended to expend all my energy, and bring it to

the "Commandor" in payment. The "Commandor" should see that he had

helped a talent this time. I had no doubt but that he would eventually

see that; it only was a matter of waiting till the spirit moved me; and

why shouldn't the spirit move me? Why should it not come over me even

now, at a very early date? There was no longer anything the matter with

me. My landlady gave me a little food every day, some bread and butter,

mornings and evenings, and my nervousness had almost flown. I no longer

used cloths round my hands when I wrote; and I could stare down into

the street from my window on the second floor without getting giddy. I

was much better in every way, and it was becoming a matter of

astonishment to me that I had not already finished my allegory. I

couldn't understand why it was....

But a day came when I was at last to get a clear idea of how weak I had

really become; with what incapacity my dull brain acted. Namely, on

this day my landlady came up to me with a reckoning which she asked me

to look over. There must be something wrong in this reckoning, she

said; it didn't agree with her own book; but she had not been able to

find out the mistake.

I set to work to add up. My landlady sat right opposite and looked at

me. I added up these score of figures first once down, and found the

total right; then once up again, and arrived at the same result. I

looked at the woman sitting opposite me, waiting on my words. I noticed

at the same time that she was pregnant; it did not escape my attention,

and yet I did not stare in any way scrutinizingly at her.

"The total is right," said I.

"No; go over each figure now," she answered. "I am sure it can't be so

much; I am positive of it."

And I commenced to check each line--2 loaves at 2 1/2d., 1 lamp

chimney, 3d., soap, 4d., butter, 5d.... It did not require any

particularly shrewd head to run up these rows of figures--this little

huckster account in which nothing very complex occurred. I tried

honestly to find the error that the woman spoke about, but couldn't

succeed. After I had muddled about with these figures for some minutes

I felt that, unfortunately, everything commenced to dance about in my

head; I could no longer distinguish debit or credit; I mixed the whole

thing up. Finally, I came to a dead stop at the following entry--"3.

5/16ths of a pound of cheese at 9d." My brain failed me completely; I

stared stupidly down at the cheese, and got no farther.

"It is really too confoundedly crabbed writing," I exclaimed in

despair. "Why, God bless me, here is 5/16ths of a pound of cheese

entered--ha, ha! did any one ever hear the like? Yes, look here; you

can see for yourself."

"Yes," she said; "it is often put down like that; it is a kind of Dutch

cheese. Yes, that is all right--five-sixteenths is in this case five

ounces."

"Yes, yes; I understand that well enough," I interrupted, although in

truth I understood nothing more whatever.

I tried once more to get this little account right, that I could have

totted up in a second some months ago. I sweated fearfully, and thought

over these enigmatical figures with all my might, and I blinked my eyes

reflectingly, as if I was studying this matter sharply, but I had to

give it up. These five ounces of cheese finished me completely; it was

as if something snapped within my forehead. But yet, to give the

impression that I still worked out my calculation, I moved my lips and

muttered a number aloud, all the while sliding farther and farther down

the reckoning as if I were steadily coming to a result. She sat and

waited. At last I said:

"Well, now, I have gone through it from first to last, and there is no

mistake, as far as I can see."

"Isn't there?" replied the woman, "isn't there really?" But I saw well

that she did not believe me, and she seemed all at once to throw a dash

of contempt into her words, a slightly careless tone that I had never

heard from her before. She remarked that perhaps I was not accustomed

to reckon in sixteenths; she mentioned also that she must only apply to

some one who had a knowledge of sixteenths, to get the account properly

revised. She said all this, not in any hurtful way to make me feel

ashamed, but thoughtfully and seriously. When she got as far as the

door, she said, without looking at me:

"Excuse me for taking up your time then."

Off she went.

A moment after, the door opened again, and she re-entered. She could

hardly have gone much farther than the stairs before she had turned

back.

"That's true," said she; "you mustn't take it amiss; but there is a

little owing to me from you now, isn't there? Wasn't it three weeks

yesterday since you came?" Yes, I thought it was. "It isn't so easy to

keep things going with such a big family, so that I can't give lodging

on credit, more's the...."

I stopped her. "I am working at an article that I think I told you

about before," said I, "and as soon as ever that is finished, you shall

have your money; you can make yourself quite easy...."

"Yes; but you'll never get that article finished, though."

"Do you think that? Maybe the spirit will move me tomorrow, or perhaps

already, tonight; it isn't at all impossible but that it may move me

some time tonight, and then my article will be completed in a quarter

of an hour at the outside. You see, it isn't with my work as with other

people's; I can't sit down and get a certain amount finished in a day.

I have just to wait for the right moment, and no one can tell the day

or hour when the spirit may move one--it must have its own time...."

My landlady went, but her confidence in me was evidently much shaken.

As soon as I was left alone I jumped up and tore my hair in despair.

No, in spite of all, there was really no salvation for me--no

salvation! My brain was bankrupt! Had I then really turned into a

complete dolt since I could not even add up the price of a piece of

Dutch cheese? But could it be possible I had lost my senses when I

could stand and put such questions to myself? Had not I, into the

bargain, right in the midst of my efforts with the reckoning, made the

lucid observation that my landlady was in the family way? I had no

reason for knowing it, no one had told me anything about it, neither

had it occurred to me gratuitously. I sat and saw it with my own eyes,

and I understood it at once, right at a despairing moment where I sat

and added up sixteenths. How could I explain this to myself?

I went to the window and gazed out; it looked out into Vognmandsgade.

Some children were playing down on the pavement; poorly dressed

children in the middle of a poor street. They tossed an empty bottle

between them and screamed shrilly. A load of furniture rolled slowly

by; it must belong to some dislodged family, forced to change residence

between "flitting time." [Footnote: In Norway, 14th of March and

October.] This struck me at once. Bed-clothes and furniture were heaped

on the float, moth-eaten beds and chests of drawers, red-painted chairs

with three legs, mats, old iron, and tin-ware. A little girl--a mere

child, a downright ugly youngster, with a running cold in her nose--sat

up on top of the load, and held fast with her poor little blue hands in

order not to tumble off. She sat on a heap of frightfully stained

mattresses, that children must have lain on, and looked down at the

urchins who were tossing the empty bottle to one another....

I stood gazing at all this; I had no difficulty in apprehending

everything that passed before me. Whilst I stood there at the window

and observed this, I could hear my landlady's servant singing in the

kitchen right alongside of my room. I knew the air she was singing, and

I listened to hear if she would sing false, and I said to myself that

an idiot could not have done all this.

I was, God be praised, all right in my senses as any man.

Suddenly, I saw two of the children down in the street fire up and

begin to abuse one another. Two little boys; I recognized one of them;

he was my landlady's son. I open the window to hear what they are

saying to one another, and immediately a flock of children crowded

together under my window, and looked wistfully up. What did they

expect? That something would be thrown down? Withered flowers, bones,

cigar ends, or one thing or another, that they could amuse themselves

with? They looked up with their frost-pinched faces and unspeakably

wistful eyes. In the meantime, the two small foes continued to revile

one another.

Words like great buzzing noxious insects swarm out of their childish

mouths; frightful nicknames, thieves' slang, sailors' oaths, that they

perhaps had learnt down on the wharf; and they are both so engaged that

they do not notice my landlady, who rushes out to see what is going on.

"Yes," explains her son, "he catched me by the throat; I couldn't

breaths for ever so long," and turning upon the little man who is the

cause of the quarrel, and who is standing grinning maliciously at him,

he gets perfectly furious, and yells, "Go to hell, Chaldean ass that

you are! To think such vermin as you should catch folk by the throat. I

will, may the Lord...."

And the mother, this pregnant woman, who dominates the whole street

with her size, answers the ten-year-old child, as she seizes him by the

arm and tries to drag him in:

"Sh--sh. Hold your jaw! I just like to hear the way you swear, too, as

if you had been in a brothel for years. Now, in with you."

"No, I won't."

"Yes, you will."

"No, I won't."

I stand up in the window and see that the mother's temper is rising;

this disagreeable scene excites me frightfully. I can't endure it any

longer. I call down to the boy to come up to me for a minute; I call

twice, just to distract them--to change the scene. The last time I call

very loudly, and the mother turns round flurriedly and looks up at me.

She regains her self-possession at once, looks insolently at me, nay,

downright maliciously, and enters the house with a chiding remark to

her offspring. She talks loudly, so that I may hear it, and says to

him, "Fie, you ought to be ashamed of yourself to let people see how

naughty you are."

Of all this that I stood there and observed not one thing, not even one

little accessory detail, was lost on me; my attention was acutely keen;

I absorbed carefully every little thing as I stood and thought out my

own thought, about each thing according as it occurred. So it was

impossible that there could be anything the matter with my brain. How

could there, in this case, be anything the matter with it?

Listen; do you know what, said I all at once to myself, that you have

been worrying yourself long enough about your brain, giving yourself no

end of worry in this matter? Now, there must be an end to this

tomfoolery. Is it a sign of insanity to notice and apprehend everything

as accurately as you do? You make me almost laugh at you, I reply. To

my mind it is not without its humorous side, if I am any judge of such

a case. Why, it happens to every man that he once in a way sticks fast,

and that, too, just with the simplest question. It is of no

significance, it is often a pure accident. As I have remarked before, I

am on the point of having a good laugh at your expense. As far as that

huckster account is concerned, that paltry five-sixteenths of

beggar-man's cheese, I can happily dub it so. Ha, ha!--a cheese with

cloves and pepper in it; upon my word, a cheese in which, to put the

matter plainly, one could breed maggots. As far as that ridiculous

cheese is concerned, it might happen to the cleverest fellow in the

world to be puzzled over it! Why, the smell of the cheese was enough to

finish a man; ... and I made the greatest fun of this and all other

Dutch cheeses.... No; set me to reckon up something really eatable,

said I--set me, if you like, at five-sixteenths of good dairy butter.

That is another matter.

I laughed feverishly at my own whim, and found it peculiarly diverting.

There was positively no longer anything the matter with me. I was in

good form--was, so to say, still in the best of form; I had a level

head, nothing was wanting there, God be praised and thanked! My mirth

rose in measure as I paced the floor and communed with myself. I

laughed aloud, and felt amazingly glad. Besides, it really seemed, too,

as if I only needed this little happy hour, this moment of airy

rapture, without a care on any side, to get my head into working order

once more.

I seated myself at the table, and set to work at my allegory; it

progressed swimmingly, better than it had done for a long time; not

very fast, 'tis true, but it seemed to me that what I did was

altogether first-rate. I worked, too, for the space of an hour without

getting tired.

I am sitting working at a most crucial point in this Allegory of a

Conflagration in a Bookshop. It appears to me so momentous a point,

that all the rest I have written counted as nothing in comparison. I

was, namely, just about to weave in, in a downright profound way, this

thought. It was not books that were burning, it was brains, human

brains; and I intended to make a perfect Bartholomew's night of these

burning brains.

Suddenly my door was flung open with a jerk and in much haste; my

landlady came sailing in. She came straight over to the middle of the

room, she did not even pause on the threshold.

I gave a little hoarse cry; it was just as if I had received a blow.

"What?" said she, "I thought you said something. We have got a

traveller, and we must have this room for him. You will have to sleep

downstairs with us tonight. Yes; you can have a bed to yourself there

too." And before she got my answer, she began, without further

ceremony, to bundle my papers together on the table, and put the whole

of them into a state of dire confusion.

My happy mood was blown to the winds; I stood up at once, in anger and

despair. I let her tidy the table, and said nothing, never uttered a

syllable. She thrust all the papers into my hand.

There was nothing else for me to do. I was forced to leave the room.

And so this precious moment was spoilt also. I met the new traveller

already on the stairs; a young man with great blue anchors tattooed on

the backs of his hands. A quay porter followed him, bearing a sea-chest

on his shoulders. He was evidently a sailor, a casual traveller for the

night; he would therefore not occupy my room for any lengthened period.

Perhaps, too, I might be lucky tomorrow when the man had left, and have

one of my moments again; I only needed an inspiration for five minutes,

and my essay on the conflagration would be completed. Well, I should

have to submit to fate.

I had not been inside the family rooms before, this one common room in

which they all lived, both day and night--the husband, wife, wife's

father, and four children. The servant lived in the kitchen, where she

also slept at night. I approached the door with much repugnance, and

knocked. No one answered, yet I heard voices inside.

The husband did not speak as I stepped in, did not acknowledge my nod

even, merely glanced at me carelessly, as if I were no concern of his.

Besides, he was sitting playing cards with a person I had seen down on

the quays, with the by-name of "Pane o' glass." An infant lay and

prattled to itself over in the bed, and an old man, the landlady's

father, sat doubled together on a settle-bed, and bent his head down

over his hands as if his chest or stomach pained him. His hair was

almost white, and he looked in his crouching position like a

poke-necked reptile that sat cocking its ears at something.

"I come, worse luck, to beg for house-room down here tonight," I said

to the man.

"Did my wife say so?" he inquired.

"Yes; a new lodger came to my room."

To this the man made no reply, but proceeded to finger the cards. There

this man sat, day after day, and played cards with anybody who happened

to come in--played for nothing, only just to kill time, and have

something in hand. He never did anything else, only moved just as much

as his lazy limbs felt inclined, whilst his wife bustled up and down

stairs, was occupied on all sides, and took care to draw customers to

the house. She had put herself in connection with quay-porters and

dock-men, to whom she paid a certain sum for every new lodger they

brought her, and she often gave them, in addition, a shelter for the

night. This time it was "Pane o' glass" that had just brought along the

new lodger.

A couple of the children came in--two little girls, with thin,

freckled, gutter-snipe faces; their clothes were positively wretched. A

while after the landlady herself entered. I asked her where she

intended to put me up for the night, and she replied that I could lie

in here together with the others, or out in the ante-room on the sofa,

as I thought fit. Whilst she answered me she fussed about the room and

busied herself with different things that she set in order, and she

never once looked at me.

My spirits were crushed by her reply.

I stood down near the door, and made myself small, tried to make it

appear as if I were quite content all the same to change my room for

another for one night's sake. I put on a friendly face on purpose not

to irritate her and perhaps be hustled right out of the house.

"Ah, yes," I said, "there is sure to be some way!" and then

held my tongue.

She still bustled about the room.

"For that matter, I may as well just tell you that I can't afford to

give people credit for their board and lodging," said she, "and I told

you that before, too."

"Yes; but, my dear woman, it is only for these few days, until I get my

article finished," I answered, "and I will willingly give you an extra

five shillings--willingly."

But she had evidently no faith in my article, I could see that; and I

could not afford to be proud, and leave the house, just for a slight

mortification; I knew what awaited me if I went out.

* * * * *

A few days passed over.

I still associated with the family below, for it was too cold in the

ante-room where there was no stove. I slept, too, at night on the floor

of the room.

The strange sailor continued to lodge in my room, and did not seem like

moving very quickly. At noon, too, my landlady came in and related how

he had paid her a month in advance, and besides, he was going to take

his first-mate's examination before leaving, that was why he was

staying in town. I stood and listened to this, and understood that my

room was lost to me for ever.

I went out to the ante-room, and sat down. If I were lucky enough to

get anything written, it would have perforce to be here where it was

quiet. It was no longer the allegory that occupied me; I had got a new

idea, a perfectly splendid plot; I would compose a one-act drama--"The

Sign of the Cross." Subject taken from the Middle Ages. I had

especially thought out everything in connection with the principal

characters: a magnificently fanatical harlot who had sinned in the

temple, not from weakness or desire, but for hate against heaven;

sinner right at the foot of the altar, with the altar-cloth under her

head, just out of delicious contempt for heaven.

I grew more and more obsessed by this creation as the hours went on.

She stood at last, palpably, vividly embodied before my eyes, and was

exactly as I wished her to appear. Her body was to be deformed and

repulsive, tall, very lean, and rather dark; and when she walked, her

long limbs should gleam through her draperies at every stride she took.

She was also to have large outstanding ears. Curtly, she was nothing

for the eye to dwell upon, barely endurable to look at. What interested

me in her was her wonderful shamelessness, the desperately full measure

of calculated sin which she had committed. She really occupied me too

much, my brain was absolutely inflated by this singular monstrosity of

a creature, and I worked for two hours, without a pause, at my drama.

When I had finished half-a score of pages, perhaps twelve, often with

much effort, at times with long intervals, in which I wrote in vain and

had to tear the page in two, I had become tired, quite stiff with cold

and fatigue, and I arose and went out into the street. For the last

half-hour, too, I had been disturbed by the crying of the children

inside the family room, so that I could not, in any case, have written

any more just then. So I took a long time up over Drammensveien, and

stayed away till the evening, pondering incessantly, as I walked along,

as to how I would continue my drama. Before I came home in the evening

of this day, the following happened:

I stood outside a shoemaker's shop far down in Carl Johann Street,

almost at the railway square. God knows why I stood just outside this

shoemaker's shop. I looked into the window as I stood there, but did

not, by the way, remember that I needed shoes then; my thoughts were

far away in other parts of the world. A swarm of people talking

together passed behind my back, and I heard nothing of what was said.

Then a voice greeted me loudly:

"Good-evening."

It was "Missy" who bade me good-evening! I answered at random, I looked

at him, too, for a while, before I recognized him.

"Well, how are you getting along?" he inquired.

"Oh, always well ... as usual."

"By the way, tell me," said he, "are you, then, still with Christie?"

"Christie?"

"I thought you once said you were book-keeper at Christie's?"

"Ah, yes. No; that is done with. It was impossible to get along with

that fellow; that came to an end very quickly of its own accord."

"Why so?"

"Well, I happened to make a mis-entry one day, and so--"

"A false entry, eh?"

False entry! There stood "Missy," and asked me straight in the face if

I had done this thing. He even asked eagerly, and evidently with much

interest. I looked at him, felt deeply insulted, and made no reply.

"Yes, well, Lord! that might happen to the best fellow," he said, as if

to console me. He still believed I had made a false entry designedly.

"What is it that, 'Yes, well, Lord! indeed might happen to the best

fellow'?" I inquired. "To do that. Listen, my good man. Do you stand

there and really believe that I could for a moment be guilty of such a

mean trick as that? I!"

"But, my dear fellow, I thought I heard you distinctly say that."

"No; I said that I had made a mis-entry once, a bagatelle; if you want

to know, a false date on a letter, a single stroke of the pen

wrong--that was my whole crime. No, God be praised, I can tell right

from wrong yet a while. How would it fare with me if I were, into the

bargain, to sully my honour? It is simply my sense of honour that keeps

me afloat now. But it is strong enough too; at least, it has kept me up

to date."

I threw back my head, turned away from "Missy," and looked down the

street. My eyes rested on a red dress that came towards us; on a woman

at a man's side. If I had not had this conversation with "Missy," I

would not have been hurt by his coarse suspicion, and I would not have

given this toss of my head, as I turned away in offence; and so perhaps

this red dress would have passed me without my having noticed it. And

at bottom what did it concern me? What was it to me if it were the

dress of the Hon. Miss Nagel, the lady-in-waiting? "Missy" stood and

talked, and tried to make good his mistake again. I did not listen to

him at all; I stood the whole time and stared at the red dress that was

coming nearer up the street, and a stir thrilled through my breast, a

gliding delicate dart. I whispered in thought without moving my lips:

"Ylajali!"

Now "Missy" turned round also and noticed the two--the lady and the man

with her,--raised his hat to them, and followed them with his eyes. I

did not raise my hat, or perhaps I did unconsciously. The red dress

glided up Carl Johann, and disappeared.

"Who was it was with her?" asked "Missy."

"The Duke, didn't you see? The so-called 'Duke.' Did you know the lady?"

"Yes, in a sort of way. Didn't you know her?"

"No," I replied.

"It appears to me you saluted profoundly enough."

"Did I?"

"Ha, ha! perhaps you didn't," said "Missy." "Well, that is odd. Why, it

was only at you she looked, too, the whole time."

"When did you get to know her?" I asked. He did not really know her. It

dated from an evening in autumn. It was late; they were three jovial

souls together, they came out late from the Grand, and met this being

going along alone past Cammermeyer's, and they addressed her. At first

she answered rebuffingly; but one of the jovial spirits, a man who

neither feared fire nor water, asked her right to her face if he might

not have the civilized enjoyment of accompanying her home? He would, by

the Lord, not hurt a hair on her head, as the saying goes--only go with

her to her door, reassure himself that she reached home in safety,

otherwise he could not rest all night. He talked incessantly as they

went along, hit upon one thing or another, dubbed himself Waldemar

Atterdag, and represented himself as a photographer. At last she was

obliged to laugh at this merry soul who refused to be rebuffed by her

coldness, and it finally ended by his going with her.

"Indeed, did it? and what came of it?" I inquired; and I held my breath

for his reply.

"Came of it? Oh, stop there; there is the lady in question."

We both kept silent a moment, both "Missy" and I.

"Well, I'm hanged, was that 'the Duke'? So that's what he looks like,"

he added, reflectively. "Well, if she is in contact with that fellow;

well, then, I wouldn't like to answer for her."

I still kept silent. Yes, of course "the Duke" would make the pace with

her. Well, what odds? How did it concern me? I bade her good-day with

all her wiles: a good-day I bade her; and I tried to console myself by

thinking the worst thoughts about her; took a downright pleasure in

dragging her through the mire. It only annoyed me to think that I had

doffed my hat to the pair, if I really had done so. Why should I raise

my hat to such people? I did not care for her any longer, certainly

not; she was no longer in the very slightest degree lovely to me; she

had fallen off. Ah, the devil knows how soiled I found her! It might

easily have been the case that it was only me she looked at; I was not

in the least astounded at that; it might be regret that began to stir

in her. But that was no reason for me to go and lower myself and

salute, like a fool, especially when she had become so seriously

besmirched of late. "The Duke" was welcome to her; I wish him joy! The

day might come when I would just take into my head to pass her

haughtily by without glancing once towards her. Ay, it might happen

that I would venture to do this, even if she were to gaze straight into

my eyes, and have a blood-red gown on into the bargain. It might very

easily happen! Ha, ha! that would be a triumph. If I knew myself

aright, I was quite capable of completing my drama during the course of

the night, and, before eight days had flown, I would have brought this

young woman to her knees--with all her charms, ha, ha! with all her

charms....

"Good-bye," I muttered, shortly; but "Missy" held me back. He queried:

"But what do you do all day now?"

"Do? I write, naturally. What else should I do? Is it not that I live

by? For the moment, I am working at a great drama, 'The Sign of the

Cross.' Theme taken from the Middle Ages."

"By Jove!" exclaimed "Missy," seriously. "Well, if you succeed with

that, why...."

"I have no great anxiety on that score," I replied. "In eight days'

time or so, I think you and all the folks will have heard a little more

of me."

With that I left him.

When I got home I applied at once to my landlady, and requested a lamp.

It was of the utmost importance to me to get this lamp; I would not go

to bed tonight; my drama was raging in my brain, and I hoped so surely

to be able to write a good portion of it before morning. I put forward

my request very humbly to her, as I had noticed that she made a

dissatisfied face on my re-entering the sitting-room. I said that I had

almost completed a remarkable drama, only a couple of scenes were

wanting; and I hinted that it might be produced in some theatre or

another, in no time. If she would only just render me this great

service now....

But madam had no lamp. She considered a bit, but could not call to mind

that she had a lamp in any place. If I liked to wait until twelve

o'clock, I might perhaps get the kitchen lamp. Why didn't I buy myself

a candle?

I held my tongue. I hadn't a farthing to buy a candle, and knew that

right well. Of course I was foiled again! The servant-girl sat inside

with us--simply sat in the sitting-room, and was not in the kitchen at

all; so that the lamp up there was not even lit. And I stood and

thought over this, but said no more. Suddenly the girl remarked to me:

"I thought I saw you come out of the palace a while ago; were you at a

dinner party?" and she laughed loudly at this jest.

I sat down, took out my papers, and attempted to write something here,

in the meantime. I held the paper on my knees, and gazed persistently

at the floor to avoid being distracted by anything; but it helped not a

whit; nothing helped me; I got no farther. The landlady's two little

girls came in and made a row with the cat--a queer, sick cat that had

scarcely a hair on it; they blew into its eyes until water sprang out

of them and trickled down its nose. The landlord and a couple of others

sat at a table and played _cent et un_. The wife alone was busy as

ever, and sat and sewed at some garment. She saw well that I could not

write anything in the midst of all this disturbance; but she troubled

herself no more about me; she even smiled when the servant-girl asked

me if I had been out to dine. The whole household had become hostile

towards me. It was as if I had only needed disgrace of being obliged to

resign my room to a stranger to be treated as a man of no account. Even

the servant, a little, brown-eyed, street-wench, with a big fringe over

her forehead, and a perfectly flat bosom, poked fun at me in the

evening when I got my ration of bread and butter. She inquired

perpetually where, then, was I in the habit of dining, as she had never

seen me picking my teeth outside the Grand? It was clear that she was

aware of my wretched circumstances, and took a pleasure in letting me

know of it.

I fall suddenly into thought over all this, and am not able to find a

solitary speech for my drama. Time upon time I seek in vain; a strange

buzzing begins inside my head, and I give it up. I thrust the papers

into my pocket, and look up. The girl is sitting straight opposite me.

I look at her--look at her narrow back and drooping shoulders, that are

not yet fully developed. What business was it of hers to fly at me?

Even supposing I did come out of the palace, what then? Did it harm her

in any way? She had laughed insolently in the past few days at me, when

I was a bit awkward and stumbled on the stairs, or caught fast on a

nail and tore my coat. It was not later than yesterday that she

gathered up my rough copy, that I had thrown aside in the

ante-room--stolen these rejected fragments of my drama, and read them

aloud in the room here; made fun of them in every one's hearing, just

to amuse herself at my expense. I had never molested her in any way,

and could not recall that I had ever asked her to do me a service. On

the contrary, I made up my bed on the floor in the ante-room myself, in

order not to give her any trouble with it. She made fun of me, too,

because my hair fell out. Hair lay and floated about in the basin I

washed in the mornings, and she made merry over it. Then my shoes, too,

had grown rather shabby of late, particularly the one that had been run

over by the bread-van, and she found subject for jesting in them. "God

bless you and your shoes!" said she, looking at them; "they are as wide

as a dog's house." And she was right; they were trodden out. But then I

couldn't procure myself any others just at present.

Whilst I sit and call all this to mind, and marvel over the evident

malice of the servant, the little girls have begun to tease the old man

over in the bed; they are jumping around him, fully bent on this

diversion. They both found a straw, which they poked into his ears. I

looked on at this for a while, and refrained from interfering. The old

fellow did not move a finger to defend himself; he only looked at his

tormentors with furious eyes each time they prodded him, and jerked his

head to escape when the straws were already in his ears. I got more and

more irritated at this sight, and could not keep my eyes away from it.

The father looked up from his cards, and laughed at the youngsters; he

also drew the attention of his comrades at play to what was going on.

Why didn't the old fellow move? Why didn't he fling the children aside

with his arms? I took a stride, and approached the bed.

"Let them alone! let them alone! he is paralysed," called the landlord.

And out of fear to be shown the door for the night, simply out of fear

of rousing the man's displeasure by interfering with this scene, I

stepped back silently to my old place and kept myself quiet. Why should

I risk my lodging and my portion of bread and butter by poking my nose

into the family squabbles? No idiotic pranks for the sake of a

half-dying old man, and I stood and felt as delightfully hard as a

flint.

The little urchins did not cease their plaguing; it amused them that

the old chap could not hold his head quiet, and they aimed at his eyes

and nostrils. He stared at them with a ludicrous expression; he said

nothing, and could not stir his arms. Suddenly he raised the upper part

of his body a little and spat in the face of one of the little girls,

drew himself up again and spat at the other, but did not reach her. I

stood and looked on, saw that the landlord flung the cards on the table

at which he sat, and sprang over towards the bed. His face was flushed,

and he shouted:

"Will you sit and spit right into people's eyes, you old boar?"

"But, good Lord, he got no peace from them!" I cried, beside myself.

But all the time I stood in fear of being turned out, and I certainly

did not utter my protest with any particular force; I only trembled

over my whole body with irritation. He turned towards me, and said:

"Eh, listen to him, then. What the devil is it to you? You just keep

your tongue in your jaw, you--just mark what I tell you, 'twill serve

you best."

But now the wife's voice made itself heard, and the house was filled

with scolding and railing.

"May God help me, but I think you are mad or possessed, the whole pack

of you!" she shrieked. "If you want to stay in here you'll have to be

quiet, both of you! Humph! it isn't enough that one is to keep open

house and food for vermin, but one is to have sparring and rowing and

the devil's own to-do in the sitting-room as well. But I won't have any

more of it, not if I know it. Sh--h! Hold your tongues, you brats

there, and wipe your noses, too; if you don't, I'll come and do it. I

never saw the like of such people. Here they walk in out of the street,

without even a penny to buy flea-powder, and begin to kick up rows in

the middle of the night and quarrel with the people who own the house,

I don't mean to have any more of it, do you understand that? and you

can go your way, every one who doesn't belong home here. I am going to

have peace in my own quarters, I am."

I said nothing, I never opened my mouth once. I sat down again next the

door and listened to the noise. They all screamed together, even the

children, and the girl who wanted to explain how the whole disturbance

commenced. If I only kept quiet it would all blow over sometime; it

would surely not come to the worst if I only did not utter a word; and

what word after all could I have to say? Was it not perhaps winter

outside, and far advanced into the night, besides? Was that a time to

strike a blow, and show one could hold one's own? No folly now!... So I

sat still and made no attempt to leave the house; I never even blushed

at keeping silent, never felt ashamed, although I had almost been shown

the door. I stared coolly, case-hardened, at the wall where Christ hung

in an oleograph, and held my tongue obstinately during all the

landlady's attack.

"Well, if it is me you want to get quit of, ma'am, there will be

nothing in the way as far as I am concerned," said one of the

card-players as he stood up. The other card-players rose as well.

"No, I didn't mean you--nor you either," replied the landlady to them.

"If there's any need to, I will show well enough who I mean, if there's

the least need to, if I know myself rightly. Oh, it will be shown quick

enough who it is...."

She talked with pauses, gave me these thrusts at short intervals, and

spun it out to make it clearer and clearer that it was me she meant.

"Quiet," said I to myself; "only keep quiet!" She had not asked me to

go--not expressly, not in plain words. Just no putting on side on my

part--no untimely pride! Brave it out!... That was really most singular

green hair on that Christ in the oleograph. It was not too unlike green

grass, or expressed with exquisite exactitude thick meadow grass. Ha! a

perfectly correct remark--unusually thick meadow grass.... A train of

fleeting ideas darts at this moment through my head. From green grass

to the text, Each life is like unto grass that is kindled; from that to

the Day of Judgment, when all will be consumed; then a little detour

down to the earthquake in Lisbon, about which something floated before

me in reference to a brass Spanish spittoon and an ebony pen handle

that I had seen down at Ylajali's. Ah, yes, all was transitory, just

like grass that was kindled. It all ended in four planks and a

winding-sheet. "Winding-sheets to be had from Miss Andersen's, on the

right of the door...." And all this was tossed about in my head during

the despairing moment when my landlady was about to thrust me from her

door.

"He doesn't hear," she yelled. "I tell you, you'll quit this house. Now

you know it. I believe God blast me, that the man is mad, I do! Now,

out you go, on the blessed spot, and so no more chat about it."

I looked towards the door, not in order to leave--no, certainly not in

order to leave. An audacious notion seized me--if there had been a key

in the door, I would have turned it and locked myself in along with the

rest to escape going. I had a perfectly hysterical dread of going out

into the streets again.

But there was no key in the door.

Then, suddenly my landlord's voice mingled with that of his wife, and I

stood still with amazement. The same man who had threatened me a while

ago took my part, strangely enough now. He said:

"No, it won't do to turn folk out at night; do you know one can be

punished for doing that?"

"I didn't know if there was a punishment for that; I couldn't say, but

perhaps it was so," and the wife bethought herself quickly, grew quiet,

and spoke no more.

She placed two pieces of bread and butter before me for supper, but I

did not touch them, just out of gratitude to the man; so I pretended

that I had had a little food in town.

When at length I took myself off to the anteroom to go to bed, she came

out after me, stopped on the threshold, and said loudly, whilst her

unsightly figure seemed to strut out towards me:

"But this is the last night you sleep here, so now you know it."

"Yes, yes," I replied.

There would perhaps be some way of finding a shelter tomorrow, if I

tried hard for it. I would surely be able to find some hiding-place.

For the time being I would rejoice that I was not obliged to go out

tonight.

I slept till between five and six in the morning--it was not yet light

when I awoke--but all the same I got up at once. I had lain in all my

clothes on account of the cold, and had no dressing to do. When I had

drunk a little cold water and opened the door quietly, I went out

directly, for I was afraid to face my landlady again.

A couple of policemen who had been on watch all night were the only

living beings I saw in the street. A while after, some men began to

extinguish the lamps. I wandered about without aim or end, reached

Kirkegaden and the road down towards the fortress. Cold and still

sleepy, weak in the knees and back after my long walk, and very hungry,

I sat down on a seat and dozed for a long time. For three weeks I had

lived exclusively on the bread and butter that my landlady had given me

morning and evening. Now it was twenty-four hours since I had had my

last meal. Hunger began to gnaw badly at me again; I must seek a help

for it right quickly. With this thought I fell asleep again upon the

seat....

I was aroused by the sound of people speaking near me, and when I had

collected myself a little I saw that it was broad day, and that every

one was up and about. I got up and walked away. The sun burst over the

heights, the sky was pale and tender, and in my delight over the lovely

morning, after the many dark gloomy weeks, I forgot all cares, and it

seemed to me as if I had fared worse on other occasions. I clapped

myself on the chest and sang a little snatch for myself. My voice

sounded so wretched, downright exhausted it sounded, and I moved myself

to tears with it. This magnificent day, the white heavens swimming in

light, had far too mighty an effect upon me, and I burst into loud

weeping.

"What is the matter with you?" inquired a man. I did not answer, but

hurried away, hiding my face from all men. I reached the bridge. A

large barque with the Russian flag lay and discharged coal. I read her

name, _Copégoro_, on her side. It distracted me for a time to watch

what took place on board this foreign ship. She must be almost

discharged; she lay with IX foot visible on her side, in spite of all

the ballast she had already taken in, and there was a hollow boom

through the whole ship whenever the coal-heavers stamped on the deck

with their heavy boots.

The sun, the light, and the salt breath from the sea, all this busy,

merry life pulled me together a bit, and caused my blood to run

lustily. Suddenly it entered my head that I could work at a few scenes

of my drama whilst I sat here, and I took my papers out of my pocket.

I tried to place a speech into a monk's mouth--a speech that ought to

swell with pride and intolerance, but it was of no use; so I skipped

over the monk and tried to work out an oration--the Deemster's oration

to the violator of the Temple,--and I wrote half-a-page of this

oration, upon which I stopped. The right local colour would not tinge

my words, the bustle about me, the shanties, the noise of the gangways,

and the ceaseless rattle of the iron chains, fitted in so little with

the atmosphere of the musty air of the dim Middle Ages, that was to

envelop my drama as with a mist.

I bundled my papers together and got up.

All the same, I got into a happy vein--a grand vein,--and I felt

convinced that I could effect something if all went well.

If I only had a place to go to. I thought over it--stopped right there

in the street and pondered, but I could not bring to mind a single

quiet spot in the town where I could seat myself for an hour. There was

no other way open; I would have to go back to the lodging-house in

Vaterland. I shrank at the thought of it, and I told myself all the

while that it would not do. I went ahead all the same, and approached

nearer and nearer to the forbidden spot. Of course it was wretched. I

admitted to myself that it was degrading--downright degrading, but

there was no help for it. I was not in the least proud; I dared make

the assertion roundly, that I was one of the least arrogant beings up

to date. I went ahead.

I pulled up at the door and weighed it over once more. Yes, no matter

what the result was, I would have to dare it. After all said and done,

what a bagatelle to make such a fuss about. For the first it was only a

matter of a couple of hours; for the second, the Lord forbid that I

should ever seek refuge in such a house again. I entered the yard. Even

whilst I was crossing the uneven stones I was irresolute, and almost

turned round at the very door. I clenched my teeth. No! no pride! At

the worst I could excuse myself by saying I had come to say good-bye,

to make a proper adieu, and come to a clear understanding about my debt

to the house....

I took forth my papers once more, and determined to thrust all

irrelevant impressions aside. I had left off right in the middle of a

sentence in the inquisitor's address--"Thus dictate God and the law to

me, thus dictates also the counsel of my wise men, thus dictate I and

my own conscience...." I looked out of the window to think over what

his conscience should dictate to him. A little row reached me from the

room inside. Well, it was no affair of mine anyway; it was entirely and

totally indifferent to me what noise arose. Why the devil should I sit

thinking about it? Keep quiet now! "Thus dictate I and my own

conscience...." But everything conspired against me. Outside in the

street, something was taking place that disturbed me. A little lad sat

and amused himself in the sun on the opposite side of the pavement. He

was happy and in fear of no danger--just sat and knotted together a lot

of paper streamers, and injuring no one. Suddenly he jumps up and

begins to curse; he goes backwards to the middle of the street and

catches sight of a man, a grown-up man, with a red beard, who is

leaning out of an open window in the second storey, and who spat down

on his head. The little chap cried with rage, and swore impatiently up

at the window; and the man laughed in his face. Perhaps five minutes

passed in this way. I turned aside to avoid seeing the little lad's

tears.

"Thus dictate I and my own conscience...." I found it impossible to get

any farther. At last everything began to get confused; it seemed to me

that even that which I had already written was unfit to use, ay, that

the whole idea was contemptible rubbish. How could one possibly talk of

conscience in the Middle Ages? Conscience was first invented by

Dancing-master Shakespeare, consequently my whole address was wrong.

Was there, then, nothing of value in these pages? I ran through them

anew, and solved my doubt at once. I discovered grand pieces--downright

lengthy pieces of remarkable merit--and once again the intoxicating

desire to set to work again darted through my breast--the desire to

finish my drama.

I got up and went to the door, without paying any attention to my

landlord's furious signs to go out quietly; I walked out of the room

firmly, and with my mind made up. I went upstairs to the second floor,

and entered my former room. The man was not there, and what was to

hinder me from sitting here for a moment? I would not touch one of his

things. I wouldn't even once use his table; I would just seat myself on

a chair near the door, and be happy. I spread the papers hurriedly out

on my knees. Things went splendidly for a few minutes. Retort upon

retort stood ready in my head, and I wrote uninterruptedly. I filled

one page after the other, dashed ahead over stock and stone, chuckled

softly in ecstasy over my happy vein, and was scarcely conscious of

myself. The only sound I heard in this moment was my own merry chuckle.

A singularly happy idea had just struck me about a church bell--a

church bell that was to peal out at a certain point in my drama. All

was going ahead with overwhelming rapidity. Then I heard a step on the

stairs. I tremble, and am almost beside myself; sit ready to bolt,

timorous, watchful, full of fear at everything, and excited by hunger.

I listen nervously, just hold the pencil still in my hand, and listen.

I cannot write a word more. The door opens and the pair from below

enter.

Even before I had time to make an excuse for what I had done, the

landlady calls out, as if struck of a heap with amazement:

"Well, God bless and save us, if he isn't sitting here again!"

"Excuse me," I said, and I would have added more, but got no farther;

the landlady flung open the door, as far as it would go, and shrieked:

"If you don't go out, now, may God blast me, but I'll fetch the police!"

I got up.

"I only wanted to say good-bye to you," I murmured; "and I had to wait

for you. I didn't touch anything; I only just sat here on the chair...."

"Yes, yes; there was no harm in that," said the man. "What the devil

does it matter? Let the man alone; he--"

By this time I had reached the end of the stairs. All at once I got

furious with this fat, swollen woman, who followed close to my heels to

get rid of me quickly, and I stood quiet a moment with the worst

abusive epithets on my tongue ready to sling at her. But I bethought

myself in time, and held my peace, if only out of gratitude to the

stranger man who followed her, and would have to hear them. She trod

close on my heels, railing incessantly, and my anger increased with

every step I took.

We reached the yard below. I walked very slowly, still debating whether

I would not have it out with her. I was at this moment completely

blinded with rage, and I searched for the worst word--an expression

that would strike her dead on the spot, like a kick in her stomach. A

commissionaire passes me at the entrance. He touches his hat; I take no

notice; he applies to her; and I hear that he inquires for me, but I do

not turn round. A couple of steps outside the door he overtakes and

stops me. He hands me an envelope. I tear it open, roughly and

unwillingly. It contains half-a-sovereign--no note, not a word. I look

at the man, and ask:

"What tomfoolery is this? Who is the letter from?"

"Oh, that I can't say!" he replies; "but it was a lady who gave it to

me."

I stood still. The commissionaire left.

I put the coin into the envelope again, crumple it up, coin and

envelope, wheel round and go straight towards the landlady, who is

still keeping an eye on me from the doorway, and throw it in her face.

I said nothing; I uttered no syllable--only noticed that she was

examining the crumpled paper as I left her.... Ha! that is what one

might call comporting oneself with dignity. Not to say a word, not to

mention the contents, but crumple together, with perfect calmness, a

large piece of money, and fling it straight in the face of one's

persecutor! One might call that making one's exit with dignity. That

was the way to treat such beasts I....

When I got to the corner of Tomtegaden and the railway place, the

street commenced suddenly to swim around before my eyes; it buzzed

vacantly in my head, and I staggered up against the wall of a house. I

could simply go no farther, couldn't even straighten myself from the

cramped position I was in. As I fell up against it, so I remained

standing, and I felt that I was beginning to lose my senses. My insane

anger had augmented this attack of exhaustion. I lifted my foot, and

stamped on the pavement. I also tried several other things to try and

regain my strength: I clenched my teeth, wrinkled my brows, and rolled

my eyes despairingly; it helped a little. My thoughts grew more lucid.

It was clear to me that I was about to succumb. I stretched out my

hands, and pushed myself back from the wall. The street still danced

wildly round me. I began to hiccough with rage, and I wrestled from my

very inmost soul with my misery; made a right gallant effort not to

sink down. It was not my intention to collapse; no, I would die

standing. A dray rolls slowly by, and I notice there are potatoes in

it; but out of sheer fury and stubbornness, I take it into my head to

assert that they are not potatoes, but cabbages, and I swore frightful

oaths that they were cabbages. I heard quite well what I was saying,

and I swore this lie wittingly; repeating time after time, just to have

the vicious satisfaction of perjuring myself. I got intoxicated with

the thought of this matchless sin of mine. I raised three fingers in

the air, and swore, with trembling lips, in the name of the Father,

Son, and Holy Ghost, that they were cabbages.

Time went. I let myself sink down on the steps near me, and dried the

sweat from my brow and throat, drew a couple of long breaths, and

forced myself into calmness. The sun slid down; it declined towards the

afternoon. I began once more to brood over my condition. My hunger was

really something disgraceful, and, in a few hours more, night would be

here again. The question was, to think of a remedy while there was yet

time. My thoughts flew again to the lodging-house from which I had been

hunted away. I could on no account return there; but yet one could not

help thinking about it. Properly speaking, the woman was acting quite

within her rights in turning me out. How could I expect to get lodging

with any one when I could not pay for it? Besides, she had occasionally

given me a little food; even yesterday evening, after I had annoyed

her, she offered me some bread and butter. She offered it to me out of

sheer good nature, because she knew I needed it, so I had no cause to

complain. I began, even whilst I sat there on the step, to ask her

pardon in my own mind for my behaviour. Particularly, I regretted

bitterly that I had shown myself ungrateful to her at the last, and

thrown half-a-sovereign in her face....

Half-a-sovereign! I gave a whistle. The letter the messenger brought

me, where did it come from? It was only this instant I thought clearly

over this, and I divined at once how the whole thing hung together. I

grew sick with pain and shame. I whispered "Ylajali" a few times, with

hoarse voice, and flung back my head. Was it not I who, no later than

yesterday, had decided to pass her proudly by if I met her, to treat

her with the greatest indifference? Instead of that, I had only aroused

her compassion, and coaxed an alms from her. No, no, no; there would

never be an end to my degradation! Not even in her presence could I

maintain a decent position. I sank, simply sank, on all sides--every

way I turned; sank to my knees, sank to my waist, dived under in

ignominy, never to rise again--never! This was the climax! To accept

half-a-sovereign in alms without being able to fling it back to the

secret donor; scramble for half-pence whenever the chance offered, and

keep them, use them for lodging money, in spite of one's intense inner

aversion....

Could I not regain the half-sovereign in some way or another? To go

back to the landlady and try to get it from her would be of no use.

There must be some way, if I were to consider--if I were only to exert

myself right well, and consider it over. It was not, in this case,

great God, sufficient to consider in just an ordinary way! I must

consider so that it penetrated my whole sentient being; consider and

find some way to procure this half-sovereign. And I set to, to consider

the answer to this problem.

It might be about four o'clock; in a few hours' time I could perhaps

meet the manager of the theatre; if only I had my drama completed.

I take out my MSS. there where I am sitting, and resolve, with might

and main, to finish the last few scenes. I think until I sweat, and

re-read from the beginning, but make no progress. No bosh! I say--no

obstinacy, now! and I write away at my drama--write down everything

that strikes me, just to get finished quickly and be able to go away. I

tried to persuade myself that a new supreme moment had seized me; I

lied right royally to myself, deceived myself knowingly, and wrote on,

as if I had no need to seek for words.

That is capital! That is really a find! whispered I, interpolatingly;

only just write it down! Halt! they sound questionable; they contrast

rather strongly with the speeches in the first scenes; not a trace of

the Middle Ages shone through the monk's words. I break my pencil

between my teeth, jump to my feet, tear my manuscript in two, tear each

page in two, fling my hat down in the street and trample upon it. I am

lost! I whisper to myself. Ladies and gentlemen, I am lost! I utter no

more than these few words as long as I stand there, and tramp upon my

hat.

A policeman is standing a few steps away, watching me. He is standing

in the middle of the street, and he only pays attention to me. As I

lift my head, our eyes meet. Maybe he has been standing there for a

long time watching me. I pick up my hat, put it on, and go over to him.

"Do you know what time it is?" I ask. He pauses a bit as he hauls out

his watch, and never takes his eyes off me the whole time.

"About four," he replies.

"Accurately," I say, "about four, perfectly accurate. You know your

business, and I'll bear you in mind." Thereupon I left him. He looked

utterly amazed at me, stood and looked at me, with gaping mouth, still

holding his watch in his hand.

When I got in front of the Royal Hotel I turned and looked back. He was

still standing in the same position, following me with his eyes.

Ha, ha! That is the way to treat brutes! With the most refined

effrontery! That impresses the brutes--puts the fear of God into

them.... I was peculiarly satisfied with myself, and began to sing a

little strain. Every nerve was tense with excitement. Without feeling

any more pain, without even being conscious of discomfort of any kind,

I walked, light as a feather, across the whole market, turned round at

the stalls, and came to a halt--sat down on a bench near Our Saviour's

Church. Might it not just as well be a matter of indifference whether I

returned the half-sovereign or not? When once I received it, it was

mine; and there was evidently no want where it came from. Besides, I

was obliged to take it when it was sent expressly to me; there could be

no object in letting the messenger keep it. It wouldn't do, either, to

send it back--a whole half-sovereign that had been sent to me. So there

was positively no help for it.

I tried to watch the bustle about me in the market, and distract myself

with indifferent things, but I did not succeed; the half-sovereign

still busied my thoughts. At last I clenched my fists and got angry. It

would hurt her if I were to send it back. Why, then, should I do so?

Always ready to consider myself too good for everything--to toss my

head and say, No, thanks! I saw now what it led to. I was out in the

street again. Even when I had the opportunity I couldn't keep my good

warm lodging. No; I must needs be proud, jump up at the first word, and

show I wasn't the man to stand trifling, chuck half-sovereigns right

and left, and go my way.... I took myself sharply to task for having

left my lodging and brought myself into the most distressful

circumstances.

As for the rest, I consigned the whole affair to the keeping of the

yellowest of devils. I hadn't begged for the half-sovereign, and I had

barely had it in my hand, but gave it away at once--paid it away to

utterly strange people whom I would never see again. That was the sort

of man I was; I always paid out to the last doit whatever I owed. If I

knew Ylajali aright, neither did she regret that she had sent me the

money, therefore why did I sit there working myself into a rage? To put

it plainly, the least she could do was to send me half-a-sovereign now

and then. The poor girl was indeed in love with me--ha! perhaps even

fatally in love with me; ... and I sat and puffed myself up with this

notion. There was no doubt that she was in love with me, the poor girl.

It struck five o'clock! Again I sank under the weight of my prolonged

nervous excitement. The hollow whirring in my head made itself felt

anew. I stared straight ahead, kept my eyes fixed, and gazed at the

chemist's under the sign of the elephant. Hunger was waging a fierce

battle in me at this moment, and I was suffering greatly. Whilst I sit

thus and look out into space, a figure becomes little by little clear

to my fixed stare. At last I can distinguish it perfectly plainly, and

I recognize it. It is that of the cake-vendor who sits habitually near

the chemist's under the sign of the elephant. I give a start, sit

half-upright on the seat, and begin to consider. Yes, it was quite

correct--the same woman before the same table on the same spot! I

whistle a few times and snap my fingers, rise from my seat, and make

for the chemist's. No nonsense at all! What the devil was it to me if

it was the wages of sin, or well-earned Norwegian huckster pieces of

silver from Kongsberg? I wasn't going to be abused; one might die of

too much pride....

I go on to the corner, take stock of the woman, and come to a

standstill before her. I smile, nod as to an acquaintance, and shape my

words as if it were a foregone conclusion that I would return sometime.

"Good-day," say I; "perhaps you don't recognize me again."

"No," she replied slowly, and looks at me.

I smile still more, as if this were only an excellent joke of hers,

this pretending not to know me again, and say:

"Don't you recollect that I gave you a lot of silver once? I did not

say anything on the occasion in question; as far as I can call to mind,

I did not; it is not my way to do so. When one has honest folk to deal

with, it is unnecessary to make an agreement, so to say, draw up a

contract for every trifle. Ha, ha! Yes, it was I who gave you the

money!"

"No, then, now; was it you? Yes, I remember you, now that I come to

think over it...."

I wanted to prevent her from thanking me for the money, so I say,

therefore, hastily, whilst I cast my eye over the table in search of

something to eat:

"Yes; I've come now to get the cakes."

She did not seem to take this in.

"The cakes," I reiterate; "I've come now to get them--at any rate, the

first instalment; I don't need all of them today."

"You've come to get them?"

"Yes; of course I've come to get them," I reply, and I laugh

boisterously, as if it ought to have been self-evident to her from the

outset that I came for that purpose. I take, too, a cake up from the

table, a sort of white roll that I commenced to eat.

When the woman sees this, she stirs uneasily inside her bundle of

clothes, makes an involuntary movement as if to protect her wares, and

gives me to understand that she had not expected me to return to rob

her of them.

"Really not?" I say, "indeed, really not?" She certainly was an

extraordinary woman. Had she, then, at any time, had the experience

that some one came and gave her a heap of shillings to take care of,

without that person returning and demanding them again? No; just look

at that now! Did she perhaps run away with the idea that it was stolen

money, since I slung it at her in that manner? No; she didn't think

that either. Well, that at least was a good thing--really a good thing.

It was, if I might so say, kind of her, in spite of all, to consider me

an honest man. Ha, ha! yes indeed, she really was good!

But why did I give her the money, then? The woman was exasperated, and

called out loudly about it. I explained why I had given her the money,

explained it temperately and with emphasis. It was my custom to act in

this manner, because I had such a belief in every one's goodness.

Always when any one offered me an agreement, a receipt, I only shook my

head and said: No, thank you! God knows I did.

But still the woman failed to comprehend it. I had recourse to other

expedients--spoke sharply, and bade a truce to all nonsense. Had it

never happened to her before that any one had paid her in advance in

this manner? I inquired--I meant, of course, people who could afford

it--for example, any of the consuls? Never? Well, I could not be

expected to suffer because it happened to be a strange mode of

procedure to her. It was a common practice abroad. She had perhaps

never been outside the boundaries of her own country? No? Just look at

that now! In that case, she could of course have no opinion on the

subject; ... and I took several more cakes from the table.

She grumbled angrily, refused obstinately to give up any more of her

stores from off the table, even snatched a piece of cake out of my hand

and put it back into its place. I got enraged, banked the table, and

threatened to call the police. I wished to be lenient with her, I said.

Were I to take all that was lawfully mine, I would clear her whole

stand, because it was a big sum of money that I had given to her. But I

had no intention of taking so much, I wanted in reality only half the

value of the money, and I would, into the bargain, never come back to

trouble her again. Might God preserve me from it, seeing that that was

the sort of creature she was.... At length she shoved some cakes

towards me, four or five, at an exorbitant price, the highest possible

price she could think of, and bade me take them and begone. I wrangled

still with her, persisted that she had at least cheated me to the

extent of a shilling, besides robbing me with her exorbitant prices.

"Do you know there is a penalty for such rascally trickery," said I;

"God help you, you might get penal servitude for life, you old fool!"

She flung another cake to me, and, with almost gnashing teeth, begged

me to go.

And I left her.

Ha! a match for this dishonest cake-vendor was not to be found. The

whole time, whilst I walked to and fro in the market-place and ate my

cakes, I talked loudly about this creature and her shamelessness,

repeated to myself what we both had said to one another, and it seemed

to me that I had come out of this affair with flying colours, leaving

her nowhere. I ate my cakes in face of everybody and talked this over

to myself.

The cakes disappeared one by one; they seemed to go no way; no matter

how I ate I was still greedily hungry. Lord, to think they were of no

help! I was so ravenous that I was even about to devour the last little

cake that I had decided to spare, right from the beginning, to put it

aside, in fact, for the little chap down in Vognmandsgade--the little

lad who played with the paper streamers. I thought of him

continually--couldn't forget his face as he jumped and swore. He had

turned round towards the window when the man spat down on him, and he

had just looked up to see if I was laughing at him. God knows if I

should meet him now, even if I went down that way.

I exerted myself greatly to try and reach Vognmandsgade, passed quickly

by the spot where I had torn my drama into tatters, and where some

scraps of papers still lay about; avoided the policeman whom I had

amazed by my behaviour, and reached the steps upon which the laddie had

been sitting.

He was not there. The street was almost deserted--dusk was gathering

in, and I could not see him anywhere. Perhaps he had gone in. I laid

the cake down, stood it upright against the door, knocked hard, and

hurried away directly. He is sure to find it, I said to myself; the

first thing he will do when he comes out will be to find it. And my

eyes grew moist with pleasure at the thought of the little chap finding

the cake.

I reached the terminus again.

Now I no longer felt hungry, only the sweet stuff I had eaten began to

cause me discomfort. The wildest thoughts, too surged up anew in my

head.

Supposing I were in all secretness to cut the hawser mooring one of

those ships? Supposing I were to suddenly yell out "Fire"? I walk

farther down the wharf, find a packing-case and sit upon it, fold my

hands, and am conscious that my head is growing more and more confused.

I do not stir; I simply make no effort whatever to keep up any longer.

I just sit there and stare at the _Copégoro_, the barque flying the

Russian flag.

I catch a glimpse of a man at the rail; the red lantern slung at the

port shines down upon his head, and I get up and talk over to him. I

had no object in talking, as I did not expect to get a reply, either.

I said:

"Do you sail tonight, Captain?"

"Yes; in a short time," answered the man. He spoke Swedish.

"Hem, I suppose you wouldn't happen to need a man?"

I was at this instant utterly indifferent as to whether I was met by a

refusal or not; it was all the same to me what reply the man gave me,

so I stood and waited for it.

"Well, no," he replied; "unless it chanced to be a young fellow."

"A young fellow!" I pulled myself together, took off my glasses

furtively and thrust them into my pocket, stepped up the gangway, and

strode on deck.

"I have no experience," said I; "but I can do anything I am put to.

Where are you bound for?"

"We are in ballast for Leith, to fetch coal for Cadiz."

"All right," said I, forcing myself upon the man; "it's all the same to

me where I go; I am prepared to do my work."

"Have you never sailed before?" he asked.

"No; but as I tell you, put me to a task, and I'll do it. I am used to

a little of all sorts."

He bethought himself again.

I had already taken keenly into my head that I was to sail this voyage,

and I began to dread being hounded on shore again.

"What do you think about it, Captain?" I asked at last. "I can really

do anything that turns up. What am I saying? I would be a poor sort of

chap if I couldn't do a little more than just what I was put to. I can

take two watches at a stretch, if it comes to that. It would only do me

good, and I could hold out all the same."

"All right, have a try at it. If it doesn't work, well, we can part in

England."

"Of course," I reply in my delight, and I repeated over again that we

could part in England if it didn't work.

And he set me to work....

Out in the fjord I dragged myself up once, wet with fever and

exhaustion, and gazed landwards, and bade farewell for the present to

the town--to Christiania, where the windows gleamed so brightly in all

the homes.