Pan by Knut Hamsun

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And he knelt on the grass before the two ladies, and instead of taking
his hat off and laying it before him he held it straight up in the air
with one hand, and emptied his glass with his head bent back. I was
altogether carried away by his wonderful ease of manner, and would have
drunk with him myself but that his glass was empty.

Edwarda was following him with her eyes. I placed myself near her, and
said:

"Shall we play '_Enke_' to-day?"

She started slightly, and got up.

"Be careful not to say '_Du_' to each other now," she whispered.

Now I had not said "_Du_" at all. I walked away.

Another hour passed. The day was getting long; I would have rowed home
alone long before if there had been a third boat; Asop lay tied up in
the hut, and perhaps he was thinking of me. Edwarda's thoughts must
surely be far away from me; she talked of how lovely it would be to
travel, and see strange places; her cheeks flushed at the thought, and
she even stumbled in her speech:

"No one could be more happier than I the day ..."

"'More happier'...?" said the Doctor.

"What?" said she.

"'More happier.'"

"I don't understand."

"You said 'more happier,' I think."

"Did I? I'm sorry. No one could be happier than I the day I stood on
board the ship. Sometimes I long for places I do not know myself."

She longed to be away; she did not think of me. I stood there, and read
in her face that she had forgotten me. Well, there was nothing to be
said--but I stood there myself and saw it in her face. And the minutes
dragged so miserably slowly by! I asked several of the others if we
ought not to row back now; it was getting late, I said, and Asop was
tied up in the hut. But none of them wanted to go back.

I went over again to the Dean's daughter, for the third time; I thought
she must be the one that had said I had eyes like an animal's. We drank
together; she had quivering eyes, they were never still; she kept
looking at me and then looking away, all the time.

"Froken," I said, "do you not think people here in these parts are like
the short summer itself? In their feeling, I mean? Beautiful, but
lasting only a little while?"

I spoke loudly, very loudly, and I did so on purpose. And I went on
speaking loudly, and asked that young lady once more if she would not
like to come up one day and see my hut. "Heaven bless you for it," I
said in my distress, and I was already thinking to myself how, perhaps,
I might find something to give her as a present if she came. Perhaps I
had nothing to give her but my powder-horn, I thought.

And she promised to come.

Edwarda sat with her face turned away and let me talk as much as I
pleased. She listened to what the others said, putting in a word herself
now and again. The Doctor told the young ladies' fortunes by their
hands, and talked a lot; he himself had small, delicate hands, with a
ring on one finger. I felt myself unwanted, and sat down by myself
awhile on a stone. It was getting late in the afternoon. Here I am, I
said to myself, sitting all alone on a stone, and the only creature that
could make me move, she lets me sit. Well, then, I care no more than
she.

A great feeling of forsakenness came over me. I could hear them talking
behind me, and I heard how Edwarda laughed; and at that I got up
suddenly and went over to the party. My excitement ran away with me.

"Just a moment," I said. "It occurred to me while I was sitting there
that perhaps you might like to see my fly-book." And I took it out. "I
am sorry I did not think of it before. Just look through it, if you
please; I should be only too delighted. You must all see it; there are
both red and yellow flies in it." And I held my cap in my hand as I
spoke. I was myself aware that I had taken off my cap, and I knew that
this was wrong, so I put it on again at once.

There was deep silence for a moment, and no one offered to take the
book. At last the Doctor reached out his hand for it and said politely:

"Thanks very much; let us look at the things. It's always been a marvel
to me how those flies were put together."

"I make them myself," I said, full of gratitude. And I went on at once
to explain how it was done. It was simple enough: I bought the feathers
and the hooks. They were not well made, but they were only for my own
use. One could get ready-made flies in the shops, and they were
beautiful things.

Edwarda cast one careless glance at me and my book, and went on talking
with her girl friends.

"Ah, here are some of the feathers," said the Doctor. "Look, these are
really fine."

Edwarda looked up.

"The green ones are pretty," she said; "let me look, Doctor."

"Keep them," I cried. "Yes, do, I beg you, now. Two green feathers. Do,
as a kindness, let them be a keepsake."

She looked at them and said:

"They are green and gold, as you turn them in the sun. Thank you, if you
will give me them."

"I should be glad to," I said.

And she took the feathers.

A little later the Doctor handed me the book and thanked me. Then he got
up and asked if it were not nearly time to be getting back.

I said: "Yes, for Heaven's sake. I have a dog tied up at home; look you,
I have a dog, and he is my friend; he lies there thinking of me, and
when I come home he stands with his forepaws at the window to greet me.
It has been a lovely day, and now it is nearly over; let us go back. I
am grateful to you all."

I waited on the shore to see which boat Edwarda chose, and made up my
mind to go in the other one myself. Suddenly she called me. I looked at
her in surprise; her face was flushed. Then she came up to me, held out
her hand, and said tenderly:

"Thank you for the feathers. You will come in the boat with me, won't
you?"

"If you wish it," I said.

We got into the boat, and she sat down beside me on the same seat, her
knee touching mine. I looked at her, and she glanced at me for a moment
in return. I began to feel myself repaid for that bitter day, and was
growing happy again, when she suddenly changed her position, turned her
back to me, and began talking to the Doctor, who was sitting at the
rudder.

For a full quarter of an hour I did not exist for her. Then I did
something I repent of, and have not yet forgotten. Her shoe fell off: I
snatched it up and flung it far out into the water, for pure joy that
she was near, or from some impulse to make myself remarked, to remind
her of my existence--I do not know. It all happened so suddenly I did
not think, only felt that impulse.

The ladies set up a cry. I myself was as if paralyzed by what I had
done, but what was the good of that? It was done. The Doctor came to my
help; he cried "Row," and steered towards the shoe. And the next moment
the boatman had caught hold of the shoe just as it had filled with water
and was sinking; the man's arm was wet up to the elbow. Then there was a
shout of "Hurra" from many in the boats, because the shoe was saved.

I was deeply ashamed, and felt that my face changed color and winced, as
I wiped the shoe with my handkerchief. Edwarda took it without a word.
Not till a little while after did she say:

"I never saw such a thing!"

"No, did you ever?" I said. And I smiled and pulled myself together,
making as if I had played that trick for some particular reason--as if
there were something behind it. But what could there be? The Doctor
looked at me, for the first time, contemptuously.

A little time passed; the boats glided homeward; the feeling of
awkwardness among the party disappeared; we sang; we were nearing the
land. Edwarda said:

"Oh, we haven't finished the wine: there is ever so much left. We must
have another party, a new party later on; we must have a dance, a ball
in the big room."

When we went ashore I made an apology to Edwarda.

"If you knew how I wished myself back in my hut!" I said. "This has been
a long and painful day."

"Has it been a painful day for you, Lieutenant?"

"I mean," said I, trying to pass it off, "I mean, I have caused
unpleasantness both to myself and others. I threw your shoe into the
water."

"Yes--an extraordinary thing to do."

"Forgive me," I said.

XVI

What worse things might still happen? I resolved to keep calm, whatever
might come; Heaven is my witness. Was it I who had forced myself on her
from the first? No, no; never! I was but standing in her way one
week-day as she passed. What a summer it was here in the north! Already
the cockchafers had ceased to fly, and people were grown more and more
difficult to understand, for all that the sun shone on them day and
night. What were their blue eyes looking for, and what were they
thinking behind their mysterious lashes? Well, after all, they were all
equally indifferent to me. I took out my lines and went fishing for two
days, four days; but at night I lay with open eyes in the hut...

"Edwarda, I have not seen you for four days."

"Four days, yes--so it is. Oh, but I have been so busy. Come and look."

She led me into the big room. The tables had been moved out, the chairs
set round the walls, everything shifted; the chandelier, the stove, and
the walls were fantastically decorated with heather and black stuff from
the store. The piano stood in one corner.

These were her preparations for "the ball."

"What do you think of it?" she asked.

"Wonderful," I said.

We went out of the room.

I said: "Listen, Edwarda--have you quite forgotten me?"

"I can't understand you," she answered in surprise. "You saw all I had
been doing--how could I come and see you at the same time?"

"No," I agreed; "perhaps you couldn't." I was sick and exhausted with
want of sleep, my speech grew meaningless and uncontrolled; I had been
miserable the whole day. "No, of course you could not come. But I was
going to say ... in a word, something has changed; there is something
wrong. Yes. But I cannot read in your face what it is. There is
something very strange about your brow, Edwarda. Yes, I can see it now."

"But I have not forgotten you," she cried, blushing, and slipped her arm
suddenly into mine.

"No? Well, perhaps you have not forgotten me. But if so, then I do not
know what I am saying. One or the other."

"You shall have an invitation to-morrow. You must dance with me. Oh, how
we will dance!"

"Will you go a little way with me?" I asked.

"Now? No, I can't," she answered. "The Doctor will be here presently.
He's going to help me with something; there is a good deal still to be
done. And you think the room will look all right as it is? But don't you
think...?"

A carriage stops outside.

"Is the Doctor driving to-day?" I ask.

"Yes, I sent a horse for him. I wanted to ..."

"Spare his bad foot, yes. Well, I must be off. _Goddag, Goddag_, Doctor.
Pleased to see you again. Well and fit, I hope? Excuse my running
off..."

Once down the steps outside, I turned round. Edwarda was standing at
the window watching me; she stood holding the curtains aside with both
hands, to see; and her look was thoughtful. A foolish joy thrilled me; I
hurried away from the house light-footed, with a darkness shading my
eyes; my gun was light as a walking-stick in my hand. If I could win
her, I should become a good man, I thought. I reached the woods and
thought again: If I might win her, I would serve her more untiringly
than any other; and even if she proved unworthy, if she took a fancy to
demand impossibilities, I would yet do all that I could, and be glad
that she was mine... I stopped, fell on my knees, and in humility and
hope licked a few blades of grass by the roadside, and then got up
again.

At last I began to feel almost sure. Her altered behavior of late--it
was only her manner. She had stood looking after me when I went; stood
at the window following with her eyes till I disappeared. What more
could she do? My delight upset me altogether; I was hungry, and no
longer felt it.

Asop ran on ahead; a moment afterward he began to bark. I looked up; a
woman with a white kerchief on her head was standing by the corner of
the hut. It was Eva, the blacksmith's daughter.

"_Goddag_, Eva!" I called to her.

She stood by the big grey stone, her face all red, sucking one finger.

"Is it you, Eva? What is the matter?" I asked.

"Asop has bitten me," she answered, with some awkwardness, and cast down
her eyes.

I looked at her finger. She had bitten it herself. A thought flashed
into my mind, and I asked her:

"Have you been waiting here long?"

"No, not very long," she answered.

And without a word more from either of us, I took her by the hand and
let her into the hut.

XVII

I came from my fishing as usual, and appeared at the "ball" with the gun
and bag--only I had put on my best leather suit. It was late when I got
to Sirilund; I heard them dancing inside. Someone called out: "Here's
the hunter, the Lieutenant." A few of the young people crowded round me
and wanted to see my catch; I had shot a brace of seabirds and caught a
few haddock. Edwarda bade me welcome with a smile; she had been dancing,
and was flushed.

"The first dance with me," she said.

And we danced. Nothing awkward happened; I turned giddy, but did not
fall. My heavy boots made a certain amount of noise; I could hear it
myself, the noise, and resolved not to dance any more; I had even
scratched their painted floor. But how glad I was that I had done
nothing worse!

Herr Mack's two assistants from the store were there, laboriously and
with a solemn concentration. The Doctor took part eagerly in the set
dances. Besides these gentlemen, there were four other youngish men,
sons of families belonging to the parish, the Dean, and the district
surgeons. A stranger, a commercial traveller, was there too; he made
himself remarked by his fine voice, and tralala'ed to the music; now and
again he relieved the ladies at the piano.

I cannot remember now what happened the first few hours, but I remember
everything from the latter part of the night. The sun shone redly in
through the windows all the time, and the seabirds slept. We had wine
and cakes, we talked loud and sang, Edwarda's laugh sounded fresh and
careless through the room. But why had she never a word for me now? I
went towards where she was sitting, and would have said something polite
to her, as best I could; she was wearing a black dress, her confirmation
dress, perhaps, and it was grown too short for her, but it suited her
when she danced, and I thought to tell her so.

"That black dress..." I began.

But she stood up, put her arm round one of her girl friends, and walked
off with her. This happened two or three times. Well, I thought to
myself, if it's like that... But then why should she stand looking
sorrowfully after me from the window when I go? Well, 'tis her affair!

A lady asked me to dance. Edwarda was sitting near, and I answered
loudly:

"No; I am going home directly."

Edwarda threw a questioning glance at me, and said: "Going? Oh, no, you
mustn't go."

I started, and felt that I was biting my lip. I got up.

"What you said then seemed very significant to me, Edwarda," I said
darkly, and made a few steps towards the door.

The Doctor put himself in my way, and Edwarda herself came hurrying up.

"Don't misunderstand me," she said warmly. "I meant to say I hoped you
would be the last to go, the very last. And besides, it's only one
o'clock... Listen," she went on with sparkling eyes, "you gave our
boatmen five _daler_ for saving my shoe. It was too much." And she
laughed heartily and turned round to the rest.

I stood with open mouth, disarmed and confused.

"You are pleased to be witty," I said. "I never gave your boatman five
_daler_ at all."

"Oh, didn't you?" She opened the door to the kitchen, and called the
boatmen in. "Jakob, you remember the day you rowed us out to
Korholmerne, and you picked up my shoe when it fell into the water?"

"Yes," answered Jakob.

"And you were given five _daler_ for saving it?"

"Yes, you gave me..."

"Thanks, that will do, you can go."

Now what did she mean by that trick? I thought she was trying to shame
me. She should not succeed; I was not going to have that to blush for.
And I said loudly and distinctly:

"I must point out to all here that this is either a mistake or a lie. I
have never so much as thought of giving the boatman five _daler_
for your shoe. I ought to have done so, perhaps, but up to now it has
not been done."

"Whereupon we shall continue the dance," she said, frowning. "Why aren't
we dancing?"

"She owes me an explanation of this," I said to myself, and watched for
an opportunity to speak with her. She went into a side room, and I
followed her.

"_Skaal_," I said, and lifted a glass to drink with her.

"I have nothing in my glass," she answered shortly.

But her glass was standing in front of her, quite full.

"I thought that was your glass."

"No, it is not mine," she answered, and turned away, and was in deep
conversation with someone else.

"I beg your pardon then," said I.

Several of the guests had noticed this little scene.

My heart was hissing within me. I said offendedly: "But at least you owe
me an explanation..."

She rose, took both my hands, and said earnestly:

"But not to-day; not now. I am so miserable. Heavens, how you look at
me. We were friends once..."

Overwhelmed, I turned right about, and went in to the dancers again.

A little after, Edwarda herself came in and took up her place by the
piano, at which the travelling man was seated, playing a dance; her face
at that moment was full of inward pain.

"I have never learned to play," she said, looking at me with dark eyes.
"If I only could!"

I could make no answer to this. But my heart flew out towards her once
more, and I asked:

"Why are you so unhappy all at once, Edwarda? If you knew how it hurts
me to see--"

"I don't know what it is," she said. "Everything, perhaps. I wish all
these people would go away at once, all of them. No, not you--remember,
you must stay till the last."

And again her words revived me, and my eyes saw the light in the
sun-filled room. The Dean's daughter came over, and began talking to me;
I wished her ever so far away, and gave her short answers. And I
purposely kept from looking at her, for she had said that about my eyes
being like an animal's. She turned to Edwarda and told her that once,
somewhere abroad--in Riga I think it was--a man had followed her along
the street.

"Kept walking after me, street after street, and smiling across at me,"
she said.

"Why, was he blind, then?" I broke in, thinking to please Edwarda. And I
shrugged my shoulders as well.

The young lady understood my coarseness at once, and answered:

"He must have been blind indeed, to run after any one so old and ugly as
I am."

But I gained no thanks from Edwarda for that: she drew her friend away;
they whispered together and shook their heads. After that, I was left
altogether to myself.

Another hour passed. The seabirds began to wake out on the reefs; their
cries sounded in through the open windows. A spasm of joy went through
me at this first calling of the birds, and I longed to be out there on
the islands myself...

The Doctor, once more in good humor, drew the attention of all present.
The ladies were never tired of his society. Is that thing there my
rival? I thought, noting his lame leg and miserable figure. He had taken
to a new and amusing oath: he said _Dod og Pinsel_, [Footnote: A
slight variation of the usual Dod og Pine (death and torture).] and
every time he used that comical expression I laughed aloud. In my misery
I wished to give the fellow every advantage I could, since he was my
rival. I let it be "Doctor" here and "Doctor" there, and called out
myself: "Listen to the Doctor!" and laughed aloud at the things he said.

"I love this world," said the Doctor. "I cling to life tooth and nail.
And when I come to die, then I hope to find a corner somewhere straight
up over London and Paris, where I can hear the rumble of the human
cancan all the time, all the time."

"Splendid!" I cried, and choked with laughter, though I was not in the
least bit drunk.

Edwarda too seemed delighted.

When the guests began to go, I slipped away into the little room at the
side and sat down to wait. I heard one after another saying good-bye on
the stairs; the Doctor also took his leave and went. Soon all the voices
had died away. My heart beat violently as I waited.

Edwarda came in again. At sight of me she stood a moment in surprise;
then she said with a smile:

"Oh, are you there? It was kind of you to wait till the last. I am tired
out now."

She remained standing.

I got up then, and said: "You will be wanting rest now. I hope you are
not displeased any more, Edwarda. You were so unhappy a while back, and
it hurt me."

"It will be all right when I have slept."

I had no more to add. I went towards the door.

"Thank you," she said, offering her hand. "It was a pleasant evening."
She would have seen me to the door, but I tried to prevent her.

"No need," I said; "do not trouble, I can find my way..."

But she went with me all the same. She stood in the passage waiting
patiently while I found my cap, my gun, and my bag. There was a
walking-stick in the corner; I saw it well enough; I stared at it, and
recognized it--it was the Doctor's. When she marked what I was looking
at, she blushed in confusion; it was plain to see from her face that she
was innocent, that she knew nothing of the stick. A whole minute passed.
At last she turned, furiously impatient, and said tremblingly:

"Your stick--do not forget your stick."

And there before my eyes she handed me the Doctor's stick.

I looked at her. She was still holding out the stick; her hand trembled.
To make an end of it, I took the thing, and set it back in the corner.
I said:

"It is the Doctor's stick. I cannot understand how a lame man could
forget his stick." "You and your lame man!" she cried bitterly, and took
a step forward towards me. "You are not lame--no; but even if you were,
you could not compare with him; no, you could never compare with him.
There!"

I sought for some answer, but my mind was suddenly empty; I was silent.
With a deep bow, I stepped backwards out of the door, and down on to the
steps. There I stood a moment looking straight before me; then I moved
off.

"So, he has forgotten his stick," I thought to myself. "And he will come
back this way to fetch it. He would not let _me_ be the last man to
leave the house..." I walked up the road very slowly, keeping a
lookout either way, and stopped at the edge of the wood. At last, after
half an hour's waiting, the Doctor came walking towards me; he had seen
me, and was walking quickly. Before he had time to speak I lifted my
cap, to try him. He raised his hat in return. I went straight up to him
and said:

"I gave you no greeting."

He came a step nearer and stared at me.

"You gave me no greeting...?"

"No," said I.

Pause.

"Why, it is all the same to me what you did," he said, turning pale. "I
was going to fetch my stick; I left it behind." I could say nothing in
answer to this, but I took my revenge another way; I stretched out my
gun before him, as if he were a dog, and said:

"Over!"

And I whistled, as if coaxing him to jump over.

For a moment he struggled with himself; his face took on the strangest
play of expression as he pressed his lips together and held his eyes
fixed on the ground. Suddenly he looked at me sharply; a half smile lit
up his features, and he said:

"What do you really mean by all this?"

I did not answer, but his words affected me.

Suddenly he held out his hand to me, and said gently:

"There is something wrong with you. If you will tell me what it is, then
perhaps..."

I was overwhelmed now with shame and despair; his calm words made me
lose my balance. I wished to show him some kindness in return, and I
put my arm round him, and said:

"Forgive me this! No, what could be wrong with me? There is nothing
wrong; I have no need of your help. You are looking for Edwarda,
perhaps? You will find her at home. But make haste, or she will have
gone to bed before you come; she was very tired, I could see it myself.
I tell you the best news I can, now; it is true. You will find her at
home--go, then!" And I turned and hurried away from him, striking out
with a long stride up through the woods and back to the hut.

For a while I sat there on the bed just as I had come in, with my bag
over my shoulder and my gun in my hand. Strange thoughts passed through
my mind. Why ever had I given myself away so to that Doctor? The thought
that I had put my arm round him and looked at him with wet eyes angered
me; he would chuckle over it, I thought; perhaps at that very moment he
might be sitting laughing over it, with Edwarda. He had set his stick
aside in the hall. Yes, even if I were lame, I could not compare with
the Doctor. I could never compare with him--those were her words...

I stepped out into the middle of the floor, cocked my gun, set the
muzzle against my left instep, and pulled the trigger. The shot passed
through the middle of the foot and pierced the floor. Asop gave a short
terrified bark.

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