Pan by Knut Hamsun

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I went out to the front steps; no one saw me to the door. I glanced in
passing through the windows of the sitting-room; and there stood
Edwarda, tall, upright, holding the curtains apart with both hands,
looking out. I did not bow to her: I forgot everything; a swirl of
confusion overwhelmed me and drew me hurriedly away.

"Halt! Stop a moment!" I said to myself, when I reached the woods. God
in Heaven, but there must be an end of this! I felt all hot within on a
sudden, and I groaned. Alas, I had no longer any pride in my heart; I
had enjoyed Edwarda's favour for a week, at the outside, but that was
over long since, and I had not ordered my ways accordingly. From now on,
my heart should cry to her: Dust, air, earth on my way; God in Heaven,
yes...

I reached the hut, found my fish, and had a meal.

Here are you burning out your life for the sake of a worthless
schoolgirl, and your nights are full of desolate dreams. And a hot wind
stands still about your head, a close, foul wind of last year's breath.
Yet the sky is quivering with the most wonderful blue, and the hills are
calling. Come, Asop, _Hei_...

A week passed. I hired the blacksmith's boat and fished for my meals.
Edwarda and the Baron were always together in the evening when he came
home from his sea trips. I saw them once at the mill. One evening they
both came by my hut; I drew away from the window and barred the door. It
made no impression on me whatever to see them together; I shrugged my
shoulders. Another evening I met them on the road, and exchanged
greetings; I left it to the Baron to notice me first, and merely put up
two fingers to my cap, to be discourteous. I walked slowly past them,
and looked carelessly at them as I did so.

Another day passed.

How many long days had not passed already? I was downcast, dispirited;
my heart pondered idly over things; even the kindly grey stone by the
hut seemed to wear an expression of sorrow and despair when I went by.
There was rain in the air; the heat seemed gasping before me wherever I
went, and I felt the gout in my left foot; I had seen one of Herr Mack's
horses shivering in its harness in the morning; all these things were
significant to me as signs of the weather. Best to furnish the house
well with food while the weather holds, I thought.

I tied up Asop, took my fishing tackle and my gun, and went down to the
quay. I was quite unusually troubled in mind.

"When will the mail-packet be in?" I asked a fisherman there.

"The mail-packet? In three weeks' time," he answered.

"I am expecting my uniform," I said.

Then I met one of Herr Mack's assistants from the store. I shook hands
with him, and said:

"Tell me, do you never play whist now at Sirilund?"

"Yes, often," he answered.

Pause.

"I have not been there lately," I said.

I rowed out to my fishing grounds. The weather was mild, but oppressive.
The gnats gathered in swarms, and I had to smoke all the time to keep
them off. The haddock were biting; I fished with two hooks and made a
good haul. On the way back I shot a brace of guillemots.

When I came in to the quay the blacksmith was there at work. A thought
occurred to me; I asked him:

"Going up my way?"

"No," said he, "Herr Mack's given me a bit of work to do here that'll
keep me till midnight."

I nodded, and thought to myself that it was well.

I took my fish and went off, going round by way of the blacksmith's
house. Eva was there alone.

"I have been longing for you with all my heart," I told her. And I was
moved at the sight of her. She could hardly look me in the face for
wonder. "I love your youth and your good eyes," I said. "Punish me
to-day because I have thought more of another than of you. I tell you, I
have come here only to see you; you make me happy, I am fond of you. Did
you hear me calling for you last night?"

"No," she answered, frightened.

"I called Edwarda, but it was you I meant. I woke up and heard myself.
Yes, it was you I meant; it was only a mistake; I said 'Edwarda,' but it
was only by accident. By Heaven, you are my dearest, Eva! Your lips are
so red to-day. Your feet are prettier than Edwarda's--just look
yourself and see."

Joy such as I had never seen in her lit up her face; she made as if to
turn away, but hesitated, and put one arm round my neck.

We talked together, sitting all the time on a long bench, talking to
each other of many things. I said:

"Would you believe it? Edwarda has not learnt to speak properly yet; she
talks like a child, and says 'more happier.' I heard her myself. Would
you say she had a lovely forehead? I do not think so. She has a devilish
forehead. And she does not wash her hands."

"But we weren't going to talk of her any more."

"Quite right. I forgot."

A little pause. I was thinking of something, and fell silent.

"Why are your eyes wet?" asked Eva.

"She has a lovely forehead, though," I said, "and her hands are always
clean. It was only an accident that they were dirty once. I did not mean
to say what I did." But then I went on angrily, with clenched teeth: "I
sit thinking of you all the time, Eva; but it occurs to me that perhaps
you have not heard what I am going to tell you now. The first time
Edwarda saw Asop, she said: 'Asop--that was the name of a wise man--a
Phrygian, he was.' Now wasn't that simply silly? She had read it in a
book the same day, I'm sure of it."

"Yes," says Eva; "but what of it?"

"And as far as I remember, she said, too, that Asop had Xanthus for his
teacher. Hahaha!"

"Yes?"

"Well, what the devil is the sense of telling a crowd of people that
Asop had Xanthus for his teacher? I ask you. Oh, you are not in the mood
to-day, Eva, or you would laugh till your sides ached at that."

"Yes, I think it is funny," said Eva, and began laughing forcedly and in
wonder. "But I don't understand it as well as you do."

I sit silent and thoughtful, silent and thoughtful.

"Do you like best to sit still and not talk?" asked Eva softly. Goodness
shone in her eyes; she passed her hand over my hair,

"You good, good soul," I broke out, and pressed her close to me. "I know
for certain I am perishing for love of you; I love you more and more;
the end of it will be that you must go with me when I go away. You shall
see. Could you go with me?"

"Yes," she answered.

I hardly heard that yes, but I felt it in her breath and all through
her. We held each other fiercely.

An hour later I kissed Eva good-bye and went away. At the door I meet
Herr Mack.

Herr Mack himself.

He started--stared into the house--stopped there on the doorstep,
staring in. "Ho!" said he, and could say no more; he seemed thrown
altogether off his balance.

"You did not expect to find me here," I said, raising my cap.

Eva did not move.

Herr Mack regained his composure; a curious confidence appeared in his
manner, and he answered:

"You are mistaken: I came on purpose to find you. I wish to point out to
you that from the 1st of April it is forbidden to fire a shot within
half a mile of the bird-cliffs. You shot two birds out at the island
to-day; you were seen doing so."

"I shot two guillemots," I said helplessly. I saw at once that the man
was in the right.

"Two guillemots or two eiderducks--it is all the same. You were within
the prohibited limit."

"I admit it," I said. "It had not occurred to me before."

"But it ought to have occurred to you."

"I also fired off both barrels once in May, at very nearly the same
spot. It was on a picnic one day. And it was done at your own request."

"That is another matter," answered Herr Mack shortly.

"Well, then, devil take it, you know what you have to do, I suppose?"

"Perfectly well," he answered.

Eva held herself in readiness; when I went out, she followed me; she had
put on a kerchief, and walked away from the house; I saw her going down
towards the quay. Herr Mack walked back home.

I thought it over. What a mind, to hit on that all at once, and save
himself! And those piercing eyes of his. A shot, two shots, a brace of
guillemots--a fine, a payment. And then everything, _everything_, would
be settled with Herr Mack and his house. After all, it was going off so
beautifully quickly and neatly...

The rain was coming down already, in great soft drops. The magpies flew
low along the ground, and when I came home and turned Asop loose he
began eating the grass. The wind was beginning to rustle.

XXII

A league below me is the sea. It is raining, and I am up in the hills.
An overhanging rock shelters me from the rain. I smoke my pipe, smoke
one pipe after another; and every time I light it, the tobacco curls up
like little worms crawling from the ash. So also with the thoughts that
twirl in my head. Before me, on the ground, lies a bundle of dry twigs,
from the ruin of a bird's nest. And as with that nest, so also with my
soul.

I remember every trifle of that day and the next. Hoho! I was hard put
to it then! ...

I sit here up in the hills and the sea and the air are voiceful, a
seething and moaning of the wind and weather, cruel to listen to.
Fishing boats and small craft show far out with reefed sails, human
beings on board--making for somewhere, no doubt, and Heaven knows where
all those lives are making for, think I. The sea flings itself up in
foam, and rolls and rolls, as if inhabited by great fierce figures that
fling their limbs about and roar at one another; nay, a festival of ten
thousand piping devils that duck their heads down between their
shoulders and circle about, lashing the sea white with the tips of their
wings. Far, far out lies a hidden reef, and from that hidden reef rises
a white merman, shaking his head after a leaky sailboat making out to
sea before the wind. Hoho! out to sea, out to the desolate sea...

I am glad to be alone, that none may see my eyes. I lean securely
against the wall of rock, knowing that no one can observe me from
behind. A bird swoops over the crest with a broken cry; at the same
moment a boulder close by breaks loose and rolls down towards the sea.
And I sit there still for a while, I sink into restfulness; a warm sense
of comfort quivers in me because I can sit so pleasantly under shelter
while the rain pours down outside. I button up my jacket, thanking God
for the warmth of it. A little while more. And I fall asleep.

It was afternoon. I went home; it was still raining. Then--an unexpected
encounter. Edwarda stood there before me on the path. She was wet
through, as if she had been out in the rain a long time, but she smiled.
Ho! I thought to myself, and my anger rose; I gripped my gun and walked
fiercely although she herself was smiling.

"_Goddag!_" she called, speaking first.

I waited till I had come some paces nearer, and said:

"Fair one, I give you greeting."

She started in surprise at my jesting tone. Alas, I knew not what I was
saying. She smiled timidly, and looked at me.

"Have you been up in the hills to-day?" she asked. "Then you must be
wet. I have a kerchief here, if you care for it; I can spare it... Oh,
you don't know me." And she cast down her eyes and shook her head when I
did not take her kerchief.

"A kerchief?" I answer, grinning in anger and surprise. "But I have a
jacket here--won't you borrow it? I can spare it--I would have lent it
to anyone. You need not be afraid to take it. I would have lent it to a
fishwife, and gladly."

I could see that she was eager to hear what I would say. She listened
with such attention that it made her look ugly; she forgot to hold her
lips together. There she stood with the kerchief in her hand--a white
silk kerchief which she had taken from her neck. I tore off my jacket in
turn.

"For Heaven's sake put it on again," she cried. "Don't do that! Are you
so angry with me? _Herregud!_ put your jacket on, do, before you get wet
through."

I put on my jacket again.

"Where are you going?" I asked sullenly.

"No--nowhere ... I can't understand what made you take off your jacket
like that ..."

"What have you done with the Baron to-day?" I went on. "The Count can't
be out at sea on a day like this."

"Glahn, I just wanted to tell you something ..."

I interrupted her:

"May I beg you to convey my respects to the Duke?"

We looked at each other. I was ready to break in with further
interruptions as soon as she opened her mouth. At last a twinge of pain
passed over her face; I turned away and said:

"Seriously, you should send His Highness packing, Edwarda. He is not the
man for you. I assure you, he has been wondering these last few days
whether to make you his wife or not--and that is not good enough for
you."

"No, don't let us talk about that, please. Glahn, I have been thinking
of you; you could take off your jacket and get wet through for another's
sake; I come to you ..."

I shrugged my shoulders and went on:

"I should advise you to take the Doctor instead. What have you against
him? A man in the prime of life, and a clever head--you should think it
over."

"Oh, but do listen a minute ..."

Asop, my dog, was waiting for me in the hut. I took off my cap, bowed
to her again, and said:

"Fair one, I give you farewell."

And I started off.

She gave a cry:

"Oh, you are tearing my heart out. I came to you to-day; I waited for
you here, and I smiled when you came. I was nearly out of my mind
yesterday, because of something I had been thinking of all the time; my
head was in a whirl, and I thought of you all the time. To-day I was
sitting at home, and someone came in; I did not look up, but I knew who
it was. 'I rowed half a mile to-day,' he said. 'Weren't you tired?' I
asked. 'Oh yes, very tired, and it blistered my hands,' he said, and was
very concerned about it. And I thought: Fancy being concerned about
that! A little after he said: 'I heard someone whispering outside my
window last night; it was your maid and one of the store men talking
very intimately indeed.' 'Yes, they are to be married,' I said. 'But
this was at two o'clock in the morning!' 'Well, what of it?' said I,
and, after a little: 'The night is their own.' Then he shifted his gold
spectacles a little up his nose, and observed: 'But don't you think, at
that hour of night, it doesn't look well?' Still I didn't look up, and
we sat like that for ten minutes. 'Shall I bring you a shawl to put over
your shoulders?' he asked. 'No, thank you,' I answered. 'If only I dared
take your little hand,' he said. I did not answer--I was thinking of
something else. He laid a little box in my lap. I opened the box, and
found a brooch in it. There was a coronet on the brooch, and I counted
ten stones in it... Glahn, I have that brooch with me now; will you
look at it? It is trampled to bits--come, come and see how it is
trampled to bits... 'Well, and what am I to do with this brooch?' I
asked. 'Wear it,' he answered. But I gave him back the brooch, and said,
'Let me alone--it is another I care for.' 'What other?' he asked. 'A
hunter in the woods,' I said. 'He gave me two lovely feathers once, for
a keepsake. Take back your brooch.' But he would not. Then I looked at
him for the first time; his eyes were piercing. 'I will not take back
the brooch. You may do with it as you please; tread on it,' he said. I
stood up and put the brooch under my heel and trod on it. That was this
morning... For four hours I waited and waited; after dinner I went out.
He came to meet me on the road. 'Where are you going?' he asked. 'To
Glahn,' I answered,'to ask him not to forget me...' Since one o'clock I
have been waiting here. I stood by a tree and saw you coming--you were
like a god. I loved your figure, your beard, and your shoulders, loved
everything about you... Now you are impatient; you want to go, only to
go; I am nothing to you, you will not look at me ..." I had stopped.
When she had finished speaking I began walking on again. I was worn out
with despair, and I smiled; my heart was hard.

"Yes?" I said, and stopped again. "You had something to say to me?"

But at this scorn of mine she wearied of me.

"Something to say to you? But I have told you--did you not hear? No,
nothing--I have nothing to tell you any more..."

Her voice trembled strangely, but that did not move me.

Next morning Edwarda was standing outside the hut when I went out.

I had thought it all over during the night, and taken my resolve. Why
should I let myself be dazzled any longer by this creature of moods, a
fisher-girl, a thing of no culture? Had not her name fastened for long
enough on my heart, sucking it dry? Enough of that!--though it struck me
that, perhaps, I had come nearer to her by treating her with
indifference and scorn. Oh, how grandly I had scorned her--after she had
made a long speech of several minutes, to say calmly: "Yes? You had
something to say to me...?"

She was standing by the big stone. She was in great excitement, and
would have run towards me; her arms were already opened. But she
stopped, and stood there wringing her hands. I took off my cap and bowed
to her without a word.

"Just one thing I wanted to say to you to-day, Glahn," she said
entreatingly. And I did not move, but waited, just to hear what she
would say next. "I hear you have been down at the blacksmith's. One
evening it was. Eva was alone in the house."

I started at that, and answered:

"Who told you that?"

"I don't go about spying," she cried. "I heard it last evening; my
father told me. When I got home all wet through last night, my father
said: 'You were rude to the Baron to-day.' 'No,' I answered. 'Where have
you been now?' he asked again. I answered: 'With Glahn.'

"And then my father told me."

I struggled with my despair; I said:

"What is more, Eva has been here."

"Has she been here? In the hut?"

"More than once. I made her go in. We talked together."

"Here too?"

Pause. "Be firm!" I said to myself; and then, aloud:

"Since you are so kind as to mix yourself up in my affairs, I will not
be behindhand. I suggested yesterday that you should take the Doctor;
have you thought it over? For really, you know, the prince is simply
impossible."

Her eyes lit with anger. "He is not, I tell you," she cried
passionately. "No, he is better than you; he can move about in a house
without breaking cups and glasses; he leaves my shoes alone. Yes! He
knows how to move in society; but you are ridiculous--I am ashamed of
you--you are unendurable--do you understand that?"

Her words struck deep; I bowed my head and said:

"You are right; I am not good at moving in society. Be merciful. You do
not understand me; I live in the woods by choice--that is my happiness.
Here, where I am all alone, it can hurt no one that I am as I am; but
when I go among others, I have to use all my will power to be as I
should. For two years now I have been so little among people at all..."

"There's no saying what mad thing you will do next," she went on. "And
it is intolerable to be constantly looking after you."

How mercilessly she said it! A very bitter pain passed through me. I
almost toppled before her violence. Edwarda had not yet done; she went
on:

"You might get Eva to look after you, perhaps. It's a pity though, that
she's married."

"Eva! Eva married, did you say?"

"Yes, married!"

"Why, who is her husband?"

"Surely you know that. She is the blacksmith's wife."

"I thought she was his daughter."

"No, she is his wife. Do you think I am lying to you?"

I had not thought about it at all; I was simply astonished. I just stood
there thinking: Is Eva married?

"So you have made a happy choice," says Edwarda.

Well, there seemed no end to the business. I was trembling with
indignation, and I said:

"But you had better take the Doctor, as I said. Take a friend's advice;
that prince of yours is an old fool." And in my excitement I lied about
him, exaggerated his age, declared he was bald, that he was almost
totally blind; I asserted, moreover, that he wore that coronet thing in
his shirt front wholly and solely to show off his nobility. "As for me,
I have not cared to make his acquaintance, there is nothing in him of
mark at all; he lacks the first principles; he is nothing."

"But he is something, he is something," she cried, and her voice broke
with anger. "He is far more than you think, you thing of the woods. You
wait. Oh, he shall talk to you--I will ask him myself. You don't believe
I love him, but you shall see you are mistaken. I will marry him; I will
think of him night and day. Mark what I say: I love him. Let Eva come if
she likes--hahaha! Heavens, let her come--it is less than nothing to me.
And now let me get away from here..."

She began walking down the path from the hut; she took a few small
hurried steps, turned round, her face still pale as death, and moaned:
"And let me never see your face again."

XXIII

Leaves were yellowing; the potato-plants had grown to full height and
stood in flower; the shooting season came round again; I shot hare and
ptarmigan and grouse; one day I shot an eagle. Calm, open sky, cool
nights, many clear, clear tones and dear sounds in the woods and fields.
The earth was resting, vast and peaceful...

"I have not heard anything from Herr Mack about the two guillemots I
shot," I said to the Doctor.

"You can thank Edwarda for that," he said. "I know. I heard that she
set herself against it."

"I do not thank her for it," said I...

Indian summer--Indian summer. The stars lay like belts in through the
yellowing woods; a new star came every day. The moon showed like a
shadow; a shadow of gold dipped in silver...

"Heaven help you, Eva, are you married?"

"Didn't you know that?"

"No, I didn't know."

She pressed my hand silently.

"God help you, child, what are we to do now?" "What _you_ will. Perhaps
you are not going away just yet; I will be happy as long as you are
here."

"No, Eva."

"Yes, yes--only as long as you are here."

She looked forsaken, kept pressing my hand.

"No, Eva. Go--never any more!"

* * * * *

Nights pass and days come--three days already since this last talk. Eva
comes by with a load. How much wood has that child carried home from
the forest this summer alone?

"Set the load down, Eva, and let me see if your eyes are as blue as
ever."

Her eyes were red.

"No--smile again, Eva! I can resist no more; I am your, I am yours..."

Evening. Eva sings, I hear her singing, and a warmth goes through me.

"You are singing this evening, child?"

"Yes, I am happy."

And being smaller than I, she jumps up a little to put her arms round my
neck.

"But, Eva, you have scratched your hands. _Herregud_! oh, if you had not
scratched them so!"

"It doesn't matter."

Her face beams wonderfully.

"Eva, have you spoken to Herr Mack?"

"Yes, once."

"What did he say, and what did you?"

"He is so hard with us now; he makes my husband work day and night down
at the quay, and keeps me at all sorts of jobs as well. He has ordered
me to do man's work now."

"Why does he do that?"

Eva looks down.

"Why does he do that, Eva?"

"Because I love you."

"But how could he know?"

"I told him."

Pause.

"Would to Heaven he were not so harsh with you, Eva."

"But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all now."

And her voice is like a little tremulous song in the woods.

* * * * *

The woods more yellow still. It is drawing towards autumn now; a few
more stars have come in the sky, and from now on the moon looks like a
shadow of silver dipped in gold. There is no cold; nothing, only a cool
stillness and a flow of life in the woods. Every tree stands in silent
thought. The berries are ripe.

Then--the twenty-second of August and the three iron nights. [Footnote:
_Joernnatter_. Used of the nights in August when the first frosts
appear.]

XXIV

The first iron night.

At nine the sun sets. A dull darkness settles over the earth, a star or
so can be seen; two hours later there is a glow of the moon. I wander
up in the woods with my gun and my dog. I light a fire, and the light of
the flames shines in between the fir-trunks. There is no frost.

"The first iron night!" I say. And a confused, passionate delight in the
time and the place sends a strange shiver through me...

"Hail, men and beasts and birds, to the lonely night in the woods, in
the woods! Hail to the darkness and God's murmuring between the trees,
to the sweet, simple melody of silence in my ears, to green leaves and
yellow! Hail to the life-sound I hear; a snout against the grass, a dog
sniffing over the ground! A wild hail to the wildcat lying crouched,
sighting and ready to spring on a sparrow in the dark, in the dark! Hail
to the merciful silence upon earth, to the stars and the half moon; ay,
to them and to it!" ...

I rise and listen. No one has heard me. I sit down again.

"Thanks for the lonely night, for the hills, the rush of the darkness
and the sea through my heart! Thanks for my life, for my breath, for the
boon of being alive to-night; thanks from my heart for these! Hear, east
and west, oh, hear. It is the eternal God. This silence murmuring in my
ears is the blood of all Nature seething; it is God weaving through the
world and me. I see a glistening gossamer thread in the light of my
fire; I hear a boat rowing across the harbour; the northern lights flare
over the heavens to the north. By my immortal soul, I am full of thanks
that it is I who am sitting here!"

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