Shallow Soil by Knut Hamsun

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She was still so confused that she remained standing immobile; she did not
even brush the heather from her dress. And when he got up she made no
effort to go, but remained where she was.

"Listen, I want you to promise not to tell this to anybody. I am afraid--
And you must not think of me any more. I had no idea that you really
cared; of course, I thought that you liked me very much--I had begun to
think that; but I never thought--'How could _he_ care for
_me?_' I always thought. If you want me to I will go back to Torahus
and stay there awhile."

He was deeply moved; he swallowed hard and his eyes grew moist. This
delicious simplicity, these candid words, her very attitude, which was
free from fear and entirely unaffected--his feelings flared up in him like
a consuming flame: No, no, not to Torahus--only stay! He would control
himself, would show her that he could control himself; she must not go
away. Even should he lose his mind and perish altogether--rather that, if
she would only stay!

He continued talking while he was brushing off her dress. She must pardon
him; he was not like everybody else, he was a poet; when it came over him
he must yield. But he would give her no further cause for complaint if she
would only stay.... Wouldn't she mind going away the least little bit,
though? No, of course, he had no false illusions.

Pause. He was waiting for her to answer, to contradict him; perhaps she
would go to Torahus a little regretfully after all? But she remained
silent. Did she, then, hold him in so slight regard? Impossible! Still,
the thought began to worry him; he felt aggrieved, hurt, almost slighted.
He repeated his question: Did all his love for her not call forth the
tiniest responsive spark in her heart?

She answered gently and sorrowfully:

"Please do not ask. What do you think Ole would say if he heard you?"

Ole? He had not given him a thought. Did he really play the role of
competitor to Ole Henriksen? It was too ridiculous. He could not believe
that she meant what she had said. Ole might be all right as far as that
went; he bought and sold, went his peddler rounds through life, paid his
bills and added dollars to his hoard. That was all. Did money really
matter so much to her? God knows, perhaps even this girlish little head
had its concealed nook where thoughts were figuring in crowns and pennies!

Irgens was silent for an instant; he felt the pangs of jealousy. Ole might
be able to hold her; he was tall and blue-eyed--perhaps she even preferred
him?

"Ole?" he said. "I do not care in the least what he would say. Ole does
not exist for me; it is you I love."

She seemed startled for the first time; she frowned a little and began to
walk away.

"This is too contemptible!" she said. "I wish you hadn't said that. So it
is me you love? Well, don't tell me any more about it."

"Miss Aagot--one word only. Don't you care the least little bit for me?"

He had seized her arm; she had to look at him. He was too violent; he did
not control himself as he had promised; he was not very handsome now.

She answered: "I love Ole; I hope you understand that."

The sun sank deeper. People had left the island; only an occasional late
straggler was still seen walking along the road toward the city. Irgens
did not ask questions any more; he spoke only when necessary. Aagot tried
in vain to start a conversation; she had all she could do to keep her
heart under control.

When they were in the boat again he said: "Perhaps you would have
preferred to drive back alone? I may be able to find a hackman for you, if
you like."

"Now don't be angry any more!" she said.

She could hardly keep her eyes from brimming over; she forced herself to
think of indifferent matters in order to regain control over herself; she
gazed back toward the island, followed the flight of a bird that sailed
gracefully above the water. She asked:

"Is that water over there?"

"No," he answered; "it is a meadow; the dew makes it look dark."

"Imagine! To me it looked like water." But as it was impossible to talk
further about this green meadow they were both silent.

He was rowing hard; they approached the docks. He landed and jumped out to
help her ashore. Neither of them had gloves on; her warm hand rested in
his, and she took the opportunity of thanking him for the trip.

"I want to ask you to forget that I have bothered you with my heart
troubles," he said.

And he lifted his hat, without waiting for an answer, jumped into the
boat, and pushed off.

She had stopped at the head of the steps. She saw that he went back into
the boat, and wanted to call to him and ask where he was going; but she
gave it up. He saw her fair form disappear across the jetty.

He had in reality not intended to do this; he acted on the spur of the
moment, embarrassed as he was, hardly knowing what he was doing. He seized
the oars and rowed out again, towards the island. The evening was
wondrously calm. Now, when he was alone, he realised how deep was his
despair; another disappointment, another fall, the very worst! And not a
star in the murky night! He suddenly remembered Hanka, who probably had
looked for him to-day; who perhaps was seeking him even now. No; Hanka was
not fair; Hanka was dark; she did not radiate, but she allured. But how
was it--didn't she walk a little peculiarly? No, Hanka did not have
Aagot's carriage. And why was it her laugh no longer made his blood
tingle?

He rested on the oars and let the boat drift. It grew darker. Fragmentary
thoughts drifted through his brain: a rudderless ship on the buffeting
waves, an emperor in defeat, King Lear, thoughts and thoughts. He went aft
and began to write on the back of some envelopes, verse upon verse. Thank
God, nothing could rob him of his talent! And this thought sent a thrill
of warm happiness coursing through his veins.

VI

Tidemand was still optimistic; his ice business in England was very
profitable. He did not place much faith in the reports that extensive
rains throughout Russia had greatly improved the prospects for a normal
harvest. It had rained, of course, but the fact remained that Russia was
still closed; not a sack of grain could be smuggled out if one were to
offer for it its weight in gold. Tidemand stuck to his price; occasionally
he would sell small quantities throughout the country, but his enormous
stores were hardly affected by this; he needed a panic, a famine, before
he could unload. But there was no hurry; only wait until winter!

As usual, Tidemand was eagerly sought by business solicitors of every
description; subscription lists and all kinds of propositions were placed
before him; his name was in demand everywhere. Nothing could be started
without the support of the business element; and it was especially the
younger business men, the energetic and self-made men who conducted the
large enterprises, who commanded money and credit and knew and recognised
opportunities, whose interest had to be enlisted. There was the electric
street-car proposition, the new theatre, the proposed pulp-mills in
Vardal, the whale-oil factories in Henningsvaer--everything had to have
the business men's stamp of approval. Both Tidemand and Ole Henriksen
became share-owners in everything as a matter of course.

"My father should have known this!" Tidemand would often say when he gave
his signature. His father had a reputation for miserly thrift which had
survived him; he was one of the old-fashioned tradesmen, who went around
in his shirt-sleeves and apron, and weighed out soap and flour by the
pound. He had no time to dress decently; his shoes were still a byword;
the toes were sticking out, and when he walked it looked as if his toes
were searching for pennies on the flagstones. The son did not resemble the
father much; for him the old horizons had been broken, cracked wide, and
opened large views; his optimistic business courage was recognised.

Ole Henriksen had just dropped in on him in his office and was talking
about the projected tannery for which an ideal site had been found near
Torahus. This enterprise was bound to amount to something in the near
future; the great forests were being cut rapidly; the lumber was sold here
and abroad. But two and three inch cuttings and the tops were left and
went to waste. What a lack of foresight! Pine bark contained nearly twenty
per cent tannin; why not utilise it and make money out of it?

"We will see what can be done next spring."

Ole Henriksen looked a little overworked. He had not sufficient help; when
he went to England that autumn he would have to give his head assistant
power of attorney and leave everything to him. Since Aagot came Ole's work
had been only fun; but now she was a little indisposed and had kept
up-stairs for a couple of days. Ole missed her. She must have been
careless on this excursion day before yesterday and have caught a cold. He
had wanted to take her out in the little yacht, but this had now been
postponed until Sunday. He asked Tidemand to come along; there would be a
few more; they would sail out to some reef and have coffee.

"Are you sure Miss Aagot will be well by Sunday?" asked Tidemand. "These
boat-rides are dangerous so early in the year. What I was going to say
was: Won't you please ask Hanka yourself? I am not sure I can make her
come--In regard to this tannery proposition, I think I shall have to hold
the matter in abeyance for the present. It will also depend on the lumber
quotations to some extent."

Ole returned after he had looked up Hanka and invited her. He wondered a
little over Tidemand's remark about boat-rides being dangerous; Tidemand
had given the remark a subtle meaning, and Ole had looked at him
interrogatingly.

Ole found Aagot in her own room; she was reading. When he entered she
threw down her book and ran to him. She was well again, entirely well--
just feel the pulse, not a trace of fever! How she looked forward to
Sunday! Ole warned her again about being careful; she would have to dress
properly. Even Tidemand had spoken about these risky boat-rides so early
in the season.

"And you are going to be the hostess!" he chaffed her. "What a darling
little mistress! By the way, what are you reading?"

"Oh, that is only Irgens's poems," she answered.

"Don't say 'only' Irgens's poems," he chided her playfully. "By the way, I
ran across Coldevin a moment ago; he said he was looking for somebody. I
couldn't get him to come up--he simply wouldn't."

"Did you invite him to our excursion?" asked Aagot quickly. She seemed
very much disappointed because Ole had forgotten to ask him. He had to
promise her to try his best to find Coldevin before Sunday.

* * * * *

Tidemand rang Henriksen's bell late Saturday evening and asked for Ole. He
did not want to come in; it was only a small matter, he would keep Ole
only a minute.

When Ole came out he saw at once that something serious had happened. He
asked whether they should go down to the office or take a walk; Tidemand
did not care which. They went downstairs to the office.

Tidemand took out a telegram and said:

"I fancy my rye speculation isn't going to turn out very well. The prices
are normal at present; Russia has lifted the ban."

It was true that Russia had recalled her decree against rye exportations.
The favourable prospects had not proved disappointing, and this, in
connection with large amounts of grain stored in the elevators from
previous years, had made further restrictions superfluous. The famine
ghost had been laid; Russian and Finnish harbours were once more open.
Such was the purport of the telegraphic message.

Ole sat there silent. This was an awful blow! His brain was awhirl with
thoughts: could the telegram be a hoax, a piece of speculative trickery, a
bribed betrayal? He glanced at the signature; no, it was out of the
question to suspect this reliable agent. But had anything like that ever
happened before? A world-power had fooled itself and taken
self-destructive measures for no apparent reason! It was even worse than
in fifty-nine when a similar edict had been lifted and had caused the
world-markets wreck and ruin. But there had been war then.

The clock on the wall ticked and ticked in the unbroken silence.

Finally Ole asked: "Are you sure the wire is authentic?"

"It is authentic enough, I fancy," said Tidemand. "My agent wired me twice
yesterday to sell, and I sold what I could, sold even below the day's
quotations; but what did that amount to? I lost heavily yesterday, I tell
you."

"Well, don't do anything hastily now; let us consider this carefully. But
why did you not come to me yesterday? I had a right to expect that from
you."

"I ought hardly to have brought you such a piece of news this evening,
even, but--"

"Once and for all," Ole interrupted him, "understand that I will help you
all I possibly can. With everything I have, you understand. And that is
not so very little, either."

Pause.

"I thank you, Ole--for everything. I knew I shouldn't go to you in vain.
You could help me a good deal if you would take over some of my
obligations--I mean those that are non-speculative, of course."

"Nonsense--anybody will take such things! I am taking rye. We will date
the papers day before yesterday--for the sake of the old man."

Tidemand shook his head.

"I am not going to pull you under, too."

Ole looked at him; the veins in his temples were swelling. "You are a damn
fool!" he exclaimed angrily.

"Do you for a moment think you can so easily pull me under?" And Ole
swore, with blazing eyes, right into Tidemand's face: "By God, I'll show
you how easily you can pull _me_ under!"

But Tidemand was immovable; not even Ole's anger made him yield. He
understood Ole; his means were perhaps not so insignificant, but it was no
use making out that he could do everything. Ole boasted only because he
wanted to help him, that was all. But from to-morrow on the bottom would
simply drop out of the market; it wasn't right to sell rye even to one's
enemies at yesterday's prices.

"But what are you going to do? Are you going into a receiver's hands?"
asked Ole in a temper.

"No," answered Tidemand, "I think I can skin through without that. The ice
in England and Australia is quite a help now; not much, but crowns are
money to me now. I shall have to retrench, to sell what I can in order to
raise cash. I thought that perhaps you would care to buy--you might use it
when you are going to marry, you know, and we don't need it at all; we are
never there any more--"

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, I thought that you might want to buy my country estate now--You are
going to be married soon, so--" "Your country house? Are you going to
sell it?"

"What good is it to us?"

Pause. Ole noticed that Tidemand's composure began to fail him.

"All right. I'll take it. And whenever you want it back it will be for
sale. I have a premonition that it will not be mine so very long."

"Well, God only knows. Anyway, I am doing what I can and should. I am glad
the place will be yours. It is beautiful; it is not my fault we have not
been there this summer. Well, this will help some; as for the rest, we'll
see. I trust I can manage without closing up; that would be hard indeed.
And worst for the sake of the children!"

Again Ole offered his assistance.

"I appreciate your help, and I will avail myself of it within reasonable
limits. But a loss is a loss, and even if I weather the storm without
going into bankruptcy I shall be a poor man all the same. I don't know
whether I own a penny now or not--I am only glad that you didn't join me
in that unhappy speculation, Ole; that is a blessing, anyway. Well, we'll
see."

Ole asked:

"Does your wife know about this?"

"No; I'll tell her after the trip to-morrow."

"The trip? I'll cancel that, of course."

"No," said Tidemand, "I will ask you not to do that. Hanka is looking
forward to it; she has spoken of it a good deal. No, I would rather ask
you to act as if nothing has happened; be as cheerful as you can. I really
would appreciate it. Don't mention my misfortune at all, please."

And Tidemand put the fatal wire back in his pocket.

"I am sorry I had to come and bother you with this. But I go home with a
lighter heart, now I know you will take the country house."

SIXTYFOLD

I

A party of ladies and gentlemen had gathered on the jetty on the day of
the excursion. They were waiting for the Paulsbergs, who were late. Irgens
was growing impatient and sarcastic: Would it not be better to send the
yacht up for them? When finally Paulsberg and his wife arrived, they all
went aboard and were soon tacking out the fiord.

Tidemand held the tiller. A couple of warehousemen from Henriksen's wharf
were along as crew. Ole had arranged the trip carefully and had brought
along a choice supply of provisions; he had even remembered roasted coffee
for Irgens. But he had failed to find Coldevin, and he had purposely
avoided asking Gregersen; the Journalist might have heard the news from
Russia, and might inadvertently have betrayed the fatal tidings.

Tidemand looked as if he had spent a sleepless night. To Ole's whispered
inquiry, he answered smilingly that things might be worse. But he asked to
be allowed to keep his place at the tiller.

And the yacht tacked out toward the reefs.

Mrs. Hanka had chosen a place far forward; her face was fresh, and she had
thrown her fur coat around her shoulders; Milde said she looked
picturesque. He added loudly and gaily:

"And furthermore I wish it were drink time!"

Ole brought out bottles and glasses. He went around and wrapped the ladies
in shawls and blankets. Nothing to laugh about; true, the day was bright
and warm, but the sea air was treacherous. He repeatedly offered to
relieve Tidemand at the tiller, but was not permitted to. No, this was the
place for Tidemand; here he would not have to be entertaining, and he was
not in a mood for social amenities.

"Don't lose your nerve whatever happens! Have you heard anything further?"

"Only a confirmation. We shall get it officially to-morrow, I guess. But
don't worry; I have laid my lines now and shall manage to pull through
somehow. I imagine I shall save the ship."

Forward the spirits of the company rose rapidly. Ojen began to get a
little seasick, and drank steadily in order to subdue his qualms.

"It seems good to see you again," said Mrs. Hanka, prompted by a desire to
enliven him. "You still have your delicate face, but it is not quite as
pale as before you went away."

"But what is the matter with your eyes?" cried Mrs. Paulsberg mercilessly.
"I have never seen him as pallid as at this very moment."

This reference to his seasickness caused general merriment. Mrs. Hanka
continued to speak: She had heard his latest poem, that exquisite gem,
"Memories." His excursion had certainly been fruitful in results.

"You haven't heard my very latest poem, though," said Ojen in a weak
voice; "it has an Egyptian subject; the action takes place in an ancient
tomb--" And, sick and miserable as he was, he looked through all his
pockets for this poem. What could have become of it? He had taken it out
that morning with the intention of bringing it along; he had thought that
perhaps somebody would care to listen to it. He was not afraid of saying
that it really was a little out of the ordinary. He sincerely hoped he
hadn't lost it; in that case the trip would have proved most unfortunate
for him. Never had he produced anything so remarkable; it was only a
couple of pages, but....

"No," said Mrs. Hanka, "you must surely have left it behind." And she did
her best to make the poor poet forget his groundless fears. She had been
told that he preferred the city to the country?

He did, most assuredly. No sooner had his eyes beheld the straight lines
of streets and houses than his brain was aquiver, and he had conceived
that Egyptian prose poem. If that had been lost, now....

Milde had lately begun to appreciate Ojen; at last his eyes had been
opened to his poetry's delicate uniqueness. Irgens, who sat close enough
to hear this unusual praise, leaned over to Mrs. Hanka and said in a low
voice:

"You understand? Milde knows he has nothing to fear from his competitor
any more--hence his change of attitude." And Irgens pressed his lips
together and smiled venomously.

Mrs. Hanka glanced at him. How he persisted in his bitterness; how
unbecoming it was in him! He did not realise it, or he would not have thus
compressed his lips and continually shot baleful glances at his fellow
applicants. Otherwise Irgens was silent; he ignored Aagot entirely. She
thought: What have I done to him? Could I possibly have acted in any other
way?

The coffee was made on board, but out of regard for Ojen, who still felt
badly, it was decided to drink it on the very first reef they should
reach. They camped on the rocks, flung themselves on the ground, and threw
dignity to the winds. It was great fun; Ojen looked with big, astonished
eyes at everything--the sea, the waves which filled the air with a
continuous roar, the barren reef where not a tree grew and where the grass
was yellow from sun and spray. Aagot skipped round with cups and glasses;
she walked in a constant fear of dropping anything and stuck the tip of
her tongue out like a rope-walker.

Milde proposed that they drink her health. "Haven't you got champagne,
Ole?" he asked.

The champagne was produced, the glasses filled, and the toast drunk amid
cheers. Milde was in high spirits; he proposed that they throw the bottle
in the sea with a note enclosed which they all were to sign.

They all put their names down except Paulsberg, who curtly refused. A man
who wrote as much as he did could not sign his name to nonsensical notes,
he said. And he rose and walked away in dignified aloofness.

"Then I'll sign for him," said Milde, and seized a pencil.

But Mrs. Paulsberg cried indignantly:

"You will do nothing of the kind! Paulsberg has said that he does not want
his name on the note, and that ought to be sufficient for all of us." She
looked quite offended as she crossed her legs and held her cup in her
usual masculine fashion.

Milde apologised instantly; his proposition was meant as a harmless joke;
however, after considering the matter he admitted that perhaps it was a
little foolish and that it would not do for Paulsberg to have anything to
do with it. Perhaps they had better drop the whole thing; what did they
think? If Paulsberg wasn't going to be in it, then....

Irgens could not control himself any longer; he sneered openly and almost
hissed:

"Mr. Subsidist! You are divine!"

That subsidy was never out of his thoughts.

"And as for you," answered Milde scathingly, glaring at him with angry
eyes, "it is getting so that it is impossible to be near you."

Irgens feigned surprise.

"What is that? It would appear from your tone that I have offended you."

Mrs. Hanka had to intervene. Couldn't they stop quarrelling even on a
pleasure trip? They ought to be ducked if they couldn't behave!

And Irgens was silent at once; he did not even mumble maliciously between
his teeth. Mrs. Hanka grew thoughtful. How her poet and hero had changed
in a few brief weeks! What had really happened? How dull and lustreless
his dark eyes had become! Even his moustache seemed to be drooping; he had
lost his fresh immaculateness; he was not nearly as alluring as before.
But then she reminded herself of his disappointments, of that miserable
subsidy, and of his book, his beautiful lyric creation which they were
conspiring to kill by their studied silence. She leaned toward Aagot and
said:

"It is sad to observe how bitter Irgens has grown; have you noticed it? I
hope he will get over it soon." And Mrs. Hanka, who wanted to save him
from making too unfavourable an impression, added in the goodness of her
heart what she had heard Irgens himself say so often: It was not so
strange, after all; bitterness of that character could only arouse
respect. Here he had toiled and worked for years, had given freely of his
treasures, and the country, the government, had refused to offer him a
helping hand.

"Can you understand it?" said Aagot also. And she realised instantly that
she had not treated this man with the consideration due him; she had been
tactless; she had rebuffed him with unnecessary harshness. She wished her
conduct had been different; however, it was too late now.

Paulsberg returned from his solitary walk and suggested that it was time
to think of the return. The clouds held a menace of rain, he said; the sun
was sinking and it was blowing up a little.

Aagot went around again and poured coffee. She bent over Irgens, bent
deeper than necessary, and said:

"May I pour you some, Mr. Irgens?"

The almost supplicating note in her voice made him glance at her in
surprise. He did not want any coffee, thanks; but he smiled at her. She
was happy at once; she hardly knew what she was carrying, but she
stammered:

"Just a little, please."

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