Shallow Soil by Knut Hamsun

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"But you have the most infernal way of saying insolent things! You look as
if you were saying nothing of consequence--"

"I simply cannot understand why you lose your temper," said Milde
tranquilly, "when Paulsberg himself told us to grin and bear it!"

Pause.

"In a word," resumed Coldevin, "the people do their duty, the papers do
their duty. Our authors are not ordinary, readable talents; no, they are
flaming pillars of fire; they are being translated into German! They
assume dimensions. This, of course, can be repeated so often that people
at last believe it; but such a self-delusion is very harmful. It makes us
complacent, it perpetuates our insignificance."

Gregersen plays a trump card:

"But tell me, you--I don't remember your name:--do you know the story of
Vinje and the potato? I always think of that when I hear you speak. You
are so immensely unsophisticated; you are from the country, and you think
you can amaze us. You have not the slightest suspicion that your opinions
are somewhat antiquated. Your opinions are those of the self-taught man.
Once Vinje began to ponder over the ring in a newly cut, raw potato; being
from the country, you, at least, must know that there in springtime,
often, is a purple figure in a potato. And Vinje was so interested in this
purple outline that he sat down and wrote a mathematical thesis about it.
He took this to Fearnley in the fond belief that he had made a great
discovery. 'This is very fine,' said Fearnley; 'it is perfectly correct.
You have solved the problem. But the Egyptians knew this two thousand
years ago--' They knew it ages ago, ha, ha, ha! And I am always reminded
of this story when I hear you speak! Don't be offended, now!"

Pause.

"No, I am not offended in the least," said Coldevin. "But if I understand
you correctly, then we agree. I am only saying what you already know?"

But Gregersen shook his head in despair and turned to Milde.

"He is impossible," he said. He emptied his glass and spoke again to
Coldevin, spoke in a louder voice than necessary; he bent toward him and
shouted: "For Heaven's sake, man, don't you understand that your opinions
are too absurd--the opinions of the self-taught man? You think that what
you say is news to us. We have heard it for ages; we know it, and we think
it ridiculous. Isch! I don't want to talk to you!"

And Gregersen got up and walked unsteadily away. It was six o'clock. The
three men who remained at the table sat silently a few moments. At last
Coldevin said:

"There goes Journalist Gregersen. That man has my unqualified pity and
sympathy."

"He would hardly accept it," said Milde with a laugh.

"But he cannot avoid it. I think often of these writers for the daily
press, these faithful workers who accomplish more in a month than the
poets wring from themselves during a year. They are often married men in
poor circumstances; their fate is not too pleasant at best. They have
probably dreamed about a freer and richer life than this slavery in an
office where their best efforts are swallowed up in anonymity, and where
they often have to repress themselves and their convictions in order to
keep their jobs. It might be well if these men were given the approbation
they deserved; it might even be profitable; it might bear fruit in a free
and honest newspaper literature. What have we at present? An irresponsible
press, lacking convictions and clearly defined principles, its policy
dictated by personal preferences--by even worse motives. No; a truly great
journalist ranks far higher than a poet."

Just then the door opened and Irgens and Miss Aagot entered. They stopped
by the door and looked around; Aagot showed no sign of embarrassment, but
when she caught sight of Coldevin, she stepped forward quickly, with a
smile on lips that were already opened as if to speak. Suddenly she
stopped. Coldevin stared at her and fumbled mechanically at his buttons.

This lasted a few moments. Irgens and Aagot went over to the table, shook
hands, and sat down. Aagot gave Coldevin her hand. Milde wanted to know
what they would have. He happened to be flush. "Order anything you like--"

"You come too late," he said smilingly. "Coldevin has entertained us
splendidly."

Irgens looked up. He shot a swift glance at Coldevin and said, while he
lit a cigar:

"I have enjoyed Mr. Coldevin's entertainment once before in Tivoli, I
believe. This will have to satisfy me for the present."

It was only with difficulty that Irgens succeeded in hiding his
displeasure. This was the second time to-day he had seen Coldevin; he had
observed him outside his lodgings in Thranes Road No. 5. He had not been
able to get Aagot out until this infernal fellow had disappeared. By a
happy chance Grande had passed by; otherwise he would probably have been
there still. And how had he acted? He had stood like a guard, immovable;
Irgens had been furious. He had had the greatest difficulty in keeping
Aagot from the windows. If she had happened to glance out she must have
discovered him. He had made no effort to conceal himself. One would think
he had stood there with the avowed intention of being seen, in order to
keep the couple in a state of siege.

Now he appeared slightly embarrassed. He fingered his glass nervously and
looked down. But suddenly it seemed as if Irgens's insolence had roused
him; he said bluntly and without connection with what had been discussed
before:

"Tell me one thing--Or, let me rather say it myself: These poets are
turning everything upside down; nobody dares to grumble. An author might
owe in unsecured debts his twenty thousand--what of it? He is unable to
pay, that is all. What if a business man should act in this manner? What
if he were to obtain wine or clothes on false promises of payment? He
would simply be arrested for fraud and declared bankrupt. But the authors,
the artists, these talented superbeings who suck the country's blood like
vampires to the nation's acclaim--who would dare take such measures with
them? People simply discuss the scandal privately and laugh and think it
infernally smart that a man can owe his twenty thousand--"

Milde put his glass down hard and said:

"My good man, this has gone far enough!"

That splendid fellow Milde seemed all at once to have lost his patience.
While he was sitting alone with the Attorney and the Actor he had found
the miserable Tutor's bitter sarcasms amusing, but no sooner had one of
the Authors appeared than he felt outraged and struck his fist on the
table. It was Milde's excellent habit always to await reinforcements.

Coldevin looked at him.

"Do you think so?" he said.

"I'll be damned if I don't."

Coldevin had undoubtedly spoken intentionally. He had even addressed his
remarks very plainly. Irgens bit his moustache occasionally.

But now Norem woke up. He understood that something was happening before
his dull eyes, and he began to mix in, to declaim about business morals.
It was the rottenest morality on earth, usury--a morality for Jews! Was it
right to demand usurious interest? Don't argue with him. He knew what he
was talking about. Ho! business morals! The rottenest morals on earth....

Meanwhile the Attorney was talking across the table to Irgens and Miss
Aagot. He told them how he had come across Coldevin.

"I ran across him a moment ago up your way, Irgens, in Thranes Road, right
below your windows. I brought him along. I couldn't let the fellow stand
there alone--"

Aagot asked quickly, with big, bewildered eyes:

"Thranes Road, did you say? Irgens, he was standing below your windows!"

Her heart was fluttering with fear. Coldevin observed her fixedly; he made
sure that she should notice he was staring straight at her.

Meanwhile Norem continued his impossible tirade. So it was charged that
the people as a whole was corrupt, that its men and women were debased
because they honoured literature and art. "Ho! you leave art alone, my
good man, and don't you bother about that! Men and women corrupt!--"

Coldevin seized this chance remark by the hair and replied. He did not
address Norem; he looked away from him. He spoke about something that
evidently was vitally important in his eyes. He addressed himself to
nobody in particular, and yet his words were meant for some one. It was
hardly correct to say that men and women were corrupt; they had simply
reached a certain degree of hollowness; they had degenerated and grown
small. Shallow soil, anaemic soil, without growth, without fertility! The
women carried on their surface existence. They were not tired of life, but
they did not venture much either. How could they put up any stakes? They
had none to put up. They darted around like blue, heatless flames; they
nibbled at everything, joys and sorrows, and they did not realise that
they had grown insignificant. Their ambitions did not soar; their hearts
did not suffer greatly; they beat quite regularly, but they did not swell
more for one thing than for another, more for one person than for another.
What had our young women done with their proud eyes? Nowadays they looked
on mediocrity as willingly as on superiority. They lost themselves in
admiration over rather every-day poetry, over common fiction. Some time
ago greater and prouder things were needed to conquer them. There was a
page here and there in Norway's history to prove that. Our young women had
modified their demands considerably; they couldn't help it; their pride
was gone, their strength sapped. The young woman had lost her power, her
glorious and priceless simplicity, her unbridled passion, her brand of
breed. She had lost her pride in the only man, her hero, her god. She had
acquired a sweet tooth. She sniffed at everything and gave everybody the
willing glance. Love to her was simply the name for an extinct feeling;
she had read about it and at times she had been entertained by it, but it
had never sweetly overpowered her and forced her to her knees; it had
simply fluttered past her like an outworn sound. "But the young woman of
our day does not pretend to all this; alas, no! She is honestly shorn.
There is nothing to do about it; the only thing is to keep the loss within
limits. In a few generations we shall probably experience a renaissance;
everything comes in cycles. But for the present we are sadly denuded. Only
our business life beats with a healthy, strong pulse. Only our commerce
lives its deed-filled life. Let us place our faith in that! From it will
the newer Norway spring!"

These last words seemed to irritate Milde; he took out of his pocketbook a
ten-crown bill which he threw across the table to Coldevin. He said
furiously:

"There--take your money! I had almost forgotten that I owed you this
money, but I trust you understand that you can go now!"

Coldevin coloured deeply. He took the bill slowly.

"You do not thank me very politely for the loan," he said.

"And who has told you that I am a polite man? The main thing is that you
have got your money and that we hope now to be rid of you."

"Well, I thank you; I need it," said Coldevin. The very way in which he
picked up the bill showed plainly that he was not used to handling money.
Suddenly he looked straight at Milde and added:

"I must confess I had not expected you ever to repay this loan."

Milde blazed up, but only for a moment. Even this direct insult did not
make him lose his temper. He swallowed it, mumbled a reply, said finally
that he had not intended to be rude; he would apologise....

But Norem, who sat there drunk and dull, could no longer repress his
amusement. He only saw the comical side of the incident and cried
laughingly:

"Have you touched this fellow, too, Milde? So help me, you can borrow
money from anybody! You are inimitable. Ha, ha! from him, too!"

Coldevin rose.

Aagot got up simultaneously and ran over to him. She took his hand, a prey
to the greatest excitement. She began whispering to him. She led him over
to a window and continued speaking earnestly, in a low voice. They sat
down. There was nobody else around, and she said:

"Yes, yes, you are right; it is true. You were speaking to me; I
understood it only too well; you are right, right, right! Oh, but it is
going to be different! You said that I couldn't, that it was not within my
power; but I can; I will show you! I understand it all now; you have
opened my eyes. Dear, do not be angry with me. I have done a great wrong,
but--"

She wept with dry eyes. She swallowed hard. She sat on the very edge of
the chair in her excitement. He injected a word now and then, nodded,
shook his head when she appeared too disconsolate, and in his confusion he
called her "Aagot, dearest Aagot." She must not apply everything he had
said to herself, not at all. Of course, he had thought of her, too, that
was true; but then he had been mistaken--thank God for that! He had simply
wanted to warn her. She was so young; he, who was older, knew better from
where danger threatened. But now she must forget it and be cheerful.

They continued to speak. Irgens grew impatient and rose. He stretched
himself and yawned as if to indicate that he was going. Suddenly he
remembered something he had forgotten. He walked quickly over to the bar
and got some roasted coffee which he put in his vest pocket.

Milde settled the checks. He flung money around with the greatest
unconcern; then he said good-bye and left. A moment afterward they saw him
bow to a lady outside. He spoke a few words and they walked away through a
side-street. The lady wore a long boa which billowed behind her in the
breeze.

And still Aagot and Coldevin sat there.

"Won't you take me home? Excuse me a moment, I want to--"

She ran over to Irgens's table and took her coat from the chair.

"Are you going?" he asked her in amazement.

"Yes. Ugh--I won't do this any more. Goodbye!"

"What won't you do any more? Don't you want me to take you home?"

"No. And not later either; not to-morrow. No, I am through for good." She
gave Irgens her hand and said good-bye quickly. All the time she looked at
Coldevin and seemed impatient to be off.

"Remember our engagement for to-morrow," Irgens said.

III

Aagot and Coldevin walked together down the street. He said nothing about
his going away, and she didn't know of his intention. She was happy to be
with Coldevin, this phenomenon who irritated everybody with his impossible
harangues. She walked close beside him; her heart was fluttering.

"Forgive me!" she pleaded. "Yes, you must forgive me everything, both that
which has happened before and to-day. A while ago I should have been
afraid to ask you, but no sooner am I with you than I become bold again.
You never reprove me, never. But I haven't done anything wrong to-day--I
mean to-day when I was far up-town; you understand what I mean." And she
looked at him with an open, straightforward glance.

"Are you going back home soon, Miss Aagot?"

"Yes, I am going back at once--Forgive me, Coldevin, and believe me,
believe me--I have done nothing wrong to-day; but I am so sorry, I repent
everything--Blue, heatless flames, without much pride--I am not so stupid
that I do not know whom you had in mind when you said this."

"But, dearest Aagot," he exclaimed in his perplexity, "it was not meant
for you--I didn't mean it at all! And besides, I was mistaken, greatly
mistaken; thank God, _you_ are entirely different. But promise me one
thing, Aagot; promise that you will be a little careful, do! It is none of
my business, of course; but you have fallen in with a crowd--believe me,
they are not your kind of people. Mrs. Tidemand has gained bitter
experience through them."

She glanced at him inquiringly.

"I thought it best to tell you. Mrs. Tidemand, one of the few sterling
personalities in the clique, even she! One from that crowd has destroyed
her, too."

"Is that true?" said Aagot. "Well, I don't care in the least for them;
alas, no! I don't want to remember any of them." And she seized Coldevin's
arm and pressed close to him as if in fear.

This embarrassed him still more. He slowed up a little, and she said with
a smile as she let go his arm:

"I suppose I mustn't do that?"

"H'm. What are you going to do when you get back home? By the way, have
you heard from your fiance?"

"No, not yet. But I suppose it is too early. Are you afraid of anything
happening to him? Dear me, tell me if you are!"

"No; don't worry! He will get back safe enough."

They stopped at her door and said good-bye. She ascended the few steps
hesitatingly, without even lifting her dress; suddenly she turned, ran
downstairs again, and seized Coldevin's hand.

Without another word she hurried up-stairs and through the door.

He stood still a moment. He heard her steps from inside, then they died
down. And he turned and drifted down the street. He saw and heard nothing
of what happened around him.

Instinctively he walked toward the basement restaurant where he usually
took his meals. He went down and ordered something. Hurriedly he ate
everything that was placed before him; apparently he had not eaten for a
long while. And when he was through he took out the ten-crown bill and
paid his check from that. At the same time he felt in his waistcoat pocket
for a little package, a few crowns in silver--the small amount he had put
aside for his railway ticket, and which he had not dared to touch.

* * * * *

The following day, around five, Aagot was walking down toward the docks,
toward the same place where she had walked the day before. Irgens was
already waiting for her.

She hurried toward him and said:

"I came after all, but only to tell you--I won't meet you any more. I
haven't time to talk to you now, but I did not want you to come here and
wait for me."

"Listen, Miss Aagot," he said boldly, "you can't back out now, you know."

"I am not going home with you any more, never. I have learned something.
Why don't you get Mrs. Tidemand to go with you? Why don't you?" Aagot was
pale and excited.

"Mrs. Tidemand?" he asked, startled.

"Yes, I know everything. I have asked questions--Yes, I have thought of it
all night long. Go to Mrs. Tidemand, why don't you?"

He stepped close to her.

"Mrs. Tidemand has not existed for me since I saw you. I haven't seen her
for weeks. I don't even know where she lives."

"Well, it doesn't matter," she said. "I suppose you can look her up. I
won't go home with you, but I can walk with you a few moments."

They walked on. Aagot was quiet now.

"I said I have thought of it all night," she continued. "Of course, not
all night. All day, I meant. Not all the time, I mean--You ought to be
ashamed of yourself! Married ladies! You don't defend yourself very
warmly, Irgens."

"What is the use?"

"No, I suppose you love her." And when he was silent she grew violently
jealous. "You might at least tell me if you love her!"

"I love you," he answered, "I do not lie; it is you and nobody else I
love, Aagot. You can do with me what you like, but it is you." He did not
look at her. He gazed down on the pavement and he wrung his hands
repeatedly.

She felt that his emotion was genuine and she said gently:

"All right, Irgens, I'll believe you. But I won't go home with you."

Pause.

"What has made you so hostile toward me all of a sudden?" he asked. "Is it
this--? He has been your tutor, but I must frankly say that he disgusts
me, dirty and unkempt as he is."

"You will be good enough to speak civilly of Coldevin," she said coldly.

"Well, he is going away to-night, so we shall be rid of him," he said.

She stopped.

"Is he going this evening?"

"So I heard. On the night train."

Was he going? He hadn't mentioned that to her. Irgens had to tell her how
he knew. She was so taken up with this news about Coldevin that she forgot
everything else; perhaps she even felt a sense of relief at the thought
that henceforth she would be free from his espionage. When Irgens touched
her arm lightly she walked mechanically ahead. They went straight to his
rooms. When they stood by the entrance she suddenly recoiled. She said
"No!" repeatedly while she looked at him with staring, bewildered eyes.
But he pleaded with her. Finally he took her arm and led her firmly
inside.

The door slammed behind them....

On the corner Coldevin stood and watched. When the couple disappeared he
stepped forward and walked over to the entrance. He stood there awhile. He
bent forward stiffly as if he were listening. He was much changed. His
face was fearfully drawn and his lips were frozen in a ghastly smile. Then
he sat down on the steps, close by the wall, waiting.

An hour passed by. A tower-clock boomed. His train was not due to leave
for another hour. Half an hour went by. He heard somebody on the stairs.
Irgens came first. Coldevin did not stir; he sat motionless with his back
to the door. Then Aagot appeared. Suddenly she cried out loudly. Coldevin
arose and walked away. He had not looked at her nor had he said a word; he
had simply shown himself--he had been on the spot. He swayed like a man in
a stupor. He turned the very first corner, the frozen smile still on his
lips.

Coldevin walked straight down to the railway station. He bought his ticket
and was ready. The doors were thrown open. He walked out to the
train-shed; a porter came after him with his trunk. His trunk? All right;
he had almost forgotten it. Put it in there, in this empty compartment! He
entered after it had been stowed away; then he collapsed utterly. He sat
in the corner; his gaunt, emaciated body shivered convulsively. In a few
moments he took from his pocketbook a tiny silken bow in the Norwegian
colours and began to tear it to pieces. He sat there quietly and plucked
the threads apart. When he had finished he stared at the shreds with a
fixed, vacant stare. The engine gave a hoarse blast; the train started.
Coldevin opened the window slowly and emptied his hand. And the tiny bits
of red and blue whirled away behind the train, fluttered and sank to the
gravel, to be ground in the dust beneath every man's foot.

IV

It was several days later before Aagot went home. Irgens had not persisted
in vain. He had succeeded, and now he reaped the reward of all his labour.
Aagot was with him continually. She was as much in love with him as she
could be. She clung to his neck.

The days passed by.

Finally a telegram arrived from Ole, and Aagot woke from her trance. The
wire had been sent to Torahus. It reached her after much delay. Ole was in
London.

Well, what was to be done? Ole was in London, but he was not here yet. She
did not remember clearly how he looked. Dark, with blue eyes; tall, with a
stray wisp of hair which always fell across his forehead. Whenever she
thought of him he seemed to belong to an age long past. How long, long it
was since he went away!

The telegram stirred to life again her dormant feelings for the absent
one. She trembled with the old sense of possession. She whispered his name
and blessed him for his goodness. She called him to her, blushing
breathlessly. No, nobody was like him! He did not wrong anybody. He walked
his straightforward way, guileless and upright. How he loved her! Little
mistress, little mistress! His breast was so warm! She grew warm herself
when she nestled close to him. How he could look up from a row of figures
and smile!... Oh, she had not forgotten!...

She packed her belongings resolutely and wanted to go home in spite of
everything. The evening before she left she said good-bye to Irgens, a
protracted good-bye which rent her heart. She was his now, and Ole would
probably get over it. She made up her mind. She would go home and she
would cancel her engagement as soon as Ole returned. What would he say
when he read her letter with the ring enclosed? She writhed at the thought
that she wouldn't be near him to comfort him. She had to strike him from
afar! And thus it had to end!

Irgens was full of tenderness and cheered her as much as he could. They
should not be separated for long. If nothing else turned up he would walk
up to her on his feet! Besides, she could get back to town; she wasn't a
pauper exactly; she even owned a yacht, a real yacht--what more did she
want? And Aagot smiled at this jest and felt relieved.

The door was locked; they were alone. Everything was quiet; they heard
their hearts beat. And they said farewell to each other.

Irgens would not take her to the train. It might give rise to too much
gossip; the town was so small and he was, unfortunately, so well known.
But they would write, write every day; otherwise she would never be able
to endure the separation....

Tidemand was the only one who knew of Aagot's departure and who followed
her to the train. He was paying his usual call to Henriksen's office
during the afternoon and was having his daily chat with the old man. As he
left he met Aagot outside: she was ready to go. Tidemand accompanied her
and carried her valise; her trunk had been sent ahead.

It had rained and the streets were muddy. Aagot said several times:

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