Shallow Soil by Knut Hamsun

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"What a disagreeable, mournful day!"

They hardly spoke. Aagot simply said:

"It was very kind of you to come with me; otherwise I should have been
altogether alone." And Tidemand noticed that she tried to appear
unconcerned. She smiled, but her eyes were moist.

He, too, smiled and said comfortingly that he was glad she was going to
leave all this mud and filth; now she was going to the country, to cleaner
roads, to purer air. These few words were all they spoke. They stood in
the train-shed beneath the glass vault. It had begun to rain, and they
heard the drops beating on the roof while the engine stood wheezing on the
track. Aagot entered her compartment and gave Tidemand her hand. And in a
sudden desire to be forgiven, to be judged charitably, she said to this
stranger, whom she knew so slightly:

"Good-bye--And do not judge me too harshly!" and she coloured deeply.

"But, child!" he said amazed. He had no time to say more.

She put her fair little face out of the window and nodded as the train
moved along. Her eyes were wet, and she struggled not to break down. She
looked at Tidemand as long as she could see him, then she waved a tiny
handkerchief.

The strange girl! Her unaffected simplicity moved him. He did not stop
waving until the train was out of sight. Not judge her too harshly? He
certainly wouldn't! And if he ever had been tempted to, he would know
better in the future. She had waved to him--almost a stranger! He would be
sure and tell Ole--how that would please him!...

* * * * *

Tidemand walked toward his own wharf. He was very busy. He was altogether
taken up with his affairs. His business was steadily growing. He had been
forced to take on several of his old employees. At present he was shipping
tar.

When he had given his orders in the warehouse, he walked over to the
restaurant where he usually took his meals. It was late. He ate hurriedly
and spoke to no one. He was engrossed in thought about a new enterprise he
had in mind. His tar was going to Spain. The rye held firm, with good
prices; he sold steadily, his business began to stretch forth new arms.
There was that new tannery near Torahus. How would it do if one gave a
little thought to a tar-manufacturing plant alongside? He really was going
to speak to Ole about that. He had had it in mind several weeks. He had
even consulted an engineer about it. There were the cuttings and the tops.
If the tannery took the bark, why shouldn't the tar plant take the wood?

Tidemand walked home. It rained steadily.

A few steps from his office entrance he stopped abruptly; then he sidled
quietly into an area-way. He stared straight ahead. His wife was standing
out there in the rain, outside his office. She was gazing, now at his
office windows, now up to the second story. There she stood. He could not
be mistaken, and his breath came in gasps. Once before he had seen her
there. She had circled around in the shadows beneath the street lamps,
just as now. He had called her name in a low voice, and she had
immediately hurried around the street corner without looking back. This
happened a Sunday evening three weeks ago. And now she was here again.

He wanted to step forward. He made a movement and his raincoat rustled.
She glanced around quickly and hurried away. He stood immovable where he
was until she had disappeared.

V

Ole Henriksen returned a week later. He had become uneasy. He had
telegraphed to Aagot again and again, but could get no reply. He finished
up his business in a hurry and returned. But so far was he from suspecting
the true condition of affairs that on the very last afternoon in London he
bought her a little present, a carriage for her fiord pony on Torahus.

And on his desk he found Aagot's letter with her ring enclosed.

Ole Henriksen read the letter almost without grasping its meaning. His
hands commenced to tremble, and his eyes were staring. He went over and
locked the office door, and read the letter once more. It was brief and to
the point; it could not be misunderstood; she gave him back his "freedom."
And there was the ring, wrapped in tissue-paper. No, he could hardly be
uncertain as to the meaning of that letter.

And Ole Henriksen drifted back and forth in his office for several hours.
He placed the letter on his desk and walked with hands tightly clasped
behind him. He took the letter again and read it once more. He was "free"!

He must not think that she did not love him, she had written. She thought
of him as much as ever; yes, more even. She begged his forgiveness a
hundred times every day. But what good was it if she thought of him ever
so much? she continued. She was his no more, it had come to that. But she
had not surrendered at once, nor without a struggle; God knows that she
had loved him so dearly, and that she did not want to belong to anybody
but to him. However, it had gone entirely too far now; she would only ask
him to judge her kindly, though she did not deserve it, and not to grieve
over her.

The letter was dated twice. She had not noticed that. It was written in
Aagot's large, childish hand, and was touching in its simplicity; she had
made several corrections.

Yes, he had understood it clearly; and, besides, there was the ring. After
all, what did _he_ amount to? He was no prominent man, known all over
the country; he was no genius who could interest a girl greatly; he was
just an ordinary toiler, a business man--that was all. He should have
known better than imagine he would be allowed to keep Aagot's heart for
himself. Just see how he had fooled himself! Of course, he attended to his
business and worked conscientiously early and late, but that could not
make people fond of him. There was nothing to say to that. Anyhow, he knew
now why his telegrams had remained unanswered. He ought to have understood
it at once, but he hadn't.... She had gone entirely too far. She said
goodbye and loved somebody else. Nothing could be done about that. If she
loved somebody else, then.... It was probably Irgens--he would get her
after all. Tidemand had been right. It was dangerous with these many
boat-rides and walks; Tidemand had had experience. Well, it was too late
to think of that now. However, one's love could not have been so very
firmly rooted if a walk or two had been enough to break it down....

And suddenly the anger blazed up in the poor fellow. He walked more
rapidly and his forehead flamed. She had gone entirely too far. That was
his reward for the love he had lavished on her! He had knelt before a
hussy. He had let that miserable lover of hers cheat him openly for years!
He could prove it by the ledger--look here--now Aagot's fine friend had
been hard up for ten, now for fifty crowns! And he, Ole Henriksen, had
even been afraid that Aagot some day might chance to see the poet's
account in his books. He had finally put away the ledger, entirely out of
regard for the great man's feelings. It was a most suitable partnership;
they were worthy of each other. The poet had something to write about now,
a splendid subject! Ha, he must not grieve too much over her; she could
not stand that; she might even lose sleep over it! Think of that! But who
had said that he would grieve? She was mistaken. He might have knelt
before her, but he hadn't licked her boots; no, he would hardly be
compelled to take to his bed on account of this. She need not worry; she
need not weep scalding tears on his account. So she had jilted him; she
returned his ring. What of it? But why had she dragged the ring all the
way up to Torahus? Why hadn't she simply left it on his desk and saved the
postage? Good-bye; good riddance! Go to the devil with your silk-lined
deceiver, and never let me hear of you again!...

He wrung his hands in anguish and paced back and forth with long, furious
strides. He would take it like a man. He would fling his own ring in her
face and end the comedy quickly. He stopped at the desk and tore the ring
off his finger, wrapped it up, and put it in an envelope. He wrote the
address in large, brutal letters; his hand trembled violently. Somebody
knocked. He flung the letter into a drawer and closed it hastily.

It was one of his clerks who came to remind him that it was late. Should
he close up?

"Yes, close up. But wait; I am through now; I am going, too. Bring me the
keys."

Nobody should be able to say that he broke down because of a shabby trick
like this. He would show people that he could keep his composure. He might
go to the Grand and celebrate his return with a plain glass of beer! That
would be just the thing. He had no intention of avoiding people. He had a
revolver lying in a desk drawer; but had he wanted to use that, even for
the briefest moment? Had he _thought_ of it even? Not at all. It just
occurred to him now that it might be getting rusty. No, thank God! one was
not exactly weary of life....

Ole Henriksen went to the Grand.

He sat down at a table and ordered his glass of beer. A moment later he
felt somebody slap him on the shoulder. He looked up; it was Milde.

"Good old boy!" shouted Milde. "Are you sitting here without saying a
word? Welcome back! Come over to the window; you will find a couple of the
fellows there."

Ole went over to the window. There were Ojen, Norem, and Gregersen, all of
them with half-empty wine-glasses in front of them. Ojen jumped up and
said pleasantly:

"Welcome home, old man! I am glad to see you again. I have missed you a
good deal. I am coming down to-morrow to see you. There is something I
want to see you about."

Gregersen gave him a finger. Ole took it, sat down, and told the waiter to
bring him his beer.

"What! are you drinking beer? No, beer will never do on this occasion; it
must be wine!"

"Well, drink what you want to. I am drinking beer."

Just then Irgens arrived, and Milde called to him: "Ole is drinking beer,
but we are not going to do that. What do you say?"

Irgens did not show the least sign of embarrassment when he faced Ole; he
barely nodded and said indifferently: "Welcome home!" And Ole looked at
him and noticed that his cuffs were not entirely clean; as a matter of
fact, his dress was not quite up to his usual standard.

But Milde repeated his question: wasn't it a little too commonplace to
drink beer at a double celebration?

"A double celebration?" asked Gregersen.

"Exactly--yes. In the first place, Ole has returned, and that is of the
greatest importance to us at present; I frankly admit that. But I have, in
the second place, just been dispossessed from my studio, and that has also
a certain solemn significance. What do you think? The landlady came and
wanted money. 'Money?' I asked in amazement, and so on and so on. But the
outcome was that I was put out, without notice--only a couple of hours'.
Ha, ha! I have never heard of such a notice. Of course, she had already
given me her ultimatum a month ago; still--I had to leave a couple of
finished canvases. But I think this ought to be celebrated in wine, for
Ole does not care what we drink."

"Of course not; why should I care?" asked Ole.

And the gentlemen drank industriously. They grew well disposed and
cheerful before they took their departure. Irgens was first to leave; then
Ojen followed. Ole remained until they had all gone, all except Norem, who
sat there as usual and slumbered. He had listened to the talk.
Occasionally he had injected a word. He had grown weary and subdued; a
bitter disgust had taken possession of him and made him dully indifferent
to everything.

At last he got up and paid his check.

The waiter halted him.

"Pardon me," he said, "but the wine--"

"The wine?" asked Ole. "I have only had a couple of glasses of beer."

"Yes, but the wine isn't paid for."

So the gentlemen hadn't paid their checks? For a moment the hot anger
blazed up in him again; he was on the point of saying that if they would
send the bill to Torahus it would be paid instantly. But he said: "All
right; I can pay it, I suppose."

But what should he do at home? Go to bed and sleep? If he only could! He
turned into the darkest streets in order to be alone. He was going
homeward, but he swung aside and walked toward the Fortress.

Here he suddenly came across Tidemand. He was standing in front of a dark
gateway gazing at the house opposite. What could Tidemand be doing there?

Ole walked over to him. They looked at each other in surprise.

"I am taking a walk, a little walk," said Tidemand somewhat sheepishly. "I
came by here by accident--Thank goodness, you are back, Ole! Welcome home!
Let us get away from here!"

Tidemand could not get over his surprise. He had not known that Ole was
back. Everything was all right at the office; he had called on the old man
regularly, as he had promised.

"And your sweetheart has gone away," he continued. "I went with her to the
train. She is a darling girl! She was a little upset because she was going
away; she stood there and looked at me with real shining eyes; you know
how she is. And as the train went off she took out her handkerchief and
waved to me--waved so sweetly, just because I had come with her. You ought
to have seen her; she was lovely."

"Well, I am not engaged any more," said Ole in a hollow voice.

* * * * *

Ole went into his office. It was late at night. He had walked with
Tidemand a long time and told him everything. He was going to write a
letter to Aagot's parents, respectful and dignified, without reproaches.
He felt he ought to do that.

When he had finished this letter he read Aagot's once more. He wanted to
tear it to pieces and burn it up, but he paused and placed it in front of
him on the desk. It was at least a letter from her, the last. She had sat
there and written to him and thought of him while she wrote. She had held
the paper with her tiny hands, and there her pen had scratched. She had
probably wiped it on something and dipped it and written on. That letter
was for him, for no one else. Everybody had probably been in bed while she
wrote.

He took the ring out of its wrapping and looked at it for a long time. He
was sorry that he had lost his temper and said words which he now
regretted. He took them back, every one. Good-bye, then, Aagot....

And he placed Aagot's last letter with the others.

VI

Ole began to work hard again; he spent practically all his time in his
office. He lost flesh; he did not get out enough; his eyes became absent
and flickering. He was hardly off the wharves or outside the warehouses
for several weeks. Nobody should say that he pined and drooped because his
engagement was cancelled! He worked and minded his own business and was
getting on nicely.

He was getting thin; that was simply because he worked too hard. He hoped
nobody would think it might be due to other causes. There were so many
things to be done since his return from England; he had explained it all
to Tidemand. But he was going to take it a little easier now. He wanted to
get out a little, observe what was doing, amuse himself.

And he dragged Tidemand to theatres and to Tivoli. They took long walks in
the evenings. They arranged to start the tannery and the tar works this
coming spring. Ole was even more enthusiastic than Tidemand; he threw
himself so eagerly into the project that nobody could for a moment harbour
any mistaken notions about his being grief-stricken. He never mentioned
Aagot; she was dead and forgotten.

And Tidemand, too, was getting along comfortably. He had lately re-engaged
his old cook and he took his meals at home now. It was a little lonely.
The dining-room was too large, and there was an empty chair; but the
children carried on and made the most glorious noise throughout the house;
he heard them sometimes clear down in his office. They disturbed him
often, took him away from his work at times; for whenever he heard their
little feet patter on the floors up-stairs and their merry shouts echo
through the rooms he simply had to put down his pen and run up for a
moment. In a few minutes he would come back and throw himself into his
work like an energetic youth.... Yes, Tidemand was getting along famously;
he couldn't deny it. Everything had begun to turn out well for him.

On his way home one evening Tidemand happened to drop in at a grocery
store he supplied with goods. It was entirely by accident. He entered the
store and walked over to the owner who stood behind the counter. Suddenly
he saw his wife at the counter; in front of her he noticed some parcels.

Tidemand had not seen her since that evening outside his office. He had
fortunately caught sight of her ring in a jewellery window as he passed by
one day and had immediately bought it and sent it to her. On a card she
had written a few words of thanks. She had not missed the ring, but it was
another matter now; she would keep it always.

She stood there at the counter in a black dress; it was a little
threadbare. For a moment he wondered if perhaps she was in need, if he did
not give her enough money? Why did she wear such old dresses? But he had
sent her a good deal of money. Thank God, he was able to do that. In the
beginning, when he was still struggling, he hadn't sent her such large
amounts, it was true. He had grieved over it and written to her not to be
impatient; it would be better soon. And she had thanked him and answered
that he was sending her altogether too much; how was she going to use it
all? She had lots and lots of money left.

But why did she dress so shabbily, then?

She had turned around; she recognised his voice when he spoke to the
owner. He grew confused; he bowed smilingly to her as he had to the
grocer, and she blushed deeply as she returned his bow.

"Never mind about the rest," she said to the clerk in a low voice. "I'll
get that some other time." And she paid hurriedly and gathered up her
bundles. Tidemand followed her with his eyes. She stooped as she walked
and looked abashed until she disappeared.

VII

And the days passed by. The town was quiet; everything was quiet.

Irgens was still capable of surprising people and attracting everybody's
attention. He had looked a little careworn and depressed for some time;
his debts bothered him; he earned no money and nobody gave him any. Fall
and winter were coming; it did not look any too bright for him. He had
even been obliged to make use of a couple of last year's suits.

Then all of a sudden he amazed everybody by appearing on the promenade,
rehabilitated from top to toe in an elegant fall suit, with tan gloves and
money in his pockets, distinguished and elegant as the old and only
Irgens. People looked at him admiringly. Devil of a chap--he was unique!
What kind of a diamond mine had he discovered? Oh, there was a head on
these shoulders, a superior talent! He had been obliged to move from his
former apartments on Thranes Road. Certainly; but what of it? He had taken
other apartments in the residential district--elegant apartments, fine
view, furniture upholstered in leather! He simply couldn't have stood it
much longer in the old lodgings; his best moods were constantly being
spoiled; he suffered. It was necessary to pay a little attention to one's
surroundings if one cared to produce good work. Miss Lynum had come to
town a week ago and was going to remain awhile; she made him feel like a
new man. How the whole town burst into bloom and colour when Aagot
returned!

It had all been decided: they were going to get married next spring and
pin their faith to next year's subsidy. It would seem that he must be
recognised sometime, especially now when he was going to found a family
and was publishing a new collection of poems. They couldn't starve him to
death entirely; hardly that! And Irgens had approached Attorney Grande,
who had approached the Minister personally in regard to next year's
subsidy. "You know my circumstances," he had said to Grande. "I am not
well off, but if you will speak to the Minister I shall be much obliged to
you. Personally, I will do nothing. I cannot stoop to that!" Grande was a
man whom Irgens otherwise honoured with his contempt. But it could not be
helped; this brainless Attorney began to have influence; he had been
appointed on a royal commission and had even been interviewed by the
_Gazette_.

When Tidemand told Ole that he had seen Aagot on the street it gave him a
fearful shock. But he recovered himself quickly and said with a smile:

"Well, how does that concern me? Let her be here as much as she likes; I
have no objections. I have other things to worry about." He forced himself
to renewed interest in the conversation, talked about Tidemand's new
orders for tar, and said repeatedly: "Be sure to have the cargo well
insured; it never hurts!" He was a little nervous but otherwise normal.

They drank a glass of wine as of old. A couple of hours went by while they
chatted cosily, and when Tidemand left Ole said, full of gratitude:

"I am awfully glad that you came to see me. I know you have enough to do
besides this--Listen," he continued; "let us go to the farewell
performance of the opera this evening; I want you to come!" And the
serious young man with the hollow eyes looked as if he were exceedingly
anxious to attend that performance. He even said he had looked forward to
it for several days.

Tidemand promised to come; Ole said that he would get the tickets.

No sooner had Tidemand left the office than Ole telephoned for the tickets
he wanted--three tickets together, 11, 12, and 13. He was going to take
No. 12 to Mrs. Hanka, to her room near the Fortress. She would surely want
to come, for nobody could be fonder of the opera than she used to be. He
rubbed his hands in satisfaction as he walked along--No. 12; she should
sit between them. He would keep No. 13 for himself; that was a proper
number for him, a most unlucky number.

He walked faster and faster and forgot his own misery. He was done and
through with it all; his sufferings lay behind; he had recovered fully.
Had he been so very much shaken because Aagot had come to town? Not at
all; it had not affected him in the least.

And Ole walked on. He knew Mrs. Hanka's address well; more than once had
he taken her home when she had called on him secretly, asking for news
about the children. And had he not found Tidemand outside her windows that
night he returned from England? How their thoughts were ever busy with
each other! With him it was different; he had forgotten his experience and
did not think of such things any more.

But when he inquired for Mrs. Hanka he was told that she had gone away for
a couple of days; she had gone to the country house. She would be back
to-morrow.

He listened and did not understand at once. The country house? Which
country house?

Of course, yes; Tidemand's country house. Ole glanced at his watch. No; it
was too late to try and get Mrs. Hanka back to-day. What reason could he
have given, anyway? He had wanted to surprise them both with his little
scheme, but now it had become impossible. Alas, how everything turned out
badly for him of late!

Ole turned back.

To the country house! How she haunted the old places! She had been unable
to resist; she had to see once more that house and these grounds, although
the leaves were almost gone and the garden was desolate. Oh! Aagot had
intended to spend the summer there if everything had turned out all right.
Well, that was another matter, something that did not concern him in the
least.

Ole was weary and disappointed. He decided to go to Tidemand at once and
tell him everything. He had meant it for the best.

"We shall have to go alone after all," he said. "I really have a ticket
for your wife, though."

Tidemand changed colour.

"You have?" he simply said.

"Yes, I had planned to have her sit between us; perhaps I ought to have
told you beforehand; but any way, she has gone away and won't be back till
to-morrow."

"Is that so?" said Tidemand as before.

"Listen, you mustn't be angry with me because of this! If you only knew--
Your wife has called on me quite frequently of late; she asks about you
and the children--"

"That is all right."

"What?"

"I say, that is all right. But why do you tell me this?"

Then Ole's anger blazed forth; he stuck his face close up to Tidemand's
and shouted furiously, in a shrill voice:

"I want to tell you something, damn you--you don't understand your own
welfare! You are a fool, you are killing her--that will be the end of it.
And you are doing your very best to go the same way yourself--don't you
think I see it? 'That is all right'--so it is all right for her to steal
down to me when darkness falls and ask about you and the children with the
tears dripping from her eyes? Do you for a moment imagine it is for
_your_ sake I have been inquiring about your health these last
months? Why should I ask if not for her? You personally can go to the
devil as far as I am concerned. You say nothing; you cannot understand
that she is wearing her heart away for you. I saw her outside your office
once at midnight, saying good night to you and to the children. She wept
and blew kisses to Johanna and Ida; she tiptoed up-stairs and caressed the
door-knob because your hand had held it a moment before. I have seen this
several times from the corner. I suppose you will say that 'that is all
right,' too; for your heart must be petrified--Well, perhaps I shouldn't
say that your heart is exactly petrified," added Ole repentantly when at
last he noticed Tidemand's terrible face. "But you need not expect any
apology from me, either. You are hardened; that's what you are! I tell
you, Hanka wants to come back!"

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