Shallow Soil by Knut Hamsun

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They did not restrain themselves; the conversation was free and they swore
liberally. When all was said and done, it was prudery that was Norway's
curse and Norway's bane; people preferred to let their young girls go to
the dogs in ignorance rather than enlighten them while there was time.
Prudery was the nourishing vice of the moment. So help me, there ought to
be public men appointed for the sole purpose of shouting obscenity on the
streets just to make young girls acquainted with certain things while
there was still time. What, do you object, Tidemand?

No, Tidemand did not object, and Ole Henriksen did not object. The idea
was original, to say the least. Ha, ha!

Milde got Tidemand over in a corner.

"It is like this," he said, "I wonder if you have got a couple of crowns?"

Yes; Tidemand was not entirely stripped. How much? A ten-spot?

"Thanks, old man, I'll give it back to you shortly," said Milde in all
seriousness. "Very soon, now. You are a brick! It is not more than a
couple of days since I said that you hucksters were great fellows. That is
exactly what I said. Here is my hand!"

Mrs. Hanka got up at last; she wanted to leave. It was beginning to grow
light outside.

Her husband kept close by her.

"Yes, Hanka, that is right--let us be going," he said. He was on the point
of offering her his arm.

"Thank you, my friend, but I have an escort," she said with an indifferent
glance.

It took him a moment to recover himself.

"Oh, I see," he said with a forced smile. "It is all right; I only
thought--"

He walked over to the window and remained standing there.

Mrs. Hanka said good night to everybody. When she came to Irgens she
whispered eagerly, breathlessly: "To-morrow, then, at three." She kept
Ojen's hand in hers and asked him when he was going. Had he remembered to
make reservations at Torahus? No; she might have known it; these poets
were always forgetting the most essential. He would have to telegraph at
once. Good-bye! And get well soon.... She was maternal to the last.

The Journalist accompanied her.

VI

"You said there was something you wanted to tell me," said Tidemand.

"Yes; so there is--You were surprised that I wanted to go along to
Torahus. Of course, I said that I had business there. That is not so; I
just said that. I know nobody there except Lynums; that is all there is to
it. I did really visit their house once. You never heard anything so
ridiculous; we came there, two thirsty tourists, and they gave us milk;
since then I have met the family when they came to town last fall and this
winter. It is quite a family--seven altogether, including the tutor. The
oldest daughter's name is Aagot. I'll tell you more about them later.
Aagot was eighteen the 7th of December; ha, ha! she is in her nineteenth
year; I happen to remember that she told me. In short, we are not exactly
engaged; I don't mean to say that; we have only written to each other once
in a while. But there is no telling what may happen--What do you say to
that?"

Tidemand was more than surprised; he stopped.

"But I had not the slightest idea; you haven't said a word to me about
it!"

"No; I was hardly in a position to say anything yet. There is nothing
definite; she is very young, you know. Suppose she had changed her mind?
She may tell me she has other intentions when I get there. In that case
nothing can be said against her; the execution will take place without
witnesses; her reputation will have suffered nothing--I want you to see
her, Andreas; I have a picture of her. I won't say that she gave it to me;
I almost took it forcibly; but--"

They stopped a moment and looked at the photograph.

"Charming!" said Tidemand.

"Isn't she? I am glad you think so. I am sure you will like her."

They walked on.

"I want to congratulate you!" said Tidemand and stopped again.

"Thanks!" Ole added a moment afterward: "Yes, I thank you. I may as well
tell you that it _is_ really decided, practically, that is. I am
going up to bring her to town with me."

They had almost reached the Railway Square when Tidemand suddenly stared
straight ahead and whispered:

"But isn't that my wife there ahead of us?"

"Yes; so it is," whispered Ole. "I have noticed this lady ahead of us a
long while; it is only now I see who it is."

Mrs. Hanka walked home alone; the Journalist had not accompanied her at
all.

"Thank God!" exclaimed Tidemand involuntarily. "She told me she had an
escort, and now she goes home all alone. Isn't she a darling? She is going
straight home. But tell me--why did she say she had an escort?"

"Oh, you mustn't take such things too literally," answered Ole. "She
probably did not want anybody to go with her, neither you nor I nor
anybody else. Couldn't she feel that way inclined, perhaps? Young ladies
have their moods, just like you or me."

"Of course, that is perfectly true." Tidemand accepted this explanation.
He was happy because his wife was alone and was making straight for home.
He said, nervously glad: "Do you know, to judge by a few words I had with
her this evening it seems as if things were coming around more and more.
She even asked about the business, about the Russian customs duty; honest,
she wanted to know everything about Furst. You should have seen how
delighted she was because business is looking up again. We spoke about our
summer vacation, our country house. Yes, it is getting a little better
every day."

"There you are--didn't I tell you? It certainly would be a pity
otherwise."

Pause.

"There is something I am at a loss to explain, though," continued
Tidemand, worried again. "Here lately she has been talking about what a
woman like herself should do with her life. She must have a career,
something to do and accomplish. I must confess it astonished me a little,
a woman with two children and a large household--She has also begun to use
her former name again, Hanka Lange Tidemand, just as if her name still
were Lange."

Mrs. Hanka had stopped outside her own entrance; she was evidently waiting
for her husband. She called to him jestingly that he had better hurry--she
was almost freezing to death. And she lifted her finger banteringly and
asked:

"What plots and conspiracies are you two wholesalers now hatching? Where
is the price of wheat now, and what are you going to put it up to? God
have mercy on you on the day of judgment!"

Tidemand answered in kind: What in the world had she done with the
Journalist? So she had not wanted company, not even her own husband's; she
had been in a sentimental mood? But how could she be so cruel as to let
this poor fellow Gregersen ramble home all alone, drunk as he was? It was
simply heartless--

* * * * *

In about a week Ole Henriksen had returned from Torahus. Ojen had
remained, but Ole had brought back a young lady, his fiancee, Aagot Lynum.
With them had come a third person, a somewhat peculiar fellow.

GERMINATION

I

Ole returned from Torahus the 5th of April. He introduced his fiancee at
once to the clique, presented her to his friends, and spent all day in her
company. He had not as yet introduced her to Irgens and Attorney Grande
because he had failed to run across them.

She was young and fair, with high bosom and a straight carriage. Her blond
hair and her frequent laughter gave an impression of extreme youthfulness.
She had a dimple in her left cheek and none in her right, and this
solitary dimple made her peculiar, characteristic. Wasn't it strange to
have one side of the face different from the other? She was of average
height.

She had been so carried away with everything she had seen in the city that
she wandered around in a state of joyful excitement all day. The clique
had capitulated to her charm and shown her much amiability; Mrs. Hanka had
simply embraced her and kissed her the moment she saw her.

She followed Ole around in the establishment, peeped into all the
wonderful drawers and boxes in the store, tasted old, strong wines in the
cellars, and opened in fun the heavy ledgers in the office. But she was
especially fond of the warehouse, the little stall of an office down there
that was filled with tart and peculiar odours from all kinds of tropical
products. From the window she could see the docks, the harbour, the tugs
that brought cargoes in and out and puffed stertorously, shaking the very
air with their efforts. Just outside floated the little yacht with the
golden masthead; it was hers; it had been conveyed to her and belonged to
her legally. Ole had even been in _Veritas_ [Footnote: The Maritime
Insurance and Registry Office in Christiania.] and had its name changed to
_Aagot_. She had all the documents.

And slate after slate is brought into the office; the accounts grow a
little every day, they fill many columns, swell into larger and larger
amounts; the spring season has commenced, the active period just before
summer; all the pulses of trade the world over leap and quiver with
passionate energy.

While Ole counts and makes notes, Aagot busies herself with something or
other on the other side of the desk. She was often unable to understand
how Ole managed to keep all these accounts straight without getting the
amounts mixed; she had tried it herself, but in vain. The only thing she
can be trusted with is the entering of endless orders in the books, and
this she does carefully and conscientiously.

Ole looks at her and says suddenly:

"Lord, what tiny hands you have, Aagot! He, he! they are next to nothing.
I can't understand how you can get along with them."

That is enough. Aagot throws down her pen and runs over to him. And they
are happy and silly until the next slate arrives.

"Little Mistress!" he says smilingly, and looks down into her eyes,
"Little Mistress!"

Time passes. At last the work is done, the accounts finished, and Ole
says, while he slams the ledger shut:

"Well, I have got to go and send some wires. Are you coming along?"

"Yes, dear, if you'll let me!" she answers. And she trips along, greatly
pleased.

On the way Ole remembers that he has not as yet presented his sweetheart
to Irgens. "You ought to meet this fellow Irgens," he says; "he is a great
man, one of the deep talents; everybody says so." Suppose they went as far
as the Grand; he might be there.

They entered the Grand, passed by the tables where people sat drinking
and smoking, and found Irgens far back in the room. Milde and Norem were
with him.

"So here you are!" called Ole.

Irgens gave him his left hand and did not get up. He glanced through
half-closed lids at Aagot.

"This, Aagot, is the poet Irgens." Ole presented him, somewhat proud of
his intimate acquaintance with the great man. "My fiancee, Miss Lynum."

Irgens got up and bowed deeply. Once more he looked at Aagot, looked
persistently, even, and she looked back at him; she was evidently
surprised to find the poet different from what she had thought. It was
over two years since she had read his book, the lyric drama which had
brought him so much fame. She had thought the master to be an elderly man.

"May I congratulate?" said Irgens finally, and gave Ole his hand.

They all sat down; each got a seidel and began a conversation. The spirits
around the little table rose; even Irgens grew communicative and joined
in. He addressed Aagot across the table, asked if she had been in the city
before, in the theatre, in Tivoli, read this book or that, visited the
Exhibition of paintings? "But, Miss Lynum, you must really see the
Exhibition! I should be delighted to show it to you if you cannot find a
better guide--" They conversed for about ten minutes across the table, and
Aagot replied rapidly to every question, sometimes laughing, now and then
forgetting herself and asking questions with her head tilted sideways; her
eyes were wide open and sparkling; she was not the least bit embarrassed.

Ole called the waiter. He had to leave; he was going to the telegraph
office. Aagot, too, got up.

"But there is no reason why you should go, Miss Lynum," said Milde. "You
can come back for Miss Lynum when you have telegraphed, Ole."

"Yes, I am going," said Aagot.

"But if you want to stay I'll call for you in a few moments," said Ole and
took his hat.

She looked at him and answered almost in a whisper:

"Won't you let me come with you?"

"Certainly, if you want to."

Ole paid his check.

"Say," said Milde, "be good enough to settle this check, too. None of us
is very flush to-day." And he smiled and glanced at Aagot.

Ole settled, said good-bye, and walked out with Aagot on his arm.

The three gentlemen looked after her.

"The devil!" murmured Irgens in sincere admiration. "Did you notice her."

"Did we! How the dickens did that groceryman get hold of such a beauty?"

Milde agreed with the Actor; it was simply incomprehensible. What in the
world could she be thinking of!

"Don't talk so loud; they have stopped over by the entrance," said Irgens.

They had run across the Attorney. The same introduction followed; a little
talk could not be avoided. They did not remove their hats and gloves and
were ready to go at a moment's notice. At last they left.

That very moment a man got up from one of the farthest tables and
approached the entrance.... He was a man in the forties, with greyish
beard and dark eyes; his clothes were a little shabby; he was partly bald.

He walked straight over to the Attorney, bowed, and said:

"Do you mind if I sit down here? I noticed that Mr. Henriksen spoke to
you; you must know him, then. As for me, I am acquainted with Miss Lynum,
who was introduced to you. I am the tutor in her home; my name is
Coldevin."

Something about the stranger appealed to the little Attorney's curiosity;
he made room for him at once and even offered him a cigar. The waiter
brought his glass over.

"I visit the city only very seldom," said Coldevin. "I live in the
country. During the last ten years I have hardly been anywhere with the
exception of a trip to Copenhagen during the Exhibition. So I run around
all day and look things over. There are many changes; the city grows
bigger and bigger."

"It is a pleasure to walk around down by the docks and watch the traffic."

His voice was well modulated; he spoke simply and quietly, although his
eyes at times glowed with a smouldering fire.

The Attorney listened and answered cordially. Yes, one had to admit that
the city was making progress; an electric car line was being built;
several more streets were going to be asphalted; the last census showed an
enormous increase.... Wasn't it strange to live in the country always? No?
But in the winter--in the darkness and the snow?

No; it was glorious! Dazzling snow everywhere; silent, wild woods,
ptarmigan, hares, and foxes. White, glittering white snow! But summer, of
course, was more beautiful. It would be high summer when he returned; his
intention was to stay a couple of months, perhaps even longer. That ought
to suffice to see and hear most of what went on. What was happening,
anyway? What was the situation?

"Well," answered the Attorney, "the situation is serious. But we place our
faith in Parliament. Several of the leaders have given their ultimatum; if
all signs do not fail, they surely will make short shrift this time."

"Yes, if the signs do not fail--"

"You appear to have your doubts?" asked the Attorney smilingly.

"No; only there seems to be too much confidence placed in the leaders and
in their promises. I come from the country; we have our suspicions; it is
hard to get rid of them. The leaders might fail us now as heretofore.
Indeed, they might."

Coldevin drank from his glass.

"I cannot say that I remember their failing us heretofore," said the
Attorney. "Do you refer to any particular occasion when the leaders have
betrayed us?"

"Well, yes. Promises have been broken, promises have been interpreted,
promises have been openly and dispassionately denied. We should not forget
these things. One should not rely too much on the leaders; the country's
youth should be our hope. No; a leader is apt to prove a broken reed. It
is an old law that whenever a leader reaches a certain age he pauses--yes,
he even turns right about face and pushes the other way. Then it is up to
the young to march on, to drive him ahead or trample him down."

The door opened and Lars Paulsberg entered. He nodded to the Attorney, who
returned his greeting. The Attorney pointed to a chair at his table, but
Paulsberg shook his head and said:

"No, I am looking for Milde. He has not done a stroke on my picture
to-day."

"Milde is over in the corner," said the Attorney. And he turned to
Coldevin and whispered: "This is one of the most prominent of our young
men--their leader, so to speak, Lars Paulsberg. Do you know him? If only
the rest were like him."

Yes, Coldevin knew his name. So this was Paulsberg? He could plainly see
that he was an important personality; people craned their necks, looked
after him and whispered. Yes, indeed, we had quite a number of writers, it
could not be denied--"There came to Torahus, for instance, one of them
before I left; his name was Stefan Ojen. I have read two of his books. He
was nervous, he told me; he spoke a good deal about a new school, a new
intention within the realm of literature. His clothes were silk lined, but
he did not put himself forward much. Of course, people were curious and
wanted to see him, but he appeared very modest. I met him one evening; his
entire shirt-front was covered with writing, with verses--long and short
lines, a poem in prose. He said that he had waked up in the morning and
found himself in the throes of an inspiration, and, as he had no paper
handy, he simply wrote on his shirt-front. He asked us not to mind it; he
had two more shirts with him, but as they were unlaundered he had to use
that one for his verses. He read something for us, things full of
sentiment. He gave us the impression that he was very clever."

The Attorney did not know if this were irony or not, for Coldevin smiled
one of his rare smiles. But he was probably serious.

"Yes, Ojen is one of our most significant ones," he said. "He is beginning
to create a school in Germany. There can be no doubt that his poetry is
unique."

"Exactly. I, too, got that impression. A little childish, perhaps; a
little immature, but--He, he! as we were sitting there that evening he
suddenly exclaimed: 'Do you know, gentlemen, why I use a capital R in
God?' 'A capital R in God!' we wondered and looked at each other blankly;
no; we did not know why. But Ojen burst into a peal of laughter and left--
It was a good joke; it wasn't at all bad, he, he!"

And Coldevin smiled.

The Attorney laughed with him. "Oh, that fellow Ojen could surprise you
with far better inventions; that was nothing for him. But his writing was
euphonious, his diction pure--Do you know Irgens?"

Yes, Coldevin knew his name. He hadn't written very much?

"He does not write for the masses, no," answered the Attorney. "He writes
for the chosen few. But his friends know that he has many beautiful things
unpublished. Good God, what a master! It is impossible to place one's
finger on a single thing he has done and say that it is below par. He is
sitting in the corner now. Do you wish to meet him? I can arrange it for
you. I know him well; no preliminaries are necessary."

But Coldevin asked to be excused. Some other time; then he could meet
Paulsberg and the others also--"So that is Paulsberg!" he repeated. "One
could tell it when he passed by; people were whispering about him. Nobody
whispered when Ole Henriksen passed by. By the way, I suppose Mr.
Henriksen is going to get married now?"

"I suppose so--Tell me--is it at all interesting to be a tutor? Isn't it
a somewhat tedious occupation at times?"

"Oh, no," answered Coldevin smilingly. "Of course, it depends a good deal
on both parents and children. It is all right if one happens to get among
good people. It is, of course, only a poor and modest situation, but--I
would not change even if I could."

"Are you a college man?"

"Theology, yes. Unfortunately, a rather antiquated student now." And
Coldevin smiled once more.

They continued the conversation for some time, told a couple of anecdotes
about a university professor, and drifted back to the situation. Finally
they discussed the grain prices. It looked bad; there was some talk of
crop failures in Russia.

Coldevin was absolutely normal in his talk; he evidently was well informed
and spoke quietly and thoughtfully. When he got up to leave he asked
casually:

"By the way, do you happen to know where Mr. Henriksen went?"

"To the telegraph office. He told me he had some wires to send."

"Thank you. I trust you will pardon me for descending upon you so
informally. It is kind of you to allow me to make your acquaintance."

"If you are going to stay awhile I trust we shall meet again," said the
Attorney amiably. Coldevin took his leave.

He walked straight to the telegraph office. He remained outside awhile;
then he ascended the stairs and peeped through the glass doors. Then he
turned, went back to the street, and made for the harbour. He sauntered
back and forth outside the Henriksen warehouse and glanced furtively
toward the little office window. He did not take his eyes from the window
for a long time. One would have thought he was anxious to find Ole
Henriksen but did not know whether he was in the warehouse or not.

II

Irgens was sitting in his room, Thranes Road, No. 5. He was in fine
spirits. The elegant man whom nobody suspected of doing anything sat there
in all secret and corrected proofs and slaved like a farmer. Who would
have believed it? He was the one in the clique who talked least about his
work; nobody could understand how he managed to live. It was more than two
years since his drama had been published, and he had apparently not done a
stroke of work since. Of course, he might be working quietly, but nobody
knew anything about it, nothing definitely. He owed a lot of money.

Irgens had locked his door so as not to be disturbed; he was very
secretive. When he had finished his proof-reading he got up and looked out
of the window. The weather was bright and sunny, a glorious day. He was
going to take Miss Lynum to the Art Exhibition at three. He looked forward
to this pleasure; it was really enjoyable to listen to this
unsophisticated girl's chatter. She had burst upon him like a revelation;
she reminded him of the first bird notes in spring.

There was a knock at the door. His first thought was to throw the proofs
beneath the table-cloth, but he refrained. He opened. He knew this knock;
it was Mrs. Hanka's finger which knocked twice so resolutely. She entered,
closed the door, and glided over to him. She smiled, bent toward him, and
looked into his eyes.

"It isn't me at all!" she said, and laughed quietly. "I want you to know
that!" She could not hide her embarrassment entirely and flushed deeply.

She wore a grey woollen gown, and looked very young with her low lace
collar and her bare neck.

He said:

"So it isn't you? Well, it doesn't matter who you are--you are equally
lovely! And what glorious weather you are bringing!"

They sat down. He placed before her the proof-sheet, and she clapped her
hands and cried: "Didn't I tell you? I knew it! No; but you are
wonderful!" And she did not get tired of marvelling at him--that he was
that far already! Oh, but wouldn't it come like a thunderclap; not a soul
suspected anything! They all went around thinking that he did not work any
more. Oh, Heavens! but nobody in the wide world was half as happy as she.
She smuggled an envelope with something in it under the proof-sheet and
pulled him away from the table. She talked all the time.

They sat down on the sofa. Her happiness, her violent joy, communicated
itself to him, carried him away, and made him tender with gratitude. How
she loved him, how she sacrificed herself for him and did for him what she
could! He embraced her passionately, kissed her time and again, and held
her close to his breast.

"I am so happy," she whispered. "I knew something was going to make me
glad; as I walked upstairs it seemed as if I were going into an embrace!
Dearest boy, no--the door--!"

The sun rose higher, the thrushes twittered passionately outside. The
first bird notes of spring, he thought again, how unsophisticated these
little creatures were in their chatter!

"How bright it is here!" she said; "it is much brighter here than
elsewhere."

"Do you think so?" he answered smilingly. He walked over to the window and
began to pluck from his clothes the fine, grey woolly fuzz her dress had
left there. She sat still on the sofa, her eyes on the floor, blushing,
arranging her hair a little. A ring flashed on each of her hands.

He could not remain there at the window so indifferently. She was
beginning to notice it; she looked up; and besides, she was remarkably
beautiful as she sat there fixing her hair. He stepped over to her and
kissed her as warmly as he could.

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