Shallow Soil by Knut Hamsun

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"Don't kiss me, darling," she said; "be careful! Look here--it is the
spring air."

She showed him a little red spot on her under lip. He asked her if it
hurt, and she answered that it was not that, but she was afraid he might
catch it from her. Suddenly she asked:

"Listen, can you come to Tivoli to-night? There is an operatic
performance. Couldn't we meet there? Otherwise I'll die of loneliness."

He remembered that he was going to the Art Exhibition. What might happen
afterward was hard to tell; he had better not promise anything. No, he
said, he was afraid it would be impossible; he had made certain
arrangements with Ole Henriksen.

"Oh, please--do come! I would be so proud and grateful!"

"But why in the world do you want to go to Tivoli?"

"But there is opera to-night!"

"Well, what of it? That means nothing to me. Well, if you like--"

"No, not if I like," she said sadly. "You seem so indifferent, Irgens!
Yes, I admit I should like to go to the opera, but--Where are you going
this evening? I am just like a compass-needle now: I oscillate, I may even
swing all the way round, but I hark constantly back to one point--I point
continually in one direction. It is you I am thinking of always."

Her little bewildered heart trembled. He looked at her. He knew it only
too well--there was nothing he could reproach her with; she had been more
than good to him. However, all he could promise was that he would come if
at all possible.

* * * * *

Mrs. Hanka had left. Irgens was ready to go out; he put his proof-sheets
in his pocket and took his hat. Had he forgotten anything? He had the
proofs; that was the most important thing at present--the beginning of a
book which was to startle the community with the suddenness of an
explosion. He was going to see if his quiet industry would be denied
appreciation. He, too, was going to send in an application for the
government subsidy; he would delay until the very last day in order to
avoid having his name paraded in the daily press alongside all those
nonentities who already were licking their chops in anticipation of this
modest emolument. His application should be brief and to the point,
without recommendations, simply accompanied by his book. He would tell
nobody, not even Mrs. Hanka. They should not be able to say that he had
moved heaven and earth in order to secure this well-earned encouragement.
But he was curious to see if they would ignore him. He knew all his fellow
applicants, from Milde to Ojen; he did not fear any of them. He would have
preferred to stand back and yield his right to this charity, but he could
not afford it; he was obliged to accept it.

He brushed his clothes carefully all the way down the street; a little of
the grey wool still clung to him--what a provoking dress! He dropped into
a printing-office with his proofs. The foreman called his attention to a
letter, an envelope with something enclosed, which he found between the
sheets. Irgens turned in the door. A letter? Oh, yes; he had forgotten it.
He knew this envelope and he opened it at once. When he had seen what was
in it he lifted his brows, greatly pleased. The envelope he put in his
pocket without further ado.

Ole and Aagot were in the warehouse. She was sewing on some red plush
cushions for the cabin of the _Aagot_--doll cushions, one would
almost think, they were so small. Irgens put his cheek to one of them,
closed his eyes, and said, "Good night, good night."

"So you are going to the Art Exhibition!" said Ole smilingly. "Aagot has
hardly spoken about anything else all day."

"Couldn't you come, too?" she asked.

But Ole had no time; just now he was very busy. "Be off--don't disturb me
any more; out with you! Have a good time!"

It was the promenade-hour. Irgens proposed that they take the way through
the park; they could then hear a little music at the same time. Did she
like music?

Aagot was in a dark suit and wore a cape with red silk lining. The
snug-fitting garment clung to her body without a wrinkle; around her neck
she simply wore a bit of lace. The cape fluttered at times with scarlet
silken flashes. She was sorry to say that she was not very musical. She
liked to hear music, of course, but she lacked a thorough understanding of
it.

"Exactly like myself," answered Irgens. "That is funny; are you like that,
too? To tell the truth, I understand music unpardonably poorly, but I show
up in the park every day; it would never do to stay away." Much depended
upon that; if one did not show oneself and keep abreast of the procession,
one would soon be lost, submerged, forgotten.

"Can one be forgotten so easily?" she asked. "But that does not apply to
you, surely."

"Oh, yes, to me as well as to the rest," he replied. "Why shouldn't I be
forgotten?"

She answered quite simply:

"I thought you were too well known."

"Known? Oh, as to that, Lord help us! I may not be so entirely unknown, of
course, but--You must not think it is an easy matter to keep one's head
above water here; one friend is envious, another hateful and malicious, a
third simply despicable. No; as far as _that_ is concerned--"

"It seems to me, however, that you are known, and well known, too," she
said. "We cannot walk two steps that somebody isn't whispering about you;
I have noticed it all along." She stopped.

"No, it is unbearable; I just heard another remark! Rather let us go up to
the Exhibition at once!"

He laughed heartily, greatly flattered. How charming she was in her naive
and unspoiled way! He said: Never mind; keep on! Pay no attention
whatever. One got used to this whispering; if it amused people, what of
it? He himself never noticed it any more; honestly, it did not affect him
in the least. Besides, he wanted to let her know that to-day _he_ was
not the only subject of conversation--what about her? She could believe
him or not; she was being thoroughly discussed. One could not come to a
city like this one and look as she did without attracting attention; she
could be very sure of that.

It was not his intention to flatter her; he was sincere in what he said.
Still she did not seem to believe him.

They walked toward the park, where the band thundered Cherubini's
"Overture to the Water-Carrier" across the place.

"It seems to me this is an altogether unnecessary noise," he said
smilingly.

She laughed; she laughed often and heartily over his remarks. This
laughter from her fresh lips, the dimple in her left cheek, her many cute
and childlike ways, drove his spirits still higher; even her nose, which
was somewhat irregular in profile and a little too large, made him almost
feel as if he were in love. Greek or Roman noses were not always the most
beautiful--not at all; it depended on the rest of the face. There was no
such a thing as an authorised standard for noses.

He chatted about one thing after another and made time fly; he proved
himself the poet who could interest those he addressed himself to, the
highly cultured man, the genius of scintillating words. Aagot listened
attentively; he tried to amuse her and came back to the subject of music
again, to operatic music, which he simply abominated. He had, for
instance, never been to the opera that he didn't happen to get a seat
right behind a lady with a sharply bulging corset line, and he was
condemned to stare at this ghastly back during three, four long
intermissions. Then there was the performance itself, the brass
instruments close to the ear, and then the singers who tried with all
their might to drown their blatant blare in a roar of noise. At first one
would appear who made strange contortions and meanwhile produced song;
then another would stalk forth who did not want to take a back seat
either, and who likewise did his utmost; then a third, a fourth, men and
women, long processions, an army; and all sang their questions and sang
their answers and beat their arms in the air and rolled their eyes,
exercising their vocal chords without a moment's pause. Wasn't it true?
They wept to music, sobbed to music, gritted teeth, sneezed, and fainted
to music, and the conductor urged them on frantically with an ivory
hammer-handle. She might laugh, but it was just that way. Then all of a
sudden the conductor appears to become terror-stricken because of that
infernal noise he has inspired; he swings his hammer-handle as a sign that
there must be a change. Now the chorus starts in. This is not so bad; the
chorus can pass muster; at least, it does not use such heartrending
gestures. But in the midst of the singing another person strides forth,
and he spoils the whole thing again; ah! it is the Prince; he has a solo--
and when a prince has a solo of course everybody else has to keep still.
But imagine this more or less corpulent masculine person standing there,
bellowing, with legs wide apart! One gets furious; one experiences a
well-nigh irrepressible desire to yell to this fellow to get out, to stop
spoiling the evening for those who wanted to hear some music--hear the
chorus sing!

Irgens was not displeased with himself--he attained his object. Aagot
laughed incessantly and was hugely amused. How he did make things
interesting and give life and colour to the most commonplace!

They finally got to the Exhibition, looked at what there was to see, and
talked about the pictures as they went along. Aagot's questions were fully
answered; Irgens knew everything and even told her anecdotes about the
exhibiting painters. Here, too, they met curious people, who put their
heads together and looked after them when they passed; but Irgens hardly
glanced to the left or right; he seemed entirely indifferent to the
attention accorded him. He only bowed a couple of times.

When, after an hour or so, they started to leave, they did not notice in
an obscure corner a greyish-bearded, somewhat bald person, nor did they
perceive two fathomless, burning eyes that followed them as they departed.

On the street Irgens said:

"I wonder--You are not going home at once, I hope?"

"Yes," she said, "I am going right back."

He asked her several times to stay a little longer, but Aagot thanked him
and said that she wanted to get home. There was nothing to be done; she
could not be persuaded, and he had to let her have her way. But they could
make up for it some other time? There were both museums and galleries she
ought to see; he would gladly act as her guide. She smiled and thanked
him.

"I am admiring your walk," he said. "It is the most perfect walk I have
ever seen."

She flushed and looked at him quickly.

"You cannot mean that," she said. "I who have lived in the backwoods all
my life."

"Well, you may believe me or not, just as you please--You are altogether
unusual, Miss Lynum, gloriously uncommon; in vain I seek words that would
describe you. Do you know what you remind me of? I have carried this
impression around all day. You remind me of the first bird note, the
earliest warm spring tones--you know what I mean--that surge through the
heart when the snow is gone and the sun and the birds of passage are here!
But that isn't all about you. God help me, I cannot find the words I want,
poet though I am supposed to be!"

"But I have never heard anything like it!" she cried, and laughed
vivaciously. "I am supposed to be like all that? I should like to be, that
much is certain. If only it were true!"

"You have come in here from the blue mountains; you are full of smiles,"
he said. "For this reason the description should call to mind the wild
things--should have a flavour of venison, so to speak. I am not sure,
though."

They were at the warehouse. They stopped and shook hands.

"I am ever so much obliged," she said. "Aren't you coming up? Ole must be
in the office now."

"No, thanks--But listen, Miss Lynum, I would like to come soon and drag
you with me to some museum; may I?"

"Yes," she answered hesitatingly. "That is very kind of you. I'll see--But
I thank you for your company to-day."

She went in.

III

Irgens walked up the street. Where should he go now? He might go to
Tivoli; there was plenty of time; in fact, it was much too early; he would
have to kill an hour or so first. He felt in his pocket for the envelope;
he had money; he might as well go to the Grand.

As he entered the door he was hailed by Journalist Gregersen, the literary
member of the _Gazette_ staff. Irgens did not like this fellow; he
did not care to cultivate his friendship in order to get an item published
in the paper now and then. Paulsberg had now two days running had a
paragraph concerning his excursion to Honefos: the first day about his
going, the second about his return; Gregersen had in his usual
accommodating manner concocted two very excellent little items about this
excursion. That such a man could descend to such coarse work! It was said
that the fellow was capable of greater things; he would surely blossom
forth some day; all right, time enough then. Irgens did not care for him
very much nowadays.

Unwillingly, he walked over to the Journalist's table. Milde was there,
also the Attorney and Coldevin, the grey tutor from the country. They were
waiting for Paulsberg. They had been discussing the situation again; it
commenced to look a little dubious now when several of the leading
parliamentarians had shown symptoms of vacillation. "Just as I have told
you," said Milde, "it is beginning to be unbearable here!"

Mrs. Grande was not present. Mrs. Liberia stayed at home.

The Journalist reported that the talk about crop failures in Russia
evidently had something in it. It could not be concealed much longer in
spite of the fact that the correspondent of the London _Times_ had
been sharply contradicted by the Russian press.

"I had a letter from Ojen," said Milde. "It looks as if he were coming
back soon; he does not appear to enjoy himself out in the woods."

All these matters did not interest Irgens in the least. He made up his
mind to get away as soon as he could. Coldevin said nothing, but glanced
from one to another with his sombre eyes. When he had been presented to
Irgens he had murmured a few words, sat down again and remained silent.
Irgens looked at him languidly and was silent too. When he had finished
his seidel he got up to go.

"Are you leaving us so soon?"

"Yes; I have got to go home and dress. I am going to Tivoli. See you
later."

Irgens left.

"There you see the famous Irgens," said the Attorney to Coldevin.

"Yes, indeed," answered Coldevin with a smile. "I see so much greatness
here that I am getting altogether bewildered. I saw the Art Exhibition
to-day--It seems to me that our poets are beginning to pay considerable
attention to their personal appearance; I have seen a couple of them; they
are so groomed and patent-leathered--one can hardly say they come
thundering along with foam-flecked bridles."

"Why should they? The fashions have changed, you know."

"I suppose so."

Coldevin was again silent.

"The fire-and-sword period has passed by, my good man," said the
Journalist patronisingly, yawning across the table. "What the devil can be
keeping Paulsberg?"

When Paulsberg at last showed up they made room for him with alacrity; the
Journalist sat close by him and wanted to hear his opinion concerning the
situation. What did these events portend--what could be done now?

Paulsberg, reserved and taciturn as always, gave a half reply, a
fragmentary opinion: What could be done? Oh, one had to try to live even
if a couple of parliamentarians were to fail the cause. All the same, he
was going to publish an article soon; it would be worth while observing
what effect that would have. He was going to give it to the traitors good
and proper.

Goodness! Was he going to publish an article? That certainly would put
matters right. "Not too gentle, now, Paulsberg; don't show them any
consideration."

"I imagine Paulsberg knows exactly how gentle he is going to be," said
Milde reprovingly. "You can safely leave that to him."

"Of course," answered the Journalist, "that goes without saying. I had no
idea of offering any suggestions."

He was a little offended, but Paulsberg smoothed matters over by saying:

"I thank you for the two notices, Gregersen. It is fortunate for us that
you keep an eye on us; otherwise people would entirely forget that we
writers existed."

The Attorney ordered another round.

"I am waiting for my wife," said Paulsberg.

"She stopped in to borrow a hundred from Ole Henriksen. I see there is
talk about famine in Russia--Well, I can't say that I have starved as
yet."

Milde turned to Coldevin and remarked pompously:

"That is something it wouldn't hurt you to know out in the country: so
shabbily does Norway treat her great men!"

Coldevin glanced from one to another.

"Indeed," he said, "it is sad." A moment later he added: "Well, one cannot
say things are much better out in the country. The struggle to live is
bitter there, too."

"But, so help me, there is a difference between poets and peasants, I
should think!"

"In the country people adjust themselves to the law that the weak must
perish," said Coldevin quietly. "For instance, people who cannot support a
wife do not marry. If they do, and if they later on have to rely on others
to discharge their obligations, then they are disgraced, branded with
shame."

Everybody looked at the bald fellow; even Paulsberg snatched his glasses
that were hanging on a cord across his breast, looked at him a moment, and
asked in a stage whisper:

"What in the world--what kind of a phenomenon is that?"

This happy word made the friends smile; Paulsberg was asking what kind of
a phenomenon this was, a phenomenon--he, he! It was not often Paulsberg
said that much. Coldevin looked unconcerned; he did not smile. A pause
ensued.

Paulsberg looked out of the window, shivered a little, and murmured:

"Drat it, I cannot get anything accomplished these days; this eternal
sunshine has played me the scurvy trick of paralysing my imagination. I am
in the middle of a descriptive passage about a rainy season, a raw and
chilly milieu, and I cannot get anywhere with it." He mumbled maledictions
about the weather.

The Attorney was incautious enough to remark:

"Why don't you write about the sunshine, then?"

It was not many days since Paulsberg himself, in Milde's studio, had
bluntly expressed an opinion to the effect that Attorney Grande had showed
symptoms of a certain arrogance lately. He was right, the Attorney was
becoming a little impertinent; it might be well to put him in his place
once and for all.

"You talk according to your lights!" said the Journalist oracularly.

This reproach was received in silence; but shortly afterward Grande got up
and buttoned his coat.

"I don't suppose any of you are going my way?" he asked in order not to
show any ill feeling. And as nobody answered he paid his check, said
goodbye and left.

More drinks were ordered. Mrs. Paulsberg arrived in the company of Ole and
his fiancee. Coldevin moved as far back as he could until he found himself
almost at another table.

"We had to accompany Mrs. Paulsberg," said Ole good-naturedly; "we
couldn't let her go alone." And he slapped Paulsberg on the shoulder.

Miss Aagot had let a joyous exclamation escape her and had walked straight
over to Coldevin, to whom she gave her hand. But what in the world had
become of him? Hadn't she kept a continuous lookout for him on the streets
and asked Ole about him every day? She was at a loss to understand why she
saw him so rarely. She had had another letter from home, and everybody
sent him their kindest regards. Why did he keep so entirely to himself?

Coldevin stuttered many brief replies: there was no end of things to see
and do, exhibitions and museums, Tivoli and Parliament; there were
newspapers to read, lectures to attend; he also had to look up a few old
friends. Furthermore, it was best not to disturb a newly engaged couple
too much.

Coldevin smiled archly; his lips trembled a little and he spoke with bowed
head.

Ole came over, overwhelmed him with the same reproaches, and received the
same excuses. Coldevin was going to call on them to-morrow, though, they
could rely on it; he had made up his mind before he met them. Provided he
would not disturb them, of course.

Disturb? He? What was he thinking of?

Beer was served and everybody talked. Mrs. Paulsberg crossed her legs and
gripped the glass in her masculine fashion. The Journalist monopolised her
immediately. Ole continued his conversation with Coldevin.

"I hope you are enjoying yourself here? Interesting people, these! There
is Lars Paulsberg; have you met him?"

"Yes, I have met him. He is the third one of our authors I have met. No
doubt it is my fault; but, to tell the truth, none of them have made an
overwhelming impression on me."

"No? That is because you do not know them well enough."

"But I know what they have written. It seems to me they do not exactly
soar to the solitary heights. It is probably my own fault, though--Lars
Paulsberg uses perfumes."

"Does he? A little peculiarity. One must pardon such men a few oddities."

"But I notice that they treat each other with the greatest respect,"
Coldevin continued. "They talk about everything; they make excellent
speeches on every subject imaginable."

"Don't they, though? It is wonderful to listen to them, I must say."

"But how are you getting on--in the business, I mean?"

"Oh, we take one day at a time. We have just turned a little trick in
Brazil which I hope will prove satisfactory. I remember, you are
interested in business matters. When you come down tomorrow I will take
you around and show you how we do it. We will all go--you and Aagot and
myself--we three old friends."

"I thought I heard my name?" said Aagot merrily and joined them. "Yes, I
did; don't try to fool me, Ole. It seems to me it is my turn to speak a
little with Coldevin; you have had him to yourself long enough, Ole."

And she took Ole's chair and sat down.

"The letters from home are full of questions about you. Mamma asked me to
see that you were comfortable at your hotel."

Coldevin's lips quivered again, and he said, with his eyes on the floor:

"How can you bother with such things now? Don't worry about me; I am very
comfortable. I hope you are enjoying yourself? Though I hardly need to ask
you that."

"But, do you know, there are times when I am longing for home, too. Can
you understand that?"

"That is only the first few days--It will be a little hard never to see
you again, Miss Aagot--I mean a little--that is--"

"You talk so strangely to-night," she said. "You almost make me want to
cry; honestly you do."

"But, dear Miss Aagot--"

"To get married isn't the same as to die, I'm sure."

Coldevin's manner instantly changed; he became jocular.

"Die! Well, I like that! But you are right in saying that I have been
sitting here and depressing you with my talk. It was mostly your mother I
was thinking of. It was nobody else--Tell me, have you finished the
cushions for the yacht?"

"Yes," answered Aagot absently.

"But you have not been in Parliament yet? I imagine you have hardly had
time for that as yet. I have been there every day; but then I haven't
anything else to do."

"Listen," she said suddenly; "I may not have an opportunity to bid you
good night later, so I will do it now." She gave him her hand. "And
remember, you have promised to call to-morrow! I--You will make me very
happy if you come."

She dropped his hand and got up.

He sat there a moment as in a trance. He heard somebody say: "What can
Miss Aagot and Coldevin be so deeply absorbed in?" He heard that Aagot
was on the point of answering, and he exclaimed hurriedly:

"I shake hands with Miss Aagot on a promise to call on her to-morrow."

"Be sure and keep your promise, now," he heard Ole say. "Well, Aagot, I
suppose we ought to be getting home."

Ole put his hand in his pocket to pay the waiter; the Journalist did the
same, but Milde seized his arm and said:

"Leave that to Ole Henriksen. Kindly pay for us, too, Ole."

"With pleasure."

At the door Lars Paulsberg caught up with him and said:

"Don't go away without giving me the opportunity of shaking hands with
you. I hear you could lend me these rotten crowns."

Ole and Aagot went. A little later Coldevin got up, too; he bowed to each
of the clique and departed. He heard laughter behind his back and the word
"phenomenon" several times. He hurried into the first gateway he passed
and took out from his pocketbook a little silken bow, in the Norwegian
colours, carefully wrapped in paper. He kissed the bow, looked at it a
long time, and kissed it again, trembling in the grip of a silent, deep
emotion.

IV

It was Ole Henriksen's habit to make his rounds through the business
establishment immediately after his early morning coffee. He was an early
riser and had usually accomplished a great deal before breakfast,
inspected store and cellars, read and answered mail, telegraphed, given
instructions to his clerks; everything devolved upon him. Aagot kept him
company nowadays; she insisted on getting up as early as he, and her
little hands lightened many a task for him. Ole Henriksen worked more
enthusiastically than ever. The old man did nothing nowadays but make out
an occasional bill and balance up the cash-book; he kept to himself
up-stairs most of the time, and spent many an hour in the company of some
old crony, some visiting ship's captain or business acquaintance. But
before retiring old Henriksen always lit a lamp, shambled down-stairs to
the office, and took a last survey of the books. He took his time; and
when he came up about midnight he retired immediately.

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