Shallow Soil by Knut Hamsun

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Ole did the work for both of them; it was like play to him to direct all
these threads which he knew from the days of childhood. Aagot did not
disturb him much; it was only down in the little warehouse office that she
was apt to delay him at times. Her youth and gaiety filled the little
room, glorified everything, and brightened the world.

She was so cheerful that she carried away even the phlegmatic Ole. He was
lost in her; he played little tricks on her and trembled with the
tenderest affection for this hoydenish girl who wasn't even full grown.
When in the company of others he appeared vastly superior--she was his
little sweetheart; she was so young, much younger than he, it was up to
him to display his knowledge and experience. But when they were alone,
alas! then he could not keep up this pretence; he lost his seriousness and
was a child with her. He stole many a glance from his books and papers,
gazed at her secretly, lost in contemplation of her radiant figure and
worshipping to distraction her dimpling smile. How she could make his
heart pound when she would glance archly at him and then come over to him
and whisper: "So you are _my_ boy, are you?" She had so many adorable
ways. At times she could sit and gaze at the floor, gaze fixedly at
something which made her eyes dewy--memories, perhaps--some old memory--

Ole asked her at last when she thought they ought to get married, and when
he saw her blush deeply, even to her neck, he regretted that he had been
too abrupt. There was no hurry; she must decide that herself; no need to
answer now, not at all.

But she answered:

"I am ready when you are."

There was a knock at the door and Irgens entered. He came in order to
propose a visit to the sculpture-gallery. Ole said jestingly:

"I see! You have chosen this hour because you knew I couldn't come along!"

"What nonsense! We have to go when the galleries are open, naturally."

Ole laughed loudly.

"Look, he is getting mad, furious, ha, ha, ha! I fooled you that time,
Irgens!"

Aagot got her hat and coat and went with Irgens. Ole called after her:

"Don't stay too late, Aagot! Remember, we have promised to go with
Tidemand to Tivoli."

On the street Irgens glanced at his watch and said:

"I see it is a little too early yet. If you have no objections we might
take a walk up toward the Castle."

And they walked toward the Castle. The band played; people strolled up and
down. Irgens talked again interestingly and facetiously about different
matters, and Aagot replied and laughed, listening curiously to his words;
at times she would make some admiring little exclamation when he made a
specially striking remark. She could not refrain from looking at his
face--a handsome face, rich, curly moustache, a somewhat broad, voluptuous
mouth. He was in an entirely new suit to-day; she noticed it was bluish
like her own. He wore a silk shirt and grey gloves.

As they passed Our Saviour's Church he asked her if she liked to go to
church. She said yes--didn't he?

"Oh, no, not very often."

That was not nice of him.

He bowed smilingly. If she said so, of course. The fact of the matter was
that he had received a rude shock once; it sounded silly, it was only a
bagatelle, but it proved of far-reaching effect. He was sitting in this
very church on an occasion; a high mass was being celebrated. The minister
was all right; he was doing splendidly. He was even eloquent; he spoke
convincingly, with feeling and pathos. But in the middle of a most
stirring peroration in which he, carried away in an outburst of spiritual
fervour, had meant to shout: "Jews and Gentiles!" his tongue had tripped
and he had said: "Gents and Jewtiles! _Gents and Jewtiles!_--Imagine
these silly words hurled over the heads of the congregation in a loud,
sonorous voice! And the poor fellow stood there in full daylight and could
not get away from his miserable blunder. I assure you, it shocked me like
a cold shower!"

It sounded genuine as he spoke, not at all like an episode invented for
the occasion. Was it not possible that a particularly sensitive soul could
be seriously shaken by such a grotesque and silly mishap? Aagot could very
well understand it; and at the same time she had to laugh over that
miserable "Gents and Jewtiles," which she repeated over and over.

When they passed the Parliament buildings, Irgens pointed to the greystone
colossus and said:

"There we have Parliament; have you been there yet?"

"No, not yet."

Well, it wasn't a very cheerful place just now--wavering and treason all
along the line! The doughty parliamentarians lolled in their chairs and
chewed tobacco and grew fat and lazy; they used sonorous phrases and
challenged Sweden to a fight with bare knuckles, but when time for action
came--where were they then? She had no idea how he and others were boiling
with indignation over this display of loathsome cowardice. And what was
the mighty adversary like? Sweden! That invincible world power full of
doddering senility! He must compare Sweden to an octogenarian who sat,
dead drunk and feeble, and boasted of his warlike temper: "I'll never
yield--never!" And when Parliament heard that quavering voice it grew
palsied with fear. No, he, Irgens, should have been in Parliament!

How manly and proudly he spoke! She looked at him and said: "How zealous
you are now!"

"You must pardon me; I always grow impatient when our sovereignty is
discussed," he replied. "I trust I haven't unwittingly offended you by
trespassing on your personal opinions? I am glad to hear that."

They reached the Castle, turned aside, and entered the park; they forgot
that time was passing. He had started in to tell her a story from the
day's news, a scene from one of the courts: A man was being tried for
murder and had confessed. The question of mitigating circumstances arose,
and it was decided that there were mitigating circumstances. All right;
penitentiary for life. "Next case!" Suddenly a voice is heard from among
the spectators; it is the murderer's sweetheart, who shouts: "His
confession is untrue; he has not committed murder! How could he possibly
have done it; no one who knows him will believe it! And there are
mitigating circumstances; you cannot sentence him, for it wasn't
premeditated murder! No, Henry is innocent! Won't any of you who know him
say that he is innocent? Why are you all silent?" And the lady was led out
of the courtroom. That was love!

Aagot, the little goose, was moved. How beautiful--sad and beautiful! And
they carried her out? What a tragedy!

"Well, probably the story is a little exaggerated," he said. "Love as
strong as that does not grow on the bushes nowadays."

"But it does exist!"

"Perhaps, somewhere--on the Isle of the Blest--" But this expression awoke
the poet in him, and he rhapsodised. "And the place was called Evenrest,
because it was green and silent when the two arrived. A boy and a girl;
she fair, bright, shining like a white pinion against him who was dark--
two souls who gazed smilingly into each other, who voicelessly implored
each other, who closed rapturously around each other. And blue mountains
looked at them--"

He paused abruptly.

"I am making myself ridiculous," he said. "Let us sit down awhile."

They sat down. The sun sank, sank deeper; a tower-clock in the city
somewhere boomed forth the hour. Irgens continued to speak, impressively,
dreamily, warmly. He might go into the solitudes this summer, he said;
settle down in a cabin by the water and row around at night. Imagine,
wonderful nights in a rowboat!... But he had a feeling now that Aagot was
beginning to be uneasy because of the lateness of the hour, and in order
to keep her mind occupied he said:

"You must not believe, Miss Lynum, that I go around and prate about blue
mountains always; if I do it now it is only because of you. You impress me
deeply; you enrapture me when you are near me. I know what I am saying. It
is the loveliness and brightness of your face, and when you tilt your head
sideways--Of course, this is meant aesthetically, impersonally!"

Aagot had given him a quick glance, and this made him add the last words.
She did not understand him, perhaps; the reason for this last remark was
not quite clear to her, and she was on the point of saying something when
he resumed laughingly:

"I sincerely trust I haven't bored you too much with my nonsense? If I
have I'll go right down to the harbour and drown myself. Yes, you laugh,
but--I want to tell you, though, that your displeasure was charmingly
becoming to you, really. I saw that you were provoked. If I may be allowed
to express myself aesthetically once more, I would say that for a moment
you looked as the slender, wild fawn must look when she lifts her head and
snorts."

"But now I want to tell _you_ something," she said and got up. "What
time is it? But you must be crazy! Let us be off at once! If it is my
fault that you have talked too much, it is certainly yours that I have
listened to you and forgotten the time entirely. This is awful!"

And they hurried away down the park slope.

As they were going to turn toward the museum he wondered if there would be
time for a visit to-day. Perhaps they had better wait until some other
time? What did she think?

She stopped and reflected a moment; then she laughed merrily and
exclaimed:

"But we will have to go, if only for a moment! We must be able to say that
we have been there. No, this is simply terrible!"

And they hurried along.

The fact that she was conspiring with him to hide this peccadillo, that
from now on they would have a sort of secret together, filled him with a
warm pleasure. He wanted to keep on talking, to continue to keep her
interested; but she did not listen; she hurried along in order to get to
the museum before it should close. She skipped quickly up the many stairs,
ran past people going out, glanced quickly right and left in order to
identify the chief works of art, and asked breathlessly: "Where is the
Laocoon Group? Quick! I must see that!" They ran off in a wild search for
the Laocoon Group. It turned out that they had at least ten minutes before
closing time, and they took things a little easier.

Suddenly she imagined seeing Coldevin's dark eyes peering out from a
corner; but as she took a step forward to look closer the eyes disappeared
and she forgot all about it.

"What a pity we are in such a hurry!" she said several times.

When they had rushed through the first floor their time was up and they
had to leave. She talked with Irgens on the way back and seemed as pleased
as before; she gave him her hand at the door and thanked him, thanked him
twice. He begged her forgiveness because he had been responsible for her
failure to view the sculptures thoroughly, and she smiled amiably and said
that she had had a good time.

"I shall see you later at Tivoli," said Irgens.

"Are you going there?" she asked in surprise.

"I have been asked to come; I am going with some friends."

Aagot did not know that Irgens had received a pressing invitation from
Mrs. Hanka; she said all right, nodded, and went in.

Ole was waiting for her; she threw herself on his neck and cried eagerly:

"It was glorious--the Laocoon Group--everything! We did not have time to
see everything, that is, to see everything carefully; but you will take me
there some time, won't you? Promise! For I want you to take me."

* * * * *

When later on Ole and Aagot were going to Tidemand's house on their way to
Tivoli, Aagot remarked casually:

"It is a pity that you are not a poet, Ole."

He looked at her in surprise. "Do you think so?" he asked.

Then suddenly it dawned on her what a tactless thing she had said. As a
matter of fact, she had not meant it at all; it was just a thoughtless
word, a thoughtless, thoughtless word. She repented it bitterly and would
have given anything to have it unsaid. She stopped, threw her arms around
Ole's neck right in the middle of the street, and said in agitation:

"And you believe it? It is easy to fool you, Ole! Listen--you don't for a
moment think--I swear I didn't mean it, Ole. It was so stupid of me to say
it, but I didn't for a moment think you would take it seriously. I want to
know if you think I meant it; tell me if you do?"

"Of course I don't," he said and patted her cheek; "not at all, dearest.
That you can make so much of a little thing like that, you foolish child!
He, he!"

They continued their interrupted walk. She was so grateful to him because
he had taken it so nicely. Oh, he was so good and considerate, she loved
him; Heavens! how she adored him....

But this little scene had its influence over her conduct all during the
evening.

V

When the performance was over they all gathered in the restaurant. The
entire clique was there, even Mr. and Mrs. Paulsberg; later on Attorney
Grande appeared, dragging with him Coldevin, who followed unwillingly and
protestingly; he wanted to be excused. The Attorney had met him outside
and had thought it would be fun to bring him along.

Everything under the sun had been discussed: literature and art, man and
God; they had settled the suffrage question, taken a fall out of Malthus,
strayed onto the political preserves. It had unfortunately turned out that
Paulsberg's article in the _Gazette_ failed to have the desired
effect on Parliament. With sixty-five votes to forty-four it had decided
to postpone matters indefinitely; five representatives had suddenly been
taken ill and could not participate in the voting. Milde declared that he
was going to Australia.

"But you are painting Paulsberg?" objected Norem, the Actor.

"Well, what of it? I can finish that picture in a couple of days."

It was, however, a secret arrangement that the picture was not to be
finished until after the close of the Exhibition. Paulsberg had expressly
demanded it. He did not want to be exhibited in mixed company; he desired
solitude, veneration, a large window all to himself on the promenade. This
was just like Paulsberg.

When, therefore, Milde said that he could finish the picture in a couple
of days, Paulsberg answered curtly:

"I shall be unable to sit for you at present; I am working."

That settled it.

Mrs. Hanka had placed Aagot next to her. She had called to her: "Come
here, you with the dimple, here by me!" And she had turned to Irgens and
whispered: "Isn't she sweet?"

Mrs. Hanka was again in her grey woollen dress with low lace collar; her
neck was bare. Spring seemed to affect her; she looked a little played
out. Her lips were cracked, and when she laughed her features were
distorted into wry grimaces because of these cracked lips.

She told Aagot that they were going to the country shortly and hoped to
see her there. They were going to eat currants and rake hay and loll in
the grass. Suddenly she turned to her husband across the table and said:

"While I remember it, can you let me have a hundred?"

"I wish you hadn't remembered it," said Tidemand good-naturedly. He
winked, jested happily, and was delighted. "Don't marry, my friends; it is
an expensive luxury! Another hundred!"

And he handed the bill to his wife, who thanked him.

"But what is it for?" he asked her banteringly.

"I refuse to tell you," she said, and turned to Aagot in order to avoid
further references to the matter.

Attorney Grande and Coldevin entered just then.

"Of course you are coming," said the Attorney. "I never heard anything
like it! I want you to join me in a little drink. Come and help me, you
fellows; I can't get the man inside!"

But when Coldevin saw who were present he wrenched himself free quickly
and disappeared.

He had visited Ole Henriksen one morning according to his promise, but he
had vanished since then and nobody had seen him until now.

The Attorney said:

"I discovered him outside; I had pity on the poor man, he seemed so
altogether alone, and I--"

Aagot had jumped up quickly and hurried outside; she caught up with
Coldevin on the stairs. They talked together a few moments; finally they
both returned.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "Attorney Grande was kind enough to ask me
to come with him, but I did not know that there were others here--that
there was a party here," he corrected himself.

The Attorney laughed.

"Sit down, drink, and be merry," he said.

And Coldevin made himself at home. This tutor from the country, bald and
grey, generally taciturn and restrained, talked now with and like the
rest. He seemed somewhat changed since his arrival; he answered boldly
when he was addressed, and was not backward in expressing his opinions.
Journalist Gregersen spoke again about the political situation. He had not
heard Paulsberg say anything about it. What was going to happen? What were
they going to do?

"What can one do about an accomplished fact?" asked Paulsberg. "Simply
take it like men; that is all I can say."

The Attorney now asked Coldevin:

"I suppose you have been in Parliament to-day, also?"

"Yes."

"You know, then, what took place. What do you think of it?"

"That is not easy to say on the spur of the moment."

"Perhaps you haven't followed matters very closely; you have just arrived,
I understand," said Mrs. Paulsberg amiably.

"Followed matters closely! I should say he has; don't you worry about
that!" cried the Attorney. "I have talked with him before."

The discussion grew violent. Milde and the Journalist simultaneously
demanded the dismissal of the cabinet; others expressed their opinion
about the Swedish opera they had just attended; it appeared that not one
among them understood music in the least, and they strayed back to
politics.

"So you were not seriously shaken by what occurred to-day, Mr. Coldevin?"
asked Paulsberg in order to be friendly, too. "I am ashamed to confess
that I have sat at home and cursed all afternoon!"

"Indeed!" answered Coldevin.

"Don't you hear that Paulsberg asked if you were shaken?" said the
Journalist sharply across the table.

Coldevin murmured:

"Shaken? One can, of course, not avoid feeling disappointed when such
things happen. But the climax to-day was hardly unexpected by me. As I see
it, it was only a last rite."

"Oh, you are a pessimist."

"Indeed, no, you are mistaken. I am not that."

Beer and sandwiches were served, afterward coffee. Coldevin glanced at
those present; he met Aagot's eyes looking at him very gently, and this
agitated him so that he suddenly spoke out loudly what was on his mind:

"Did this decision to-day surprise you so very much, then?" And when he
received a qualified affirmation he continued, in order to make himself
understood: "To me it appears to be entirely in harmony with conditions
otherwise prevailing.--People are saying to themselves: 'We have our
liberty; the constitution guarantees it, and now we want to enjoy it for a
while!' Behold--the sons of Norway have become freemen and the peers of
anybody."

Everybody agreed with him. Paulsberg nodded; this phenomenon from the
country might not be entirely impossible, after all. But he would say no
more; he preserved an obstinate silence. At last the Attorney got him
started again; he asked:

"When I met you at the Grand recently you insisted that it was wrong ever
to forget, ever to forgive. Is that a principle, or how--"

"Yes, you who are young should remember, should always remember, the
disappointment you have suffered to-day. You have put your faith in a man,
and the man has betrayed your confidence; this you should never forget.
One should never forgive, never; such wrongs should be avenged. Once I saw
two truck-horses maltreated; it was in a Catholic country, in France. The
driver sat high in his seat and swung his enormous whip; it was of no use,
the horses slipped and could not budge the heavy load, even though they,
so to speak, dug their hoofs into the asphalt. The driver got down; he
turned his whip around and used the handle; he beat the horses across
their backs; they tried again, stumbled and fell, got up and made another
effort. The driver became more and more enraged as people gathered around
and witnessed his dilemma; he went forward and beat the horses across the
eyes; he went back and struck them on the tender spots beneath the flanks,
and the horses squirmed and stumbled, and fell to their knees again, as if
they begged for mercy--Three times I tried to get at that brute, and every
time I was pushed back by the railing mob who wanted no interference. I
had no gun; I was helpless; I stood there with a penknife in my hands and
cursed and swore to high Heaven at that barbaric beast. Then somebody next
to me--a woman, a nun who carried on her breast the cross of Christ--said
mildly and reproachfully: 'You are committing an awful sin, sir; the Lord
is good; he forgives everything!' I turned to that unspeakably brutal
creature and said nothing, but glared at her and happened to spit in her
face--"

This delighted the clique.

"In the face? How did it turn out? The devil you say! Did you get away
with it?"

"No; I was arrested--But what I wanted to say is this: Never forgive; it
is brutal; it turns justice into a farce. A kind act should be repaid with
a still kinder act, but a wicked wrong should be avenged. If one is struck
on one cheek and turns the other in forgiveness and submission, then
goodness and justice lose all value. I wish to point out that the
result in Parliament to-day is not altogether an illogical consequence
of the conditions that have developed among us. We forgive and forget
treason in our leaders and excuse their vacillation and weakness in every
crisis. Now the youthful element should step forward, the young Norway,
invincible in its indignation and irresistible in its strength. But the
young Norway does not step forward; indeed no, we have mollycoddled it
with hymns and rot about peace eternal; we have taught it to admire
gentleness and submissiveness; above all, to emulate those who have
reached the highest degree of neutral toothlessness. Behold the country's
youth, strapping and full-grown, six foot tall, sucking its bottle and
growing fat and harmless. If some one smites it on one cheek it turns the
other accommodatingly, and keeps its fists in its pockets with admirable
self-control."

Coldevin's speech attracted not a little attention; they all looked
closely at him. He sat there as usual and spoke quietly, without
excitement. But his eyes blazed, and his hands trembled as he awkwardly
bent back his fingers until they cracked. He did not lift his voice above
the normal. Otherwise he did not look well; he wore a loose shirt-front,
and this had become disarranged and hung lopsidedly so that one could
glimpse a blue cotton shirt beneath. His beard straggled down his breast.

The Journalist nodded and remarked to his neighbour:

"Not at all bad! He is almost one of us."

Lars Paulsberg said jestingly, and still amiably:

"As I said before, I have done nothing but curse all day, so I guess I
have contributed considerably to the indignation of our youth."

Attorney Grande, who enjoyed himself immensely, was quite proud over his
idea of getting Coldevin to come. He told Milde once more how it had
happened: "I thought it would not be very lively here, and just then I ran
across this fellow outside, standing there all by himself looking in. It
kind of moved me, you know--"

Milde spoke up.

"You mentioned the conditions now prevailing. If by that you mean that we
are entirely surrounded by weakness and submissiveness, let me inform you
that you are much mistaken--"

"In that case I do not mean it, of course."

"But what do you mean, then? You cannot say that youth like ours, teeming
with talent and genius, is weak and of no account. Good God, man! there
never was a time when our youth was as rich in talent as at present."

"If there was, then I never heard of it," said even Norem, who had been
sitting quietly at a corner of the table emptying glass upon glass.

"Talent? Now that is an entirely different question, you know," said
Coldevin quietly. "But do you really think that the talents within our
youth are so sweepingly great?"

"He--he asks if--So our talents at present do not amount to so very much,
Mr. Coldevin?" Milde laughed contemptuously and turned to Irgens, who had
kept aloof from the conversation. "It looks bad for us, Irgens; the
phenomenon does not approve of us."

Mrs. Hanka now spoke; she wanted to smooth matters over. It could only be
a misunderstanding; Mr. Coldevin would surely explain himself
satisfactorily. Couldn't they listen to a man without losing their temper?
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Milde--"

"You are not much impressed with us who are supposed to have a little
talent, then?" asked Paulsberg, still indulgent.

"Impressed? I must admit that in my humble opinion things are a little on
the down grade with us," answered Coldevin. "I confess that that is my
opinion. And it is especially the country's youth I am thinking of. We
have begun a slow retrogression; in plain words, we are lowering our
standards, we are tapering down to a general zero. The young do not demand
much from themselves or from others any more; they accept the diminutive
and call it great; there is not much, not very much, needed to create a
stir nowadays. That is what I meant when I referred to the general
conditions."

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