Shallow Soil by Knut Hamsun

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Irgens made a wry face. Did she care to have things read to her? Really?

It was intentionally that Aagot had mixed Ole's name into the
conversation. This afternoon he had once more asked her about the wedding,
and she had left everything to him; there was no reason for delay. It had
been decided to have the wedding after Ole had returned from London this
coming fall. Ole was as good as the day was long; he never grew impatient
with her and was almost absurdly fond of her. He had said that perhaps she
had better spend a little time in the house occasionally. She had flushed;
she could not help it; it was disgraceful not to have stirred a finger to
make herself a little useful instead of hanging around the office early
and late. Suppose she began to think a little about their house, said Ole;
she might make up her mind about things they wanted, furniture and such.
Of course, she should have all the help she needed, but--Yes, it was only
too true; she had not given her new home a thought; she had simply hung
about the office with him. She had begun to cry, and had told him how
silly and useless she really was; she was a goose, a stupid little goose.
But Ole had taken her in his arms and had sat down with her on the sofa
and told her that she was only a child, a charming, wonderful child, but
she was getting older and more sensible right along; time and life were
before them. How he loved her! His eyes, too, were wet; he looked like a
child himself. Above all, there was no hurry; she had free hands to decide
and arrange, just as she pleased. Yes; they were fully agreed....

"I must confess I feared you had lost interest in us poets," said Irgens.
"I was afraid we had forfeited your good-will in some way."

She woke up and looked at him.

"Why do you say that?"

"I had come to that conclusion. You remember that evening at Tivoli when
your old tutor was quite severe on us poor scribblers? You looked as if
you heartily approved of everything he said."

"No, you are mistaken."

Pause.

"I am very glad that I have met you, anyway," said Irgens as indifferently
as he could. "Only to see you is enough to put me in good spirits. It must
be wonderful to be able to bring happiness to others simply by appearing."

She had not the heart to show displeasure over that; perhaps he really
meant it, strange though it sounded, and she answered smilingly:

"It would be hard on you if you depended on me to bring you good spirits."
God knows she had not meant to pain him; she had said it in all innocence,
without any veiled thought or ulterior motive; but when Irgens's head
drooped and he said quietly, "Yes, I understand!" it occurred to her that
several interpretations might be placed upon this sentence, and she added
hurriedly: "For you do not see me very often. By the way, I am going to
the country this summer; I shall probably be away until fall."

He stopped.

"Are you going to the country?"

"Yes. I am going with Mrs. Tidemand. I shall be with her until fall."

Irgens was silent and thoughtful a few moments.

"Has it been decided that Tidemands are going to the country, then?" he
asked. "I understood it was not settled yet."

Aagot nodded and said that it had been decided.

"That pleasure has been denied me," he said with a wistful smile. "No
country joys for me."

"Why not?"

She regretted her question immediately; of course, he could not afford it.
She was always so indelicate and awkward! She added a few meaningless
words to save him the humiliation of a reply.

"When I want to go to the country I hire a boat and row over to the
island," he said with his sad smile. "Anyway, it is better than nothing."

The island? She grew 'attentive. "Of course, the island! I haven't been
there yet. Is it pretty?"

"Beautiful! There are some wonderful places. I know them all. If I only
dared I would ask you to let me row you over some time?"

This was not said in simple courtesy; it was a request. She understood it
perfectly. But she said, all the same, that she was not sure she had time;
it would be interesting, but--

Pause.

"I wrote many of my poems there," continued Irgens. "I should like to show
you the place."

Aagot was silent.

"Come, please!" he exclaimed suddenly, and wanted to take her hand.

Just then Ole Henriksen appeared on the stairs and came toward them.
Irgens remained in his pleading attitude; he said with outstretched hand:

"Do, please!"

She glanced at him hurriedly.

"Yes," she whispered.

Ole joined them; he had not been able to get hold of Arendal at once; he
could not get a reply until to-morrow. Off to Sara now! He really had a
surprise for them--he carried in his pocket Ojen's latest work. They just
ought to hear it!

II

Quite a number of the clique were ensconced at Sara's, drinking and
gossiping. Tidemand was there, happy and contented with everything. He had
been all smiles since his success with that enormous enterprise in rye.
The grain had begun to arrive and was being stored in his warehouses,
thousands upon thousands of sacks. They grew into mountains; there was no
room for anything else; even Ole Henriksen had been obliged to let him
have space for storing. Tidemand walked around and viewed this wealth with
pride; even he had accomplished something above the ordinary. Never for an
instant did he regret that he had given such unlimited orders.

Journalist Gregersen offered Ole one finger and said: "You have something
on your conscience, Ole?"

"Oh, nothing sensational, exactly," said Ole. "I had a letter from Ojen;
he sends me his latest poem. Do you want to hear it?"

"Does he send you his--Has he sent you a manuscript?" exclaimed Milde in
astonishment. "I have never heard anything like it!"

"Now, no personalities!" warned the Journalist.

"Yes, but excuse me--why in the world did he send it to _you_, Ole?"
asks Milde again and does not give in.

Irgens glanced at Aagot. She did not appear to be listening, but was
talking eagerly with Mrs. Hanka. Irgens turned to Milde and told him
curtly that there were certain impertinences which even friends were not
supposed to submit to--was that clear enough?

Milde burst out laughing. He had never heard anything funnier. Did they
get offended? He had not meant anything of a harmful nature, nothing
offensive, mentally or physically! The idea simply had tickled his sense
of humour. But if it wasn't funny, all right....

Ole took out his manuscript.

"It is something out of the ordinary," he said. "Ojen calls it
'Memories.'"

"Let me read it," said Norem quickly. "I am, at any rate, supposed to know
a little about reading."

Ole handed him the manuscript.

"Jehovah is very busy--" began Norem. "Ojen has expressly stated in a
marginal note that it is not to be Jahve; now you know it!"

Jehovah is very busy; Jehovah has much to attend to. He was with me
one night when I wandered in the forest; He descended to me while I
lay on my face in prayer.

I lay there praying in the night, and the forest was silent.

The night oppressed me like an unbending, disjointed absurdity, and
the night was like a silence in which something breathing and mute was
abroad.

Then Jehovah descended to me.

When Jehovah came the air rushed away from Him like a wake; birds were
blown away like chaff, and I clung to the sod and the trees and the
rocks.

"You are calling me?" said Jehovah.

"I call out in my distress!" I answered.

And Jehovah spoke: "You want to know what to choose in life, Beauty or
Love or Truth?" And Jehovah said: "You want to know?"

And when He said: "You want to learn that?" I did not answer, but was
silent; for He knew my thoughts.

Then Jehovah touched my eyes, and I beheld:

I saw a tall woman against the skies. She wore no garments, and when
she moved her body shimmered like white silk, and she wore no
garments; for her body quivered toward me in rapture.

And she stood against the skies in a sunrise, yes, in a crimson dawn;
and the sun shone upon her, and a scarlet light streamed up through
the skies, yes, a light of blood surrounded her.

And she was tall and white, and her eyes were like two blue flowers
which brushed my soul when she looked at me; and when she spoke to me
she entreated me and urged me toward her, and her voice was like a
sweet phosphorescence with a taste of the sea.

I rose from the earth and stretched forth my arms toward her, and when
I stretched both my arms toward her she again implored me, and her
body was odorous with rapture. And I was gloriously stirred in my
inmost being, and I rose and gave her my lips in the morning glow,
and my eyes fell.

When I looked up again the woman was old. And the woman was old and
hoary with years, and her body had shrunk with age, and she had very
little life left. But when I looked up the sky was darkling toward
night, yes dark like night, and the woman was without hair. I looked
to her and knew her not and knew not the sky, and when I looked toward
the woman she was gone.

"This was Beauty!" said Jehovah. "Beauty wanes. I am Jehovah!"

And Jehovah touched my eyes again, and I beheld:

I saw a terrace, high, beneath a castle. There were two people there,
and the two people on the terrace were young and full of joy. And the
sun shone on the castle, and on the terrace, and the sun shone on the
two people and on the gravel deep, deep down the abyss, on the hard
driveway. And the people were two, a man and a woman in the springtide
of youth, and both were speaking honeyed words, and both were tender
toward each other with desire.

"See the flower on my breast!" he said; "can you hear what it is
saying?" And he leaned backward toward the railing on the terrace
and said: "This flower which you gave me stands here and murmurs
and whispers toward you, and it murmurs: 'Beloved, Queen, Alvilde,
Alvilde!' Do you hear it?"

And she smiled and looked down, and she took his hand and placed his
hand against her heart and answered: "But do you hear what my heart
says to you? My heart throbs toward you and it blushes with emotion
for your sake. And my heart babbles in joyful confusion and says:
'Beloved, I pause before you and almost perish when you look at me,
Beloved!'"

He leaned toward the terrace-railing and gloriously his breast heaved
with love. And deep, deep below was the abyss and the hard driveway.
And he pointed his finger down the depths and said: "Throw down your
fan, and I will follow it!" And when he had spoken his breast rose and
sank, and he placed his hands on the railing and made ready for the
leap.

Then I cried out and closed my eyes....

But when I looked up I saw again the two people, and they were both
older and both in their prime. And the two did not speak to each
other, but were silent with their thoughts. And when I looked up the
sky was grey, and the two walked up the white castle-stairway, and she
was full of indifference, yes full of hate in her steely eyes, and
when I looked for the third time I saw also anger and hate in his
glance, and his hair was grey like the grey skies.

And as they ascended the stairs she dropped her fan, one step down it
dropped, and she said with quivering lips and pointed downward: "I
dropped my fan--there it lies on the lower step--please hand it to me,
dear!"

And he did not answer, but walked on and called a servant to pick up
the fan.

"This was Love," said Jehovah. "Love perishes. I am Jehovah!"

And Jehovah touched my eyes for the last time, and I beheld:

I saw a town and a public square, and I saw a scaffold. And when I
listened I heard a seething sound of voices, and when I looked I saw
many people who talked and gritted their teeth with joy. And I saw a
man who was being bound, a malefactor who was being bound with leather
thongs, and the malefactor's countenance was haughty and proud, and
his eyes shone like stars. But his garment was torn and his feet stood
naked on the ground, and his clothes were almost gone, yes his cloak
was worn to almost nothing.

And I listened and heard a voice, and when I looked I saw that the
malefactor was speaking, and the malefactor spoke proudly and
gloriously. And they bade him be silent, but he spoke, he testified,
he shouted, and when they bade him be silent he did not cease with
fear. And when the malefactor spoke the mob ran up and silenced his
lips, and when he mutely pointed to the sky and to the sun, and when
he pointed to his heart which still beat warmly, the mob ran up and
struck him. And when the mob struck him the malefactor fell to his
knees, and he knelt and clasped his hands and testified mutely,
without words, in spite of the cruel blows.

And I looked at the malefactor and saw his eyes like stars, and I saw
the mob throw him down and hold him on the scaffold with their hands.
And when once more I looked I saw an axe-blade write in the air, and
when I listened I heard the stroke of the axe against the scaffolding
and the people joyfully shouting. And while I listened a
single-throated cry rose toward heaven from people groaning with
ecstasy.

But the malefactor's head rolled in the dirt and the mob ran up and
seized it and lifted it high by the hair. And the malefactor's head
still spoke, and it testified with unquenchable voice and spoke loudly
all the words it uttered. And the malefactor's head was not silent
even in death.

But the mob ran up and took hold of the malefactor's head by the
tongue and lifted it high by the tongue. And the vanquished tongue was
mute, and the tongue spoke no more. But the eyes were like stars, yes,
like gleaming stars to be seen by everybody....

Then Jehovah said: "This was Truth. And Truth speaks even after its
head is severed. And with its tongue bound its eyes shine like stars.
I am Jehovah!"

When Jehovah had spoken I fell on my face and spoke not, but was
silent with much thought. And I thought that Beauty was lovely ere
it waned and Love was sweet ere it perished, and I thought that Truth
endured like stars everlasting. And tremblingly I thought of Truth.

And Jehovah said: "You wanted to know what to choose in life?" And
Jehovah said then: "Have you chosen?"

I lay on my face and answered, full of many thoughts:

"Beauty was lovely and Love was very sweet; and if I choose Truth,
it is like the stars, eternal."

And Jehovah spake once more and asked me:

"Have you chosen?"

And my thoughts were many, my thoughts warred mightily within me, and
I answered:

"Beauty was like a morning glow." And when I had said this I whispered
and said: "Love was also sweet and glorious like a little star in my
soul."

But then I felt Jehovah's eye on me, and Jehovah's eye read my
thoughts. And for the third time Jehovah asked and said:

"Have you chosen?"

And when He said for the third time: "Have you chosen?" my eyes stared
with terror, yes, all my strength had left me. And when He said for
the last time: "Have you chosen?" I remembered Beauty and Love and
remembered them both, and I answered Jehovah:

"I choose Truth!"

* * * * *

But I still remember....

"Well, that's all," concluded Norem.

Everybody was silent for a moment; then the Journalist said:

"I refrain from expressing an opinion; I notice Milde is going to say
something."

And Milde did not refrain; far from it; on the contrary, he had a remark
to make. Could anybody tell him what it was all about? He admired Ojen as
much as anybody, but was there any sense to all this "Jehovah said" and
"Jehovah said"? He wanted to be enlightened.

"But why are you always so unkind to Ojen?" asked Mrs. Hanka. "Memories--
can't you understand? To me it seemed beautiful and full of feeling; don't
spoil it for me now." And she turned to Aagot and said: "Didn't you find
it so, too?"

"But, dear Mrs. Hanka," exclaimed Milde, "don't say that I am always
unkind to Ojen! Do I not wish him success with his application for the
subsidy, contrary to my own interests? But this blessed new 'intention' is
beyond me. Memories--all right. But where, in Heaven's name, is the point?
Jehovah has never visited him; it is an invention. And, furthermore, why
didn't he choose both Youth and Beauty, and Truth as well? That is what I
should have done. The point, I say!"

"But that is just it--there is no definite point," replied Ole Henriksen.
"So Ojen says in a letter to me. Its effect lies in its euphony, he says."

"He does? No, that fellow is the same wherever he goes. That is the
trouble. Not even the mountains can do anything for him. Goats' milk and
pine woods and peasant girls have not the slightest effect on him, as it
were--I am still at a loss to understand why he sent _you_ his
manuscript, Ole; but if it is an offence to ask, of course, then--"

"I really don't know why he sent it to me," said Ole quietly. "He tells me
that he wanted me to see that he was doing something and not wasting his
time altogether. He is anxious to get back, though; he cannot stand
Torahus any longer."

Milde whistled.

"I understand! He asked you for carfare!"

"I do not suppose he has much money left. That could hardly be expected,"
answered Ole, and put the manuscript in his pocket. "As for me, I think it
is a remarkable poem, irrespective of your opinion."

"Surely, old fellow; but please don't talk about poetry," interrupted
Milde. And as it dawned on him that he had been a little too rude to the
poor peddler in Aagot's presence, he added hurriedly: "I mean--Isn't it
too much of a bore to talk about poetry and poetry all the time? Give us,
for a change, a little fishery talk, a little railway politics--Isn't it a
fierce lot of rye you are storing, Tidemand?"

As Tidemand saw many eyes upon him, he could not entirely ignore the
Artist's question, and he answered:

"Yes, I have tried to strike a modest blow; I cannot deny it. It all
depends now on how things turn out in Russia. If, in spite of everything
that had been forecasted, the crops should prove even middling, it does
not look any too bright for me and my rye. Rains in Russia now would
mean--"

"Rains are falling now," said Gregersen. "The English papers have been
informed of a sufficient rainfall in the larger provinces. Are you selling
your rye already?"

Of course, Tidemand had bought to sell if he could get his price.

Milde had moved over to Paulsberg, and spoke to him in a low whisper.
Ojen's prose poem had caused him some anxiety. Perhaps, after all, there
was something to this fellow, this competitor in the matter of the
subsidy. What was Paulsberg's opinion?

"You know I don't care to speak for or against in such a matter," said
Paulsberg. "But I have called at the ministry a few times and expressed my
preference. I hope it may carry some weight."

"Of course, of course, I didn't mean--Well, the Exhibition closes
to-morrow. We ought to get busy and finish that picture of yours. Can you
sit tomorrow?"

Paulsberg nodded and turned away.

Irgens had gradually lost his good spirits; it irritated him that no one
had mentioned his book. It was the latest event; why wasn't it even
referred to? Everybody was only too familiar with Ojen's filigree fancies.
Irgens shrugged his shoulders. Paulsberg had not indicated approval of his
book by a single word. Perhaps he was waiting to be asked? But Irgens
could get along without Paulsberg's opinion.

Irgens rose.

"Are you going?" asked Mrs. Hanka.

Irgens said good night to her and to Miss Aagot, nodded to the others, and
left Sara's.

He had only gone a few steps when he heard somebody call him. Mrs. Hanka
was hurrying after him; she had left her wraps in the cafe and had
followed in order to say good night properly. Wasn't that nice of her? She
smiled and was very happy.

"I have hardly seen you since I got your book. How I have enjoyed every
word!" she exclaimed, and put her hand in his coat pocket in order to be
close to him. He felt that she left an envelope in his pocket. "Oh, your
verses, your verses!" she said again and again.

He could not remain impassive in the presence of this warm admiration. He
wanted to return it, to show her how fond he was of her, and while in this
mood he confided to her that he, too, had applied for the subsidy. What
did she think of that? He had really applied, briefly and without
enclosing any recommendations, simply sending his book. That ought to be
sufficient.

Mrs. Hanka did not answer at once.

"You have suffered, then," she said; "you have lacked--I mean, you have
had to apply like the others--"

"Well, good Lord," he answered, and laughed, "what are the subsidies for,
anyway? I have not suffered want; but why not apply when one can do it
without loss of prestige? And I did not humble myself; be sure of that. 'I
hereby apply for the subsidy and enclose my last book'--that was all.
There was no kowtowing whatever. And when I survey my fellow applicants I
hardly think I shall be entirely eclipsed. What is your opinion?"

She smiled and said:

"No, you will not be eclipsed."

He put his arm around her and said:

"Now, Hanka, you must go back--I can endure it all as long as you are in
town, but when you go away it will look very dark for me! I shan't know
what to do with myself then."

"I am only going to the country," she said.

"Isn't that enough? We shall be separated just the same, for you know I
cannot leave the city. When are you going?"

"I imagine in about a week."

"I wish you wouldn't go away, Hanka!" he exclaimed, and stood still.

Mrs. Hanka reflected.

"Would it really please you so much if I stayed?" she asked. "All right;
then I'll stay. Yes, I will. It will be hard on the children, but--Anyway,
it is enough for me that I make you glad."

They had reached Sara's once more.

"Good night," he said happily. "Thank you, Hanka! When shall I see you
again? I am longing--"

III

Three days later Irgens received a note from Mrs. Hanka.

He was down-town; he had met a few acquaintances; he did not say much, but
was in a satisfied frame of mind. He had taken a look at Paulsberg's great
portrait which was now exhibited in the Arrow, in the large window which
everybody had to pass; people crowded in front of it continually. The
painting was elegant and obtrusive; Paulsberg's well-groomed form looked
very distinguished in the plain cane-bottomed chair, and people wondered
if that was the chair in which he had written his books. All the
newspapers had mentioned the picture in flattering terms.

Irgens had a glass of wine in front of him and listened abstractedly to
the conversation. Tidemand was still optimistic; that bit of rain in
Russia had not depressed his hopes. The prices were not soaring as yet,
but they surely would. Suddenly Irgens pricked up his ears: Tidemand was
talking about their summer plans.

"We are not going to the country after all," he said; "Hanka thought--In
fact, I told her plainly that if she wanted to go she would have to go
alone; I was too busy to think of getting off. Hanka was very nice about
it; she agreed to stay in the city."

The door opened and Milde entered. The corpulent chap beamed happily and
shouted, full of the great sensation he was going to spring:

"Congratulate me, good people, I have won the prize! Imagine, in its
inscrutable wisdom the ministry has chosen to bestow the subsidy upon me!"

"Have _you_ received the subsidy?" asked Irgens slowly.

"Yes, can you understand it? How it happened I am at a loss to know. I got
it from under your very noses! I hear that you, too, applied, Irgens?"

Silence fell upon the crowd at the table. Nobody had expected that, and
they were all wondering what influence had been brought to bear. Milde had
got the subsidy--what next?

"Well, I congratulate you!" said Tidemand, and gave Milde his hand.

"Thank you," Milde replied. "I want you to lend me some money now, so that
I can celebrate properly; you'll get it back when I cash in."

Irgens looked at his watch as if he suddenly remembered something and got
up.

"I, too, congratulate you," he said. "I am sorry to have to leave at once;
I have to--No; my object in applying was an entirely different one; I'll
tell you about it later," he added in order to hide his disappointment.

Irgens went home. So Milde had been chosen! That was the way Norway
rewarded her talents. Here he had hurled his inspired lyric in their
faces, and they did not even know what it was! _Whom_ had they
preferred? None other than oil-painter Milde, collector of ladies'
corsets!

Of course, he knew how it had happened; Paulsberg was behind it. Paulsberg
had supported Milde's application, and Milde had painted Paulsberg's
picture. A simon-pure advertising conspiracy! And when Irgens passed the
Arrow and saw the painting he spat contemptuously on the pavement. He had
seen through this hypocritical scurviness. However, he would find means to
make himself felt.

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