The Best of Knut Hamsun. Knut Hamsun

I had three hours yet before the door would be locked. What a fright I had been in!

      Well, there was not a stone left unturned. I had done all I could. To think that I really could not succeed once in a whole day! If I told it no one could believe it; if I were to write it down they would say I had invented it. Not in a single place! Well, well, there is no help for it. Before all, don't go and get pathetic again. Bah! how disgusting! I can assure you, it makes me have a loathing for you. If all hope is over, why there is an end of it. Couldn't I, for that matter, steal a handful of oats in the stable? A streak of light--a ray--yet I knew the stable was shut.

      I took my ease, and crept home at a slow snail's pace. I felt thirsty, luckily for the first time through the whole day, and I went and sought about for a place where I could get a drink. I was a long distance away from the bazaar, and I would not ask at a private house. Perhaps, though, I could wait till I got home; it would take a quarter of an hour. It was not at all so certain that I could keep down a draught of water, either; my stomach no longer suffered in any way--I even felt nausea at the spittle I swallowed. But the buttons! I had not tried the buttons at all yet. There I stood, stock-still, and commenced to smile. Maybe there was a remedy, in spite of all! I wasn't totally doomed. I should certainly get a penny for them; tomorrow I might raise another some place or other, and Thursday I might be paid for my newspaper article. I should just see it would come out all right. To think that I could really go and forget the buttons. I took them out of my pocket, and inspected them as I walked on again. My eyes grew dazed with joy. I did not see the street; I simply went on. Didn't I know exactly the big pawn-shop--my refuge in the dark evenings, with my blood-sucking friend? One by one my possessions had vanished there--my little things from home--my last book. I liked to go there on auction days, to look on, and rejoice each time my books seemed likely to fall into good hands. Magelsen, the actor, had my watch; I was almost proud of that. A diary, in which I had written my first small poetical attempt, had been bought by an acquaintance, and my topcoat had found a haven with a photographer, to be used in the studio. So there was no cause to grumble about any of them. I held my buttons ready in my hand; "Uncle" is sitting at his desk, writing. "I am not in a hurry," I say, afraid of disturbing him, and making him impatient at my application. My voice sounded so curiously hollow I hardly recognized it again, and my heart beat like a sledge-hammer.

      He came smilingly over to me, as was his wont, laid both his hands flat on the counter, and looked at my face without saying anything. Yes, I had brought something of which I would ask him if he could make any use; something which is only in my way at home, assure you of it--are quite an annoyance--some buttons. Well, what then? what was there about the buttons? and he thrusts his eyes down close to my hand. Couldn't he give me a couple of halfpence for them?--whatever he thought himself--quite according to his own judgment. "For the buttons?"--and "Uncle" stares astonishedly at me--"for these buttons?" Only for a cigar or whatever he liked himself; I was just passing, and thought I would look in.

      Upon this, the old pawnbroker burst out laughing, and returned to his desk without saying a word. There I stood; I had not hoped for much, yet, all the same, I had thought of a possibility of being helped. This laughter was my death-warrant. It couldn't, I suppose, be of any use trying with my eyeglasses either? Of course, I would let my glasses go in with them; that was a matter of course, said I, and I took them off. Only a penny, or if he wished, a halfpenny.

      "You know quite well I can't lend you anything on your glasses," said "Uncle"; I told you that once before."

      "But I want a stamp," I said, dully. "I can't even send off the letters I have written; a penny or a halfpenny stamp, just as you will."

      "Oh, God help you, go your way!" he replied, and motioned me off with his hands.

      Yes, yes; well, it must be so, I said to myself. Mechanically, I put on my glasses again, took the buttons in my hand, and, turning away, bade him good-night, and closed the door after me as usual. Well, now, there was nothing more to be done! To think he would not take them at any price, I muttered. They are almost new buttons; I can't understand it.

      Whilst I stood, lost in thought, a man passed by and entered the office. He had given me a little shove in his hurry. We both made excuses, and I turned round and looked after him.

      "What! is that you?" he said, suddenly, when half-way up the steps. He came back, and I recognized him. "God bless me, man, what on earth do you look like? What were you doing in there?"

      "Oh, I had business. You are going in too, I see."

      "Yes; what were you in with?"

      My knees trembled; I supported myself against the wall, and stretched out my hand with the buttons in it.

      "What the deuce!" he cried. "No; this is really going too far."

      "Good-night!" said I, and was about to go; I felt the tears choking my breast.

      "No; wait a minute," he said.

      What was I to wait for? Was he not himself on the road to my "Uncle," bringing, perhaps, his engagement ring--had been hungry, perhaps, for several days--owed his landlady?

      "Yes," I replied; "if you will be out soon...."

      "Of course," he broke in, seizing hold of my arm; "but I may as well tell you I don't believe you. You are such an idiot, that it's better you come in along with me."

      I understood what he meant, suddenly felt a little spark of pride, and answered:

      "I can't; I promised to be in Bernt Akers Street at half-past seven, and...."

      "Half-past seven, quite so; but it's eight now. Here I am, standing with the watch in my hand that I'm going to pawn. So, in with you, you hungry sinner! I'll get you five shillings anyhow," and he pushed me in.

      Part III

       Table of Contents

      A week passed in glory and gladness.

      I had got over the worst this time, too. I had had food every day, and my courage rose, and I thrust one iron after the other into the fire.

      I was working at three or four articles, that plundered my poor brain of every spark, every thought that rose in it; and yet I fancied that I wrote with more facility than before.

      The last article with which I had raced about so much, and upon which I had built such hopes, had already been returned to me by the editor; and, angry and wounded as I was, I had destroyed it immediately, without even re-reading it again. In future, I would try another paper in order to open up more fields for my work.

      Supposing that writing were to fail, and the worst were to come to the worst, I still had the ships to take to. The Nun lay alongside the wharf, ready to sail, and I might, perhaps, work my way out to Archangel, or wherever else she might be bound; there was no lack of openings on many sides. The last crisis had dealt rather roughly with me. My hair fell out in masses, and I was much troubled with headaches, particularly in the morning, and my nervousness died a hard death. I sat and wrote during the day with my hands bound up in rags, simply because I could not endure the touch of my own breath upon them. If Jens Olaj banged the stable door underneath me, or if a dog came into the yard and commenced to bark, it thrilled through my very marrow like icy stabs piercing me from every side. I was pretty well played out.

      Day after day I strove at my work, begrudging myself the short time it took to swallow my food before I sat down again to write. At this time both the bed and the little rickety table were strewn over with notes and written pages, upon which I worked turn about, added any new ideas which might have occurred to me during the day, erased, or quickened here and there the dull points by a word of colour--fagged and toiled at sentence after sentence, with the greatest of pains. One afternoon, one of my articles being at length finished, I thrust it, contented and happy, into my pocket, and betook myself to the "commandor." It was high time I made some arrangement towards getting a little money again; I had only a few pence left.

      The "commandor" requested me to sit down for a moment; he would be disengaged