The Best of Knut Hamsun. Knut Hamsun

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