The Best of Knut Hamsun. Knut Hamsun

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