Cornell University Library 
 
 PT 8950.B68V4 1919 
 
 Face of the world, 
 
 3 1924 026 321 517 
 
 *" 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FROM 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924026321517 
 
THE FACE OF THE WORLD 
 
THE 
 
 FACE OF THE WORLD 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHAN BOJER 
 
 AUTHOR OP "the ^EAT HUNGER" 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE NORWEGIAN 
 BY 
 
 JESSIE MUIR 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY 
 
 1919 
 
/— «^ K> K 
 
 COPYEIGHT, iglQ, BY 
 
 MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY 
 
THE FACE OF THE WORLD 
 
THE 
 FACE OF THE WORLD 
 
 It was the day on which the medical stu- 
 dents had heard the result of their examina- 
 tion, and there was a hum of eager voices on 
 the steps of the University and along Carl 
 Johan Street in Christiania. Even those who 
 were disappointed felt a peculiar desire to 
 shout "Hurrah," because, if for no other rea- 
 son, they could now put away their books. 
 
 "It's no good working hard, either, for you 
 get no further," said Harold Mark, as he put 
 his arm within that of his friend Wilse, and 
 the two sauntered up the Palace Hill. 
 
 "Ah, I suppose you feel that you ought to 
 have got something better than a first class," 
 said Wilse as they stopped before a bench and 
 sat down. 
 
 "No, but it's so funny to think that we must 
 
The Face of the World 
 
 now go about and pretend we know all about 
 it. How absurd it is, to be sure! I feel as I 
 sit here that I must be only half awake, and 
 want to rub my eyes. But tell me seriously 
 — ^have I really been asleep until now?" 
 "You asleep? Was that what you said?" 
 Harold Mark was fair and pale, but the 
 features of his clean-shaven face were regular 
 and full of vivacity, and the laughing gray 
 eyes had a mischievous expression. Those 
 eyes had more than once during lectures sent 
 little flashes up from his paper with the ques- 
 tion, "Is that all?" And once when the pro- 
 fessor of surgery had gathered his students 
 round the operating-table, and was swinging 
 his scissors and boasting of his own achieve- 
 ments, Harold electrified the others by saying: 
 "Yes, but I thought Hippocrates too knew 
 all about that." 
 
 Harold's mother was a widow, living in a 
 little west-country town, where she had started 
 a school. She kept him well supplied with 
 pocket-money, which he often spent with a 
 bad conscience ; for her letters, which were a)- 
 
The Face of the World 3 
 
 ways gentle and kind, were so serious, and he 
 always wanted to take the whole world as a 
 joke. He worked by fits and starts, and took 
 difficulties like a kind of boxing; and then he 
 would idle for a time, quite certain that, even 
 then, the others would not easily catch up with 
 him. He dressed well, was a prize ski-racer, 
 played the violin, and would, when his allow- 
 ance admitted of it, hire a horse and spend 
 half the day riding about the surrounding 
 country. 
 
 He loved Nature, and looked at her with 
 the pleasure that others might have in listen- 
 ing to music. He felt in himself the undula- 
 tion of the hills, drank in the fragrance of the 
 earth and foliage, and the light from sky and 
 fjord. Then, when he came home, refreshed 
 and/ light-hearted, he would lie back in his 
 rocking-chair with the feeling that it was good 
 to.be alive. 
 
 Yet, always there was something tapping at 
 the window of his heart, and that was the 
 thought of his mother. She had had a hard 
 struggle to make her school a success, she 
 
The Face of the World 
 
 being such a radical, and the little town so 
 conservative. Her letters often breathed 
 despondency over the very Uttle she managed 
 to do, and he knew that she was patiently wait- 
 ing for him to come and help her. 
 
 He was soon to see her face to face now, 
 for, in a few days, he would be sitting in her 
 little cottage, and perhaps then there would 
 be other things besides his degree that her eyes 
 would ask about. 
 
 "You look rather down in the mouth," said 
 Wilse. "Is it true that you've been offered 
 the post of demonstrater at the University?" 
 
 "Well, what if I have?" replied Harold, 
 pushing his gray felt hat back from his fore- 
 head, and whistling up into the yellow leafage. 
 - "Oh, of course you think such an offer's 
 nothing for one who's just out of the egg" 
 
 "But, my dear fellow, how can I begin to 
 teach young fellows something that I don't 
 know myself? Do you think I'm a gramo- 
 phone that will just stand and give out what 
 other people have howled into me?" 
 
The Face of the World 
 
 "What about the rest of us then? Besides 
 you must get to work at something 1" 
 
 "Of course I must try to get away and really 
 learn something." 
 
 "To Germany?" 
 
 "Perhaps, or up in the country, if possible 
 to some out-of-the-way place." 
 
 Wilse started. "You in some out-of-the-way 
 place !" 
 
 "Why, do you think it does one any harm 
 to be by one's self for a time?" 
 
 "But to learn medicine?" 
 
 "Well, everything has to be looked at in 
 connection with something greater. Did it nev- 
 er strike you as humorous that we insist upon 
 doctoring people, but if the poor devils ask 
 whether it's worth their while to get well again 
 — ^why, then we're at a loss for an answer?" 
 
 "How confoundedly serious you are today!" 
 
 "Perhaps I am," half admitted Harold with 
 a little embarrassed laugh, as he rose and 
 puUed his hat forward. 
 
 "Well, well," he continued, "we shall meet 
 at the dinner this evening. Don't forget to 
 
The Face of the World 
 
 bring your sister!" And with his gray hat a 
 little on one side, the sturdy young man hur- 
 ried away up the hill under the yellow trees. 
 
 • ••••• 
 
 It caused a sensation when, later in the 
 autumn, Harold accepted an appointment as 
 district-physician in the far north of Finmark. 
 His fellow-students gazed at one another. 
 Could this devil-may-care fellow, who was in 
 his element on the asphalt and in the ball-room, 
 be going to turn himself into an Eskimo? 
 When they heard from him later, it was all 
 about journeys in a reindeer-sledge over snow- 
 fields, of nights in Finn tents, or in a sleeping- 
 bag with the snow burying him while he slept, 
 or of a voyage in an open boat and stormy 
 weather out into the Arctic Ocean to see a 
 Finn-Lapp fisherman who wanted something 
 strong to take before he died. Harold wrote 
 of it as if it were all fun and he enjoyed it. 
 
 A couple of years later the newspapers re- 
 ported that he had rallied the fishermen in a 
 conflict with the traders up there. His friends 
 
The Face of the World 
 
 were puzzled. Surely he was not thinking of 
 getting into parliament? 
 
 When he had been in the north five years, 
 the papers announced that Harold Mark had 
 gained a scholarship to enable him to study 
 abroad; and one fine autumn day he was seen 
 in Carl Johan Street with a timid little wife 
 on his arm. 
 
 "But you never said a word about being 
 married!" said Wilse, who was now at the State 
 Hospital. 
 
 "Come along to the Mirror Saloon and have 
 dinner with us," replied Harold, and the other 
 consented. 
 
 Harold Mark seemed to have grown bigger 
 and stouter, and he swayed from side to side 
 as he walked. His fair beard made him look 
 older, and his once so alert eyes had acquired 
 a far-seeing expression that reminded one of 
 auroras and snow-fields. 
 
 "Let us find a good place!" he suggested 
 when they had entered the dining-room. "Oh 
 dear!" he went on, "I see I've turned into a 
 Finn! IVebrought my hat in withme!" He 
 
8 The Face of the World 
 
 threw it upon a chair and rubbed his hands to- 
 gether, his face glowing with delight at being 
 among his own people again. 
 
 "Thora!" he said. "This is the place where 
 the elite of Christiania exhibit themselves when 
 the theatres are over, so you must eat with awe 
 and reverence." He ordered an abundance of 
 wine, and when he raised his glass of the white 
 liquid with head thrown back to drink, he re- 
 sembled a pleasure-loving sea-captain who had 
 at last reached a gay town. "Your health!" 
 he said, "and to memories of old times!" 
 
 His young wife was the daughter of a light- 
 house-keeper he had known in the north. She 
 was a brunette, with small, regular features. 
 Her throat was long and beautiful, and when 
 her brown eyes found courage to look at you, 
 she reminded you of those young mothers that 
 Raphael loved to paint. 
 
 "She imagines she possesses talent and can 
 learn to handle a brush," said her husband, 
 stroking his beard; "and that's why she's drag- 
 ging me to London and Paris, for nothing else 
 would satisfy her. It's a way these sea-birds 
 
The Face of the World 9 
 
 out of the polar night have. They've sat still 
 and dreamed so long that there's no managing 
 them at all." 
 
 "You surely don't mean to say that you're 
 going abroad for my sake?" she ventured to 
 ask anxiously. 
 
 "Don't worry yourself, my dear! Wilse 
 knows me. I say, Peter, there's something that 
 Ellen Key calls the art of living. Do you 
 know anything about it?" 
 
 "No. But you constituted yourself a leader 
 of the people up there. That was very philan- 
 thropic of you." 
 
 "Shut up and don't say a word about philan- 
 thropy! There are things that can irritate one 
 and make you so angry that at last you can't 
 contain yourself, but must go for the low cads. 
 The art of living! I've been pondering over 
 that expression. Here am I, for instance, sit- 
 ting among clean people and eating with a sil- 
 ver fork at a table with a white cloth, and yet 
 — ^well, I can't quite manage to feel only joy 
 and gladness over it all, for half my inner con- 
 
10 The Face of the World 
 
 sciousness is with the thousands that at this 
 moment haven't even salt for their soup." 
 
 "Haven't you had enough of your arctic 
 Lapps yet?" 
 
 "Indeed yesl Biit when you're up there, 
 sharing both their vermin and their rags, you're 
 dreaming all the time of this — of roses and 
 champagne and slow, swaying waltz music. 
 Your consciousness is in one place, and you 
 yourself in quite another. And a fellow like 
 that, with so little knowledge of himself, goes 
 doctoring other folk ! The art of living ! That's 
 a good expression! Waiter I Another bottle, 
 please." 
 
 The day following, Mark's friends met on 
 the quay to wish the couple a pleasant journey. 
 Harold had turned up the collar of his gray 
 overcoat, and kept his wife close to him all the 
 time. He seemed to fear she might lose her- 
 self altogether if she moved a step from his 
 side. He was going to England to watch the 
 masters of surgery for about a year, he said, 
 and then to Paris to the Pasteur Institute. 
 "But it's not certain," he added with a smile. 
 
The Face of the World H 
 
 "that in the long run I shall be able to carry 
 such an amount of wisdom. Good-bye! Good- 
 bye!" 
 
 ****** 
 
 On a September day in the following year, 
 Harold was walking with his wife along the 
 Boulevard de Mont-Parnasse. Once or twice, 
 raising his black felt hat, he stopped to ask a 
 passer-by the way to the Cafe de Versailles. 
 
 That year an unusually large colony of 
 Scandinavians had begun to gather in Paris, 
 and their rendezvous was the Cafe de Ver- 
 sailles, where Scandinavian newspapers were 
 to be found. In the long, narrow room on the 
 right, that ended in the billiard-saloon, well- 
 known Scandinavian artists might be seen as 
 the evening advanced, sitting at the card-tables 
 with their glasses beside them, or absorbed in 
 the home newspaper, or shouting with laughter 
 at some good story. The gas-jets burned dim 
 in the dense atmosphere; there was a buzzing 
 of all kinds of languages, and the click of bil- 
 liard-balls came continually from the room be- 
 yond. Now and then a stranger would come 
 
12 The Face of the World 
 
 in past the two rows of tables ; but the look he 
 received from every one told him that he was 
 an intruder, and, as a rule, he would feel that 
 the best thing he could do was to go out again. 
 Harold Mark and his* wife, however, were 
 soon quite at home here. She was pretty and 
 unassuming, and he was lively and had a thou- 
 sand things to talk about. "Ah, here comes 
 the doctor!" came from the tables as he entered 
 the cafe whistling, with his black felt hat on 
 one side; and a few women followed him with 
 their eyes in the mirrors on the wall as he 
 passed. He would sit down at a table, order 
 a glass of black beer, and, blowing the foam 
 off it, would begin at once, with merry eyes 
 and laughter, some amusing story. 
 
 It occasionally happened that some one 
 would come in with a grave face, and ask at 
 haphazard for the doctor. 
 
 "He's just gone into the billiard-room." 
 "Do you think he'll come with me 2 'My 
 SV^ife's been taken so ill." 
 
 "You'd better go in and ask him." 
 Harold always went when he was wanted, 
 
The Face of the World 13 
 
 and although it was difficult enough for him 
 to manage on his small scholarship, especially 
 as it had to do for two, he could never be in- 
 duced to accept a fee. "Nonsense !" he would 
 say with a wave of his hand, putting on his hat 
 as he moved towards the door. "Hope you'll 
 soon be better! By the bye, have you got such 
 a thing as a match here?" When he had light- 
 ed his cigarette, he looked back once more with 
 a smile as he shut the door, and then ran down 
 the stairs humming. 
 
 He had been a year in England, but it was 
 Paris that really opened his eyes. He saw a 
 city unfold itself, not only as a collection of 
 houses, parks and monuments, but as a poem 
 on earth. The Pasteur Institute was here too, 
 and in its two heads, Roux and Metschnikoff, 
 he at last found teachers whom he felt no de- 
 sire to tease. In the laboratories there, it was 
 as though the very future of mankind were be- 
 ing prepared. He was in them each day: here 
 was something for him to do. 
 
 Then there were the art galleries. It was 
 Paris that brought him really to feel the deep, 
 
14. The Face of the World 
 
 mysterious emotion produced by the contem- 
 plation of a masterpiece. He walked with his 
 wife through the Louvre with wide, observant 
 eyes, intoxicated by the wealth of light and 
 color that met him everywhere. "Thora! 
 Come here!" "No, Harold! You must come 
 here!" They often kept together, and would 
 stand before some picture in a reverence too 
 deep for words, and would finally clasp hands 
 with a smile. 
 
 It was here too t^at Harold experienced the 
 hitherto unknown enjoyment of getting into 
 a quiet corner and becoming absorbed in the 
 great world's press. He only needed to turn 
 to the left instead of the right in the Cafe de 
 Yersailles, and he was at once miles away from 
 his countrymen. "Where's the doctor this eve- 
 ning?*' some one would ask. "Oh, he's buried 
 in his newspapers on the other side." "Ah, 
 then it'll be no use speaking to him," was the 
 general remark, accompanied by a shake of the 
 head. 
 
 It was while reading the world's newspapers 
 here that Harold really began to form an idea 
 
The Face of the World 15 
 
 of life in the world. This at last was somethingi 
 more than school geography. It is rather irri- 
 tating to be going about on a little planet, and 
 not even knowing what is happening on it. 
 What do we know about Rumania? It is a 
 word, a school lesson, but what is Rumania? 
 There is so much floating in one's mind in a 
 half-light, a half -mist, There must be an end 
 of this. 
 
 It was a strange journey, swift as thought, 
 whenever new horizons opened, and limitless 
 expanses disclosed themselves. This was not 
 history, but only an immense moment, the gi- 
 gantic Now, that swept into his mind from all 
 sides. New York became a hving thing, and 
 the next instant it was Melbourne, Vienna, St. 
 Petersburg, Berlin, London. The immensity 
 of this life flared up within him in great gleams 
 and quickened his pulses, filling him with a 
 strange feverishness. At first he would sit 
 and let his fancy take up all this material 
 simply out of curiosity, like a globe-trotter 
 who wants to see everything. Outside in the 
 street he could hear the roar of the city, the 
 
16 The Face of the World 
 
 rumble of the trains passing in and out of the 
 Mont-Parnasse station, and of omnibuses full 
 of people, often running on only one wheel 
 round the comer into the Rue de Rennes. And 
 in the world's newspapers there rose the same 
 subdued roar from telegrams and articles, but 
 this was the long, heavy waves rolling in from 
 the immense ocean of humanity. Then came 
 a day when he became more than curious. 
 Things here and there in the various countries 
 began to be of great moment to him. His 
 mother's eyes seemed to rest on him and ask 
 him what he thought of it. A strike in Val- 
 paraiso, an attempted rising in Barcelona, an 
 arrest in Moscow, a massacre of Christians in 
 Mesopotamia, the tyranny of the trusts in 
 America — ^these were things that carried him 
 away and made his hands tremble. The world 
 became more than cities and scenery and life 
 and tumult; it began to reveal its spiritual 
 features to him. [What did he think of that — 
 and that — and that? He who at home had nev- 
 er been able to attach himself to any of those 
 moribund political parties, now took a side; 
 
The Face of the World 17 
 
 he sat here overwhehned by the immense view 
 of the world, in which nearly everything was 
 in the wrong place. There were things that 
 grieved hhn, though they took place at such an 
 infinite distance. There were things that filled 
 him with rage, although they happened in an- 
 other con1;inent. What did he think of that, 
 and that? And every time he returned to his 
 quiet newspaper corner, it was as if he were 
 preparing himself, not only for great visions 
 and emotions, but for a combat. While he sat 
 there he made, in distant lands, friends whom 
 he would never meet, and bitter enemies whom 
 he had never chanced upon. A minister in 
 Hungary, a senator in America, a general in 
 Germany — ^he saw them alive ! The world not 
 only grew larger every time, but it became a 
 power that drew him more and more out to 
 itself, with his interests, his thoughts, and his 
 dreams. He seemed to be always growing 
 more wide-awake, and the more wide-awake he 
 grew, the more things did he meet with that 
 vexed and depressed him. He began so to 
 enter into and sympathise with everything that 
 
18 The Face of the World 
 
 went on in other countries, that, at last, it was 
 not only his thoughts that darted hither and 
 thither, but it was the very fibres of his heart 
 that branched out all over the world. 
 
 When he arose and started for home, every- 
 thing that was close to him had shrunk, even 
 the Pasteur Institute, even the fact of his being 
 a doctor ; and when he reached home and looked 
 at his wife, she had grown indistinct; he saw 
 her indeed, but saw many other things at the 
 same time. 
 
 "Where have you been today, my dear?" he 
 would ask. 
 
 "At the Louvre, of course." 
 
 Thora Mark no longer clung nervously to 
 her husband's arm. She had of late begun to 
 venture out by herself, and wandered about 
 the Louvre alone when he could not go with 
 her. She read about art, she saw art, she 
 dreamed about art. She would return, after 
 hours spent in the galleries, not exhausted, but 
 mentally refreshed and joyful over the great 
 and glorious events of the day. Her timidity 
 had gradually been shaken off. It seemed as 
 
The Face of the World 19 
 
 if she had at last found, in the galleries, the 
 element in which her being could develop. 
 Happiness gained courage to appear in her 
 face. She no longer dropped her eyes when 
 any one looked at her, but drew herself up 
 with a look of self-confidence. She had grown 
 prettier, and her laugh rang out more readily, 
 because the world had at last opened in all its 
 splendor before her gaze. To the Louvre, 
 still more to the Louvre! It was as though 
 she had thrown herself into this flood of color, 
 lines and hght that had swept in from all ages 
 and lands. To the Louvre! Still more to the 
 Louvre! When she left it, she felt as if she 
 could fly. At a festive gathering in the studio 
 of a Danish sculptor, she astonished every one 
 by moving into the middle of the room with a 
 light scarf, and dancing with such fire, fantasy 
 and grace, that they all stood round and 
 gazed. 
 
 "Where did you learn that, Thora?" asked 
 her husband, drawing her aside when she had 
 finished. 
 
 "Learn it?" she queried. "Didn't you see 
 
20 The Face of the World 
 
 it was Botticelli, stupid? Why, you might 
 have seen it was his lines and rhythm!" 
 
 After this they were more popular than 
 ever. He improvised on his violin, and she 
 danced to it. Where had she learned to dance? 
 In the Louvre, she said. Then she would take 
 her mandolin, in congenial company, and sit 
 down on the floor and sing gay songs with so 
 solemn a face that her hearers almost fell off 
 their chairs with laughter. iYes, they were two 
 young people whom every one was glad to 
 meet. Thora had really intended to begin 
 work at the art-school, but was prevented be- 
 cause the boarding-house became too expen- 
 sive for them. But it is possible to live in 
 rooms too, and there one may cook nice things 
 on a spirit stove. You save on that, especially 
 when the wife is willing to do everything her- 
 self, even to the washing of her husband's linen. 
 
 So the Marks rented a couple of rooms, 
 with a cupboard for a kitchen, in a little square 
 high up near Montrouge, and these they were 
 going to furnish themselves. 
 
The Face of the World 21 
 
 "Have you any furniture?" he asked when 
 they stood in the flat after taking it. 
 
 "No. Have you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Have we any money?" the wife asked, look- 
 ing at him with a roguish smile. He mechan- 
 ically put his finger into his waistcoat pocket. 
 
 "Money? For furniture? Where could I 
 have got it from?" 
 
 Then they both burst out laughing, and sit- 
 ting down on the floor agreed that at any rate 
 they lived there now; after which they went 
 out and managed to get together the things 
 that were absolutely necessary. In Paris you 
 can furnish a house for a few francs. You put 
 an old mattress against a wall and throw a 
 shawl over it, and you have a splendid sofa, 
 which, moreover, at night, is a bed. A couple 
 of glasses, knives and a sauce-pan cost a few 
 sous, and on the wall they fastened with draw- 
 ing-pins two or three photographs, and then 
 stood and admired the effect. "It'll be splen- 
 did!" he said, putting his arm round her waist. 
 "Well, I never thought it would be so easy 
 
22 The Face of the World 
 
 to start housekeeping!" she said, bending back 
 her head so that he could kiss her. 
 
 They still managed to meet their friends, 
 here as much as anywhere, for at any rate there 
 was room to sit on the floor. "Come fed, but 
 not drunk!" was the invitation. The enter- 
 tainment consisted of songs, stories, dancing, 
 a glass of tea with rum, and cigarettes; and 
 this was enough to make the guests forget to 
 go, so that it was not until the small hours of 
 the morning that they stumbled down the 
 stairs. 
 
 Long after they were gone and Thora was 
 in bed, Harold still stood at the window, look- 
 ing out. What was he thinking about, and 
 why did he stand there? 
 
II 
 
 The little lamp-shade of green cardboard 
 had the effect of confining the hght to the writ- 
 ing-table where Harold's fair head was bent 
 over a book, while Thora sat in the shadow, 
 darning his socks. Silence had reigned for so 
 long that the squeaking of the mice in the old 
 brick walls was audible, while from without 
 came the distant, muffled roar of the great city. 
 
 "What are you laughing at?" said Har- 
 old, raising his head lo look at her, but at first 
 not able to see her in the gloom. 
 
 "I'm certain it's not medicine you're read- 
 ing now, Harold." 
 
 "Is there anything very funny in my not 
 reading medicine?" 
 
 "You've no idea how often your- expression 
 changes when you're sitting like that and tak- 
 ing part in revolutions and cutting down en- 
 emies and improving the whole world! Ha, 
 ha, ha! I can't help laughing." 
 
 23 
 
24 The Face of the World 
 
 He rose and went to the other side of the 
 room to fill his pipe. 
 
 "When you're reading your own science," 
 Thora went on, "you'Te really so good-looking. 
 You look as if you were standing upon a moun- 
 tain, looking out over a country that you're 
 going to march into." 
 
 "You should write poetry, Thora. jYouVe 
 got imagination." 
 
 "And you ought to read less of that rubbish, 
 and then you wouldn't be in such low spirits." 
 
 "I'm reading Alexander Herzen's 'From 
 the Other Bank of the River.' It's perhaps 
 the mine that one of these days will blow up 
 the tyrannical power of the whole of Europe. 
 Do you call that rubbish?" 
 
 She sighed and looked at the lamp. They 
 so often sat here now, just these two alone, and 
 yet they seemed to have less and less to say 
 to one another. He no longer asked her to go 
 out with him, and she had to go to the galleries 
 alone now. They often seemed to be looking 
 at one another across an empty space that grew 
 ever wider and wider. 
 
The Face of the World 25 
 
 "You women are strange," he said, when he 
 had finished filhng his pige. 
 
 Her head came suddenly forward into the 
 lamplight. "What? What did you say about 
 us women?" 
 
 "Well, you're contented with such an aw- 
 fully little bit of the world. That's all." He 
 lighted his pipe, and the flame of the match' 
 flickered over his face, 
 
 "And I can't conceive why it should be 
 necessary for a doctor to rummage about in 
 all that," she said, beginning to darn again 
 with rapid stitches. 
 
 "Oh! You can't conceive that? Of course 
 not! Nowadays a doctor ought to bury him- 
 self in some special subject, such as nose and 
 throat, and be blind to everything else in the 
 world. Then you'd be satisfied. But I can 
 assure you I'd just as soon become a hatter. 
 I want to know what's going on around me. I 
 want to take part in what the world's doing, 
 or I can't have any idea about the people either. 
 Do you understand that, my dear?" He took 
 
26 The Face of the World 
 
 two or three turns up and down the room, and 
 hisf step grew quicker. 
 
 "But does nothing happen in the world Lut 
 what is wrong?" she asked, her needle still mov- 
 ing rapidly. 
 
 He took his pipe out of his mouth and stood 
 still looking at the lamp. For it was true. He 
 ' himself felt as if the more he enlarged his hori- 
 zon, the darker did the pictures that he saw 
 become. The bright scenes of his youth seemed 
 to be growing dim. They were only shadow- 
 feelings that were now called forth in him — 
 indignation, anger, desire to attack. He re- 
 membered almost nothing of Fimnark except 
 the thraldom of the fishermen to the traders, 
 nothing of England except the dreadful slums 
 in London. It came more and more to be the 
 newspapers that determined his state of mind, 
 and the newspapers were full of cries for help 
 from all over the world. They beat in upon 
 him, took possession of his thoughts, and were 
 beginning to disturb his sleep; and if he tried 
 to shake it all off in a night of revelry, he would 
 
The Face of the World 27 
 
 stand by the window afterwards, as if looking 
 for something he had abandoned. 
 
 "It's not my fault, Thora, that most things 
 in the world are as they are," he said at last, 
 going back to his seat at the table. 
 
 "But will they be any better because you mix 
 yourself up in them?" 
 
 There was a pause, and she heard him 
 T)reathing heavily. "No!" he said at last, quite 
 softly. "That's what's so dreadful — to be so 
 powerless." 
 
 An hour later she rose, saying, as she clasped 
 her hands above her head and stretched her- 
 self, "Well, I suppose you'll be sitting up late 
 again tonight?" 
 
 "Oh, dear, no! I'm coming in a few min- 
 utes," he said, looking up from his book with a 
 smile as she left the room. 
 
 They had bought two iron bedsteads cheap, 
 and these now stood in the next room. When 
 he heard that all was quiet in there, he raised 
 his head, threw himself back in his chair, and 
 sat with his gaze fixed on the window. 
 
 At last all was still around him. He could 
 
18 The Face of the World 
 
 lear the wick burning in the lamp. Outside 
 ose the distant murmur of the city as before, 
 ;his city that never slept ; and behind that, stUl 
 arther off, a different murmur as of breakers 
 rising and falling. What was it? Was it only 
 ;he things he was thinking about? There came 
 I wave. It was the little Boer nation that had 
 just risen against mighty England. Money 
 md blood, money and blood I Another wave, 
 md this time it was the Armenians with mu- 
 dlated bodies and the flash of the Turkish exe- 
 mtioners' swords; Russian martyrs in Siberia; 
 lalf-naked Italian laborers, living on bread 
 md water, and unable to read — ^wave upon 
 vave, life on the earth, rolling by. He began 
 ;o see it all as under moonlight. He saw spir- 
 tual leaders come forward, unreal and yet 
 ;ransfigured, because most of them were dead. 
 When he shut his eyes he saw it all still better, 
 !o it was nothing outside, but a part of his own 
 nind. It was a world that had formed itself 
 )ut of what he had read, world-pictures drawn 
 «^ith the newspapers' ink. These pictures had 
 gradually become like living beings; they ha3 
 
The Face of the World 29 
 
 made him more and more their slave, and must 
 be supplied with good food several times a day. 
 Was this to go on? And if so, where would it 
 end? 
 
 When he slept he had a cold feeling that they 
 were by his bedside, and the moment he opened 
 his eyes they were upon him. Today it was 
 the Spanish popular leader who was to be shot, 
 he remembered; and before he had his own 
 breakfast he had to go down to the street to 
 get a paper with the foreign telegrams, for the 
 monster in his mind must be fed at once. Was 
 there nothing but this in the world then? Could 
 he not turn back? Thora was right, and yet — 
 no, he could not tear himself away from the 
 age in which he lived; he must keep up with 
 everything, everything! 
 
 Would he become greater by embracing so 
 wide a horizon? Over his work, in any case, 
 the day would continually grow broader; and 
 even if he walked alone, the number of his 
 companions would be always increasing. Even 
 if he pulled down the bhnds in his room, a 
 jthousand eyes would still stare in. When he 
 
30 The Face of the World 
 
 opened his eyes he saw much; when he shut 
 them he saw more. 
 
 Harold Mark bent forward and supported 
 his head upon his hands. From without came 
 continually the murmur from the sleepless city, 
 and beyond it, louder, more distant, the other, 
 the great world which at the same time was 
 himself. 
 
 • ••••• 
 
 As the warm May days passed, the frequent- 
 ers of the Cafe de Versailles saw less and less 
 of the doctor and his wife, and finally Thora 
 ceased to appear at all. If any one went to 
 their rooms, Thora was always at home; but 
 it was evident that something was wrong. In 
 the first place it was that she had no suitable 
 summer dress in which she thought she could 
 appear in warm weather, and for the present 
 there was no way of getting a new one. In 
 the second place they were both in a state of 
 great suspense, for, in the course of the next 
 few days, it would be decided whether Harold 
 was to hold the scholarship for another year. 
 It was not usual for the same man to receive it 
 
The Face of the World 31 
 
 for three years — but they had hopes. Friends 
 had been at work, and the directors at the In- 
 stitute had given him a recommendation that 
 carried weight; but they both felt as if it would 
 be an actual catastrophe should they be forced 
 to leave Paris at the moment. Harold needed 
 another year if he was really to make anything 
 out of his studies ; and Thora — ^well, she hoped 
 that at any rate next winter she could begin at 
 the art-school. They might hear any day. The 
 suspense was so great that they could not sleep. 
 Early and late they talked of all the wonderful 
 things that might happen to them if they could 
 only stay on another year. They talked about 
 it until they could not bear to mention it any 
 more. When the door-bell rang they both 
 started. It might be a telegram! When the 
 postman came up the stairs, he was fate per- 
 sonified. What had he brought? They had 
 been a little careless with their money of late, 
 so that for a fortnight they had been obliged to 
 dine off stewed beans and water, with now and 
 then a pig's trotter for a couple of sous, just 
 to get a taste of something salt. But what 
 
32 The Face of the World 
 
 did that matter? They would willingly live 
 like that all next winter, if only they might be 
 here in Paris. Every day Thora dreaded Har- 
 old's coming home from the Institute, for as 
 soon as the door opened she saw the anxious, 
 questioning look in his eyes: Has any word 
 come? 
 
 At last one day when she was standing wash- 
 ing in her little kitchen, the door-bell rang, and 
 on opening the door she found it was a tele- 
 graph-boy. She tore the telegram open with- 
 out waiting to dry her hands properly. It was 
 from home. It was the scholarship! 
 
 A heat-wave was passing over Paris at this 
 time, and the city was shrouded in a stifling, 
 dust-laden atmosphere. Outside the little 
 cafes on Mont-Parnasse, their landlords, in 
 shirt-sleeves, were watering the heated asphalt, 
 and perspiring men were sitting under the awn- 
 ings with their hats pushed back, drinking iced 
 water through straws. The scent of Paris it- 
 self filled the air, the scent of old houses, of 
 dust, asphalt, petrol, fruit, vegetables and 
 butchers' shops, together with a refreshing 
 
The Face of the World 33 
 
 whiff from the numerous gardens and parks 
 throughout the great city. 
 
 Later in the afternoon Thora was standing 
 in the little sitting-room before the large, 
 cracked mirror that, after the French manner, 
 was let into the wall over the fireplace. She 
 smiled at her own image in it. She wore a 
 light mushn dress with purple flowers, a black 
 patent leather belt round her waist, brown 
 stockings, and brown shoes with straps across 
 the instep, everything being new. She had 
 just come from the Bon Marche, where she 
 had only meant to look at a few materials for 
 quite an inexpensive dress, and then — then she 
 had met a friend from whom she could quite 
 well borrow, and before she realised it she was 
 entirely reclothed. Never mind! They were 
 prosperous now, and they were going to be in 
 Paris next year too, so why should she not en- 
 joy herself a little? She proceeded to put a 
 light-colored straw hat over her dark hair, 
 the wide brim being tied down over her ears in 
 coquettish imitation of the peasant women of 
 Brittany. Putting her hands on her hips she 
 
34 The Face of the World 
 
 took a step backwards and surveyed her youth- 
 ful, slim figure from top to toe, and then went 
 through a few dancing-steps while she tried at 
 the same time to follow her image in the mir- 
 ror. What would Harold say when he came. 
 "Good gracious me! Is that you, or is it not 
 you?" And then he would guess what had 
 happened, and would take her in his arms and 
 lift her off her feet, and be simply wild with 
 delight. He must be here very soon now. 
 
 This time of painful suspense had brought 
 them together again. Each no longer went 
 his and her own way, but talked together and 
 looked at one another like two who are mir- 
 rored in one another's thoughts. And now it 
 would be wonderful to be together when this 
 great piece of good fortune made everything 
 bright and beautiful for ith^; so today they 
 would make merry; it should|,be like a second 
 wedding-day. On her waythome she had 
 pawned her little gold watch so as to be able 
 to get a good dinner for them both, and had 
 bought cutlets, fruit, vegetables and oysters, 
 and a bottle of sparkling burgundy, which. 
 
The Face of the World 35 
 
 with a little imagination, might be drunk as 
 champagne. He would soon be here, but of 
 course she could not sit down and wait; she 
 must hasten to meet him. 
 
 She took her sunshade, and, drawing on her 
 white mittens, ran down the stairs. Out in the 
 scorching heat, however, she almost gasped for 
 breath, and hastened into the shade of the trees 
 across the square, stopping a moment at the 
 Avenue du Maine to let a tram pass, and then 
 turning in between the rows of low, begrimed 
 houses that stretch westwards towards the Pas- 
 teur Institute. 
 
 It was a district full of second-hand goods 
 shops, old clothes shops, workshops, smithies, 
 and warehouses belonging to city merchants. 
 Dirty women sat in the street, roasting chest- 
 nuts, and little children with dark, curly hair 
 crawled about in the gutter and enjoyed them- 
 selves. The young woman in the light dress 
 looked at all this with a strange smile; no one 
 heard that she was singing to herself, but all 
 the time a flood of light filled her soul. Would 
 
36 The Face of the World 
 
 he not soon come? She looked eagerly up every 
 street she turned into. 
 
 At last! 
 
 His straw hat was on one side, and he car- 
 ried a big book under one arm, while he swung 
 the other vigorously, and turned out his toes. 
 "Will he soon see me?" she said to herself, and 
 pretended to take no notice. Yes, he stopped 
 short, stood stUl and positively stared, while 
 she came on towards him as if she expected 
 anything rather than him. 
 
 "Why, good gracious!" he said, just as she 
 had thought he would, and then there was noth- 
 ing for her to do but stop and discover him. 
 
 "Oh, is that you, Harold?" she said, Fooking 
 up innocently. 
 
 "Is it me? Upon my word I think it's even 
 more remarkable that that's you!'* 
 
 "Why?" she asked innocently. "Is it the 
 first time Tve come to meet you? Or are you 
 disappointed because it isn't some one else?" 
 
 "I say, Thora, have you been comutnitting a 
 robbery? lYou haven't had that dress on be- 
 fore, have you?" 
 
The Face of the W orld 37 
 
 She could not keep it up any longer. She 
 took his arm and drew him along. 
 
 ".Can't you guess what it means, you old 
 silly?" 
 
 "The telegram?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 [He caught his breath and stopped to wipe 
 his forehead. A weight had been suddenly 
 lifted from his shoulders, but he had not the 
 strength to stand erect at once. 
 
 "Aren't you glad then?" she said, trying to 
 draw him along. 
 
 ".Yes — oh yes! But wait a moment 1 ilTes, 
 now — ^now I can go on again." 
 
 They went on arm in arm. He laughed as 
 he looked about him, and seemed to rub his 
 eyes to make quite sure that he was not dream- 
 ing. "You were quite right to make yovu-self 
 a little smart, Thora. I hope you took every 
 penny there was to spend on your finery, for 
 we can borrow from somebody or other until 
 we get it from home. How pretty you are, 
 dear! If we weren't in the street I would take 
 you in my arms and kiss you!" 
 
38 The Face of the World 
 
 They walked quickly and no longer noticed 
 the heat. Somehow they felt their happiness 
 would only really begin when they were alone 
 together. On the third floor of their house 
 Mark put the key into its hole, and she flew in 
 before him. 
 
 "What do you think of this?" was the ques- 
 tion in her eyes, and at last he discovered on 
 the writing-table two large brass candlesticks 
 in the shape of Doric columns. He took them 
 up. They were heavy and seemed like some- 
 thing unreal on the simple table. 
 
 "I say, Thora, you must be quite mad. 
 Where did you get hold of these?" 
 
 "At a bric-a-brac dealer's up the street. How 
 do you like them? Fancy, they cost almost 
 nothing." 
 
 But still he did not take her in his arms and 
 lift her off her feet. He put the candlesticks 
 down, and sank back on to the sofa, every now 
 and then passing his handkerchief across his 
 forehead, and still drawing deep breaths. The 
 suspense had lasted such a long time. 
 
 "Well, I congratulate you !" she said, kissing 
 
The Face of the World 39 
 
 him on the forehead; then, hurrying into the 
 kitchen, she put on her big overall, and set 
 about preparing their meal. There was a 
 lump in her throat, but she comforted herself 
 with the thought that, at the festive meal, she 
 would get everything that she had expected. 
 
Ill 
 
 For some time Hardld sat gazing straight 
 before him. Then he turned his glance from 
 one thing to another in the little room, as if 
 he could not quite make out where he was. He 
 rose and began to walk up and down, gradually 
 working himself into a state of strange excite- 
 ment. What was the matter? He had now 
 got what he had latterly been looking forward 
 to as the saving of his whole future. The 
 ^reat, joyful moment when the means for yet 
 another year's stay in Paris dropped, as it 
 vere, into his hand, was not to be tomorrow. It 
 (vas today; it was now. He ought to be radi- 
 ant with happiness, not at some future time, 
 but now. It made him so irresolute. If only 
 be could have said: Next week! If only it 
 bad been an ingustice somewhere or other in 
 the world that he could have been angry about ; 
 but it was happiness 1 And it was now I It 
 was as though abilities within him, which had 
 
 40 
 
The Face of the World 41 
 
 grown rusty from disuse, were called into play. 
 He looked about for some way of escape. 
 
 Once he had thought the possession of this 
 woman would be perfect bliss ; but when once 
 she was his, the matter was settled and done 
 with, and if any one said to him: "What a 
 lovely wife you havel" it had almost the effect 
 of a reproach. Perhaps people thought he 
 ought to go about from morning till night 
 beaming over Thora; but there are other things 
 for a man to do in this world. 
 
 "So they didn't dare do otherwise than give 
 me the scholarship again this year, in spite of 
 everything!" he thought. There was a little 
 bitter taste in it when he put it this way, and 
 he immediately felt more at his ease; but a 
 little while afterwards he sat down, and pass- 
 ing his hands over his knees, looked miserably 
 rovmd the room. "What has come over me?" 
 he thought. "Am I quite incapable of feeling 
 pleasure? And what is the reason of it?" 
 
 He bowed his head, and drew a breath that 
 was like a sigh. 
 
 His mother had been the invisible power 
 
42 The Face of the World 
 
 which, gently and kindly, even from a distance, 
 had educated his feehngs. Hers was a warm 
 nature, but her warmth had never glowed or 
 flamed. It was sympathy with those that suf- 
 fered, and hatred of those that made them 
 sujffer. 
 
 It was the same, too, with the intellectual 
 guides that he had been accustomed to fol- 
 low in his youth. They inculcated hatred of 
 tyrants, and compassion for the weak; these 
 were great, heavy shadow-feelings. Their 
 faith was in something remote and unreal, 
 which they called the future. As for the pres- 
 ent, it was something evil. It was everything 
 that required extermination or readjustment. 
 And if, nevertheless, one happened — as he had 
 himself done in his student days — ^to break 
 away and sacrifice to the sun and the woman 
 of today, amid all the gaiety there was the 
 consciousness of a canker ever gnawing at 
 one's heart. 
 
 The strange thing was that, out here in the 
 great world, he had found, without thinking 
 much about it, the same spirit in the world's 
 
The Face of the World 43 
 
 press. It cultivated misfortunes, it fed man- 
 kind with catastrophes, and thus was deeply 
 rooted in the necessity both of those that gave 
 and of those that received, in any case of the 
 present type of man. 
 
 "And I myself," thought Harold, "am sit- 
 ting here buried up to my chin by the same 
 forces, and not knowing whether I can break 
 away from them or not." 
 
 "Tra la la la!" sang Thora, busy in her kitch- 
 en. She would soon come in with the dinner, 
 and her eyes would be fixed on him in expecta- 
 tion of a reflection of her own joy. 
 
 Harold rose, and, opening the French win- 
 dow, went out on to the little iron balcony and 
 sat down. It was so high up, and he could 
 look out over the interminable city with its sea 
 of buildings now bathed in a purple twilight. 
 Before him and to the left he saw the line of 
 the Arc de Triomphe, and over it a yellow- 
 flaming sky. Farther to the left, the long, 
 golden arches of the Pont Alexandre spanned 
 the river, which faded away, like a stream of 
 liquid fij-e, far, far off on the horizon. 
 
44 The Face of the World 
 
 In the little square below, some gipsies had 
 put up a row of tents for a menagerie and a 
 merry-go-round. The automatic orchestra was 
 already braying out its brazen tones, the lions 
 were roaring in their cages, and the galloping 
 horses and tossing boats were flying round, to 
 the great delight of the children, who were not 
 troubled by the heat, although the air was so 
 sultry and heavy that the entire city fairly 
 panted for breath. 
 
 "Dinner is ready. Your Highness!" an- 
 nounced a voice from within. 
 
 It was a pretty little table that awaited him. 
 Two clean towels did duty as the white table- 
 cloth, and on them stood fruit and flowers, and 
 a big bottle with gold foil about the cork. The 
 cutlets had been fried with potatoes, and were 
 in the frying-pan on a chair beside the table. 
 The credit of it all was Thora's, and she took 
 him by the hand and led him to his place. The 
 cork was drawn, and the two tumblers were 
 filled with the foaming liquid; and as she 
 touched his glass with hers, she said, with a 
 radiant smile and cheeks still rosy from her 
 
The Face of the World 45 
 
 culinary exertions: "Good luck to you, dearl 
 After all, you have the best of it!" 
 
 "Your health, my dear!" 
 
 "Aren't you almost wild with delight now? 
 In the winter — oh fancy! the whole of next 
 winter! Good heavens, it almost seems wrong 
 to eat!" 
 
 "I say, what shall we do in the summer hol- 
 idays? Where shall we go?" he asked, while 
 he went on with his dinner. 
 
 "I've been thinking about that, Harold. 
 We'U go for a walking-tour somewhere in the 
 country." 
 
 "Oh, a walking-tour!" 
 
 "Yes, or we'll take a cottage in the forest 
 of Fontainebleau. A little house there cost» 
 almost nothing. And then it'U be your turn 
 to do the cooking and washing, and I — ^I'll 
 paint." 
 
 "I don't think we shall disagree about that," 
 he said smiling, as he stroked her cheek. But 
 the little touch was sufficient to make her spring 
 on to his knees and throw her arms round his 
 
46 The Face of the Worl d 
 
 neck. "Oh, you dear, darling old boy! Just 
 think! Paris! Next year, you and I !" 
 
 "Yes, but you must go on with your dinner, 
 you know!" 
 
 "Oh, be quiet! We can eat when we're old 
 and gray. But drink! You're not drinking 
 anything!" 
 
 "Here's to your health then! And the din- 
 ner is most delicious, dear!" 
 
 She was radiant with happiness, and he — ■ 
 he could not share it with her. The great 
 world, which seemed to have withdrawn into 
 the background while he was in suspense about 
 the scholarship, now rolled forward again, 
 spread itself out, and took possession of his 
 mind. As he sat there, feeling his young wife's 
 kisses on his cheek, he suddenly remembered 
 what Metschnikoff had said in his lecture that 
 day. "The unsolved problems of the world 
 weigh like a nightmare upon the human mind, 
 and it will be the duty of you young scientists 
 "to shake it off." 
 
 "Oh dear, you're thinking about something 
 else !" she said, giving his nose a little pinch. 
 
The Face of the World 47 
 
 "Am I? Well, I'm having my dinner, and 
 you ought to be having yours too." 
 
 She went back to her seat somewhat sulkily,, 
 though soon was smiling and happy again. Bui 
 her husband was thinking of what a fellow- 
 student, a young Rimianian, had said while 
 they were walking part of the way home to- 
 gether. "There's a still greater nightmare than 
 the unsolved mysteries," he had said; "and that 
 is all the injustice that poisons life in the world. 
 Are we scientists to shut ourselves up in lab- 
 oratories and pretend that we have no knowl- 
 edge of it?" 
 
 The air had become more sultry, and Thora's 
 face was pale, and damp with perspiration; but 
 she did not notice it, and chattered on in sheer 
 gladness of heart, with her whole soul in the 
 happiness of this hour of which they had both 
 dreamed. 
 
 Suddenly a peal of thunder broke just above 
 the house. The room grew dark, and soon the 
 rain poured down upon the roofs and tree-tops 
 in such torrents that the water splashed from 
 the balcony into the room. Harold rose, shut 
 
48 The Face of the World 
 
 the window, and lighted a candle that stood 
 in a bottle. 
 
 "Oh, you silly old thing!" cried Thora. 
 *'Why, the candlesticks must make their debut 
 «f course r* And she brought fresh candles, 
 and lighted them in the Doric columns. 
 
 "What shall we do later this evening? I'm 
 certainly not going to sit at home and darn 
 stockings." 
 
 "You may come with me and hear Anatole 
 France and Jaures this evening." 
 
 "Are they going to speak? Yes, I should 
 like to." 
 
 "There's to be a great protest meeting in 
 the Place de la Republique." 
 
 "Protest meeting? What are they going to 
 protest against now?" 
 
 "Against the massacre of the Jews in Kiev." 
 And Harold was suddenly all fire and eager- 
 ness, and forgot to eat. "You must have read 
 about the terrible murder of the Jews in Kievi 
 Every one knows that it's the Government that 
 has arranged it all. Just think! The Govern- 
 
The Face of the World 49 
 
 mait! In our day! Yes, Thora, you must 
 come to the meeting with me this evening." 
 
 Thora had grown a little cross again. "But, 
 my dear Harold," she said, "it won't make the 
 poor Jews rise from the dead if we go out and 
 protest!" 
 
 "But, good Lord, Thora, are aU these hor- 
 rors to be allowed to go on while we only go 
 about and amuse ourselves?" 
 
 Harold's breath came quickly, and he rose 
 and walked up and down the room. He had 
 at last regained his feeling of confidence; he 
 could be indignant and shocked, and could rage 
 at the injustice. A peculiar sense of gratifica- 
 tion welled up within him ; he had passed into 
 a stratimi of air in which he was accustomed to 
 breathe. And now he became eloquent as he 
 described the revolution that ought soon to 
 break out in Russia, and afterwards over the 
 rest of Europe. His eagerness gave to his 
 face a prophetic beauty as he talked of those 
 conditions that would be hewn down and 
 cleared away. 
 
 Thora sat with her hands in her lap, looking 
 
50 The Face of the World 
 
 straight before her; then her eyes wandered 
 round the room as though searching for some 
 means of saving the evening for them. When 
 at last Harold sat down and emptied his glass, 
 she said quietly: "You won't leave me this 
 evening, Harold, will you?" 
 
 "Leave you? Why, you can come with me! 
 Didn't you hear me say that you positively 
 must come with me?" 
 
 "Oh, yes ! And stand there in the crowd, in- 
 haling the smell of garlic from aU the bawling 
 throats I I've been with you once before." 
 
 "I say, Thora, don't you ever think 
 about — — " 
 
 "Well? About what?" Her eyes were fixed 
 upon him. 
 
 "No, no ; it doesn't matter." 
 
 "I don't think you ought to be so taken up 
 with those dirty Jews somewhere in Russia as 
 quite to forget me. Don't you think we have 
 the right to spend a gay evening together, juSt 
 we two?" 
 
 Harold did not answer, but in a few mo- 
 ments he arose and went out upon the little 
 
The Face of the World 51 
 
 balcony. The rain had ceased, and there was 
 a cool freshness in the air, a scent of trees and 
 flowers, and of a washed town. The water 
 stood in pools here and there in the square be- 
 low, reflecting the lamps of the motor-cars as 
 they flew past, the asphalt shone, and above the 
 countless lights of the city rose the already 
 clear, starry vault of heaven. 
 
 Thora joined him there, and stood with her 
 hand on his shoulder. For a moment they 
 stood thus close together, looking out over the 
 illuminated city, the sea of red, yellow and 
 white lights. The noise of carriages and trams, 
 and of thousands of gay voices, was wafted up 
 to them, blending into a muffled roar as of 
 breakers. It was the breathing of the city in 
 the mild evening air. 
 
 "You won't leave me, Harold, will you? It 
 would be so nice if only you would stay at 
 home tonight." The whispered words were 
 like a caress, and she had taken his hand in 
 hers. 
 
 After their coffee and as they were sitting 
 smoking cigarettes, Thora arose and slipped 
 
52 The Face of the W orld 
 
 out quietly. Harold, left alone, was filled with 
 uneasiness. It was as though some rude force 
 compelled him to sit still on a chair and make 
 himself ridiculous. He felt as if he must free 
 himself. Just as some men suffer through be- 
 ing obliged to do without tobacco, so did he 
 feel a purely physical need of going to the 
 meeting this evening, of breathing in the un- 
 rest in the huge assembly, the air charged with 
 hatred, with discontent, with the desire for 
 revolution, with indignation over the injustice 
 in the world. Why did he not go? Why was 
 he sitting there? His wife did not want him 
 to go. Very well I One's wife had to be 
 obeyed. 
 
 Thora came in with a scarf, and had changed 
 into thin evening shoes. "Now I'm going to 
 dance for you a little, just for you," she said 
 as she moved one or two chairs out of the way. 
 Then she began to dance. There was some- 
 thing spasmodic about her movements, as if 
 she were only thinking of carrying him away 
 with her into her own mood. He sat with a 
 smile on his face and thought it very touching; 
 
The Face of the World 53 
 
 but at the same time he felt how ridiculous it 
 was for him to sit there and look at this in- 
 stead of going to the meeting. He could see 
 Jaures on the platform, hear his voice ring out, 
 and feel the sway of the audience beneath the 
 speaker's power. 
 
 At the same time Harold noticed that Thora 
 had taken but her mandohn, and was sitting 
 on the floor at his feet, singing. There were 
 tears in her voice, and he felt that in her song 
 was a cry to hold a loved thing that she feared 
 shpping from her. He bent down and stroked 
 her hair, and she put up her mouth for a kiss, 
 and the kiss seemed to burn his lips. 
 
 But all this, that was so near to him, seemed 
 to be hovering all the time in a strange world 
 of mist. The things that were far away were 
 dearer; but it had not always been so. 
 
 He heard her say: "Now I am going to 
 bed. You come too!" 
 
 "Yes, yes, I'm coming." 
 
 He mechanically refilled his pipe, gazing at 
 the candle. He could hear her undressing, 
 linger ingly, softly, and it fired his senses; it 
 
54 The Face of the World 
 
 called to him, and he half rose to his feet to go 
 to her. 
 
 "Come now, Harold!" She was already in 
 bed and was pulling up the clothes. 
 
 Harold laid down his pipe, and rising from 
 his chair went slowly into the bedroom, think- 
 ing, with some displeasure, that women were 
 unlike any other living creature. If he al- 
 lowed himself to be won over in a matter like 
 this, it would be a little difficult to face his own 
 reflection in the glass tomorrow. 
 
 He sat down beside her. She had brought 
 in one of the candlesticks, and the candle threw 
 a yellow light over the simple bed and her 
 pretty, young face, while the slender, warm 
 body beneath the clothes made its appeal to 
 him. She was still flushed and glowing with 
 the thought of what had happened today; she 
 was full of the joyful present, and wanted him 
 to forget everything else. 
 
 He took her hands in his and pressed them. 
 "Listen, Thora!" he said. "If you'll be good 
 and let me go to the meeting this evening, I'll 
 
The Face of the World 55 
 
 go with you to the Louvre tomorrow in re- 
 turn." 
 
 She had just been trying to draw him down 
 to her, and now there came a movement as if 
 something within her drew back and gazed at 
 him. She had struggled so hard to keep this 
 evening for themselves, but now she could do 
 no more ! 
 
 "Very well then, I suppose you must go," 
 she said, in so matter-of-fact a tone that he 
 did not notice what it concealed. 
 
 "Thank you, Thora! That is good of you!" 
 he said, kissing her lightly on the forehead and 
 hurrying away. 
 
 The girl lay motionless, listening to his foot- 
 steps as he went down the stair, "And here 
 I go washing and mending for him, and giving 
 up everything for myself" — she said to herself 
 — "while he — ^he thinks first of all about the 
 Jews in Kievl" 
 
 She could not sleep. She worked herself up 
 into a rage. He had often neglected her, but 
 this evening was treachery! It had killed 
 
56 The Face of t he World 
 
 something, and that too she would have to put 
 up with, she supposed. 
 
 Suddenly she put her feet out from the 
 clothes, sat up on the edge of the bed, and 
 gazed at the hght from the street. Then she 
 began to dress, and she dressed herself in all 
 her finery. Once more she stood in front of 
 the mirror in the sitting-room, and tried to 
 make the candle show her reflection; and a 
 little later she passed out at the door and down 
 the stair. She seemed to be setting out on 
 something of which she herself was afraid. 
 
 Shortly after midnight a cab drew up at 
 the gate, and Thora stepped out; but a hand 
 from within the carriage held her back, while 
 its owner, their friend the Finnish sculptor, 
 begged for a kiss. 
 
 "Let me go!" she said. 
 
 "No, no! Don't be so imkindl" 
 
 Thora looked about her, and even cast a 
 glance up at their flat. It was in darkness; 
 and as he continued to draw her closer, she 
 yielded and let him take the kiss, and then, 
 after ringing the bell, she hinried in. 
 
The Face of the World 57 
 
 Harold was still out, and when she got into 
 bed she began to think over all that had hap- 
 pened since the morning. Ah! this day to 
 which they had both looked forward as to a 
 paradise — that it should end like this! Was 
 it her fault that they could not bear the hap- 
 piness when at last it came? 
 
 "O God! O God!" she cried as she buried 
 her head under the clothes, and burst into vio- 
 lent sobbing. 
 
IV 
 
 The next day was Sunday and Harold and 
 Thora drove through the rain-refreshed town, 
 through Paris in the fragrance and brightness 
 of an early June day. There was a peculiar, 
 clear freshness over everything; one could 
 fancy that all the trees and flowers had just 
 budded. And over all was a sky so bright, so 
 blue, so quivering with sunshine, that it seemed 
 to span the earth like a far-off mingling of mu- 
 sic and light. 
 
 It was the Finnish sculptor who had come 
 and carried them off. He was a gay dandy, 
 and on this occasion wore a cream-colored simi- 
 mer suit. He had a thousand francs a month 
 from his father, a rich land-owner in Finland. 
 The money lasted for the first three or four 
 days, and afterwards he had his meals on credit 
 at a little creamery, and worked industriously. 
 Today he was in funds again and of course he 
 must have some one with him to celebrate the 
 
 58 
 
The Face of the World 59 
 
 advent of summer ; and in order to begin artis- 
 tically, he had ordered two carriages to drive 
 after the one in which they themselves sat, both 
 of them filled with flowers. 
 
 Tliora and Harold were not quite comfort- 
 able together this morning, and both were glad 
 of the companionship of this eccentric host. 
 The procession drove down the Avenue d'Or- 
 leans, past Marshal Ney on his pedestal, with 
 his sword drawn for France, and on past the 
 Luxembourg gardens, where the fountains 
 played among the statues, and greenery, and 
 flowers, and greenery, and yet more greenery. 
 Harold's spirits rose. He pushed back his 
 hat, leaned back in the carriage, and held up 
 his face towards the clear sunshine. He 
 laughed. The Finn talked, and they all 
 laughed. People stopped to look at this pro- 
 cession, this carriage followed by two more 
 carriages laden with all this splendor. Now 
 they had crossed the Seine, and the Gardens of 
 the Tuileries opened out before them — ^lawns, 
 monuments, great vases, statues, obelisks, and 
 everywhere a wealth of red, yellow and white 
 
60 The Face of the World 
 
 flowers. Here the Finn beckoned to another 
 carriage, made the flower-sellers fill it with 
 roses, and bade it join the procession. "You're 
 mad!" cried Thora, laughing. "You're quite 
 out of your mind !" But she clapped her hands 
 and beamed with delight. "That's what she 
 wants her husband to be like," thought Har- 
 old. "She's happy now." 
 
 They were now approaching the Place de 
 I'Etoile, and dashed beneath the lofty Arc de 
 Triomphe, and on towards the Bois de Bou- 
 logne. Everywhere there were people in sum- 
 mer attire, and a constant stream of carriages 
 in each direction. Motor horns hooted among 
 rearing horses; an open carriage came along, 
 looking like an enormous bed of rpises, but 
 proved to be f uU of ladies' hats ; a long-handled 
 pair of eye-glasses was raised before a painted 
 face; a young man in the carriage stood up 
 and made a deep bow. Wavelets of powder 
 and perfimie hovered in the air. Nearer the 
 forest there were riders too, a world of leafage, 
 green glades, young women in white dresses. 
 Laughter filled the air ; children played. Paris 
 
The Face of the World 61 
 
 unfolded herself, and was all fragrance and 
 sunnner. 
 
 They breakfasted in a pavilion in the wood; 
 Thora sang, the Finn sang, and Harold whis- 
 tled. Champagne was placed upon the table, 
 and over the foaming wine Harold, who, until 
 then, had been in a gay mood, happened to 
 think of the work-people who provided the 
 Finnish land-owner with his income. The son 
 probably spent in a couple of days what one 
 of the farm-laborers earned in a year. 
 
 On their way back they stopped at one wing 
 of the Louvre, and the three young people as- 
 cended the broad stair to the paintings section 
 on the first floor. The building re-echoed with 
 the sound of footsteps and voices from the 
 stream of people passing up and down through 
 the various rooms. 
 
 There was a pervading gaUery-smeU — a 
 smeU of oil, colors and dust. There was no 
 one standing copying, for it was Sunday. But 
 the paintings are never so alive as when one 
 feels it is summer outside. The warm simshine 
 streaming through the high windows excites 
 
62 The Face of tie World 
 
 the senses, making them keenly receptive of 
 great and beautiful impressions. The master- 
 pieces no longer hang upon the walls; they 
 flow into one's mind. The flood of golden light 
 makes the shadows so soft and full of a dull 
 glow. Harold was oblivious of everything here. 
 He came from champagne in the Bois ; he came 
 to Rubens and Velasquez. And how many dif- 
 ferent moods did each picture call up? By 
 practice he had made himself able to feel the 
 lines and color of a painting, but that was not 
 enough. Today he could only see the time 
 from which they sprang. Vandyck's knights 
 in spurs and velvet came from exploits and 
 were going to court ; they stood ready to mount 
 their horses and set off at a gallop. What 
 then? What were the times, the people sur- 
 rounding this upper class? He had not thought 
 of this until today; but once more, as with the 
 champagne in the Bois, it gave an after-taste 
 to the enjoyment. Tintoretto's holy feasts 
 seemed to give out a fragrance of fruit and 
 wine; the silk on his figures could actually be 
 heard to rustle. Rubens' angels were little 
 
The Face of the World 63 
 
 balls of merriment, and the flush on the skiri 
 of Titian's women was so lifehke that one al- 
 most expected them to move and welcome a 
 guest. 
 
 The spirit and the people of many centuries 
 stood out vividly from these endless rows of 
 paintings, and men and women of the present 
 day moved past them, stopped and absorbed 
 this remote life which an artist has rescued from 
 death, received it into their consciousness, and 
 were nourished by it; then passed on to other 
 pictures, and finally went home with the feel- 
 ing that they had been in new and magic lands. 
 
 The sculptor walked about the gallery with 
 the critical mien of one who understands all 
 about it, and praises and condemns in accord- 
 ance with his present-day conception of art. 
 But Harold's gaze was fixed on Thora. Thora's 
 eyes were full of fancies, as if all this splen- 
 dor on the walls had infected her and filled 
 her mind vidth an ardent delight. She held 
 herself erect, the movements of her body were 
 assured, her smile far-away; she stood still for 
 a moment, went on again, stopped once more. 
 
e* The Face of the World 
 
 and actually sunned herself in this revelation 
 of all that constantly occupied her thoughts. 
 There was a slight flush upon her face, as 
 though she were swaying in a dance with one 
 whom she secretly loved. 
 
 Harold stood beside her in front of David's 
 great picture of Napoleon's coronation. The 
 Emperor, with a mantle of ermine over his 
 shoulders and oak-leaves about his brow, thinks 
 the old pope is too slow, and has himself seized 
 the crown and is about to place it on the head 
 of the kneeling Empress. Round them is an 
 assemblage of ladies and generals of the Re- 
 public, who cannot hide their smiles at this re- 
 ligious comedy jvhich they thought was past 
 and done with. 
 
 Suddenly Harold said : "That man was one 
 of the world's greatest criminals." 
 
 Thora started as if, while music was being 
 played, she had heard a gun fired. "What?" 
 she said, gazing at him with lifted eyebrows. 
 "What did you say?" 
 
 "No, I only meant that he made a bungle of 
 the revolution. How far along the world would 
 
The Face of the World 65 
 
 have been if only he had lost the battle of 
 Lodi!" 
 
 "Is that how you look at art?" she asked re- 
 sentfully, and involuntarily looked towards the 
 sculptor, who was approaching. 
 
 "No, no! Don't be cross! It was only some- 
 liiing I happened to think about." 
 
 "You're at the protestation meeting still, X 
 can see," she answered, turning away from 
 lum. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked the sculptor. 
 
 Harold smiled and continued: "Have you 
 noticed that the painters of the Renaissance al- 
 most always kept to the upper classes? But 
 every one can't have worn velvet and brocade 
 in those days either." 
 
 "It isn't true!" cried his wife, turning quick- 
 ly towards hioi again. "Didn't Rembrandt 
 paint both rags and butchers' meat? And there 
 hangs a street-arab pulling at his shirt, done 
 by Murillo. Isn't that democratic enough 
 either?" 
 
 "She's still angry with me," thought Har- 
 old, waUdng away from them. 
 
The Face of the World 
 
 It was true, however, that he could not keep 
 his thoughts on the pictures as he had done be- 
 fore. Irrelevant impressions lurked in the 
 background of his mind, and, pressing for- 
 ward, would make him quite forget for long 
 moments what picture he really was looking 
 at. It worried him, but he felt nevertheless 
 that it could not be otherwise. Looking at 
 Veronese's beautiful women, he thought of the 
 number of slaves there must have been to main- 
 tain such an article of luxury. What is it then 
 that you bring forth, O mind of man ? What is 
 all this to me who stand here and live today? 
 Art? Is that enough? Culture? Is that 
 enough? 
 
 The paintings disappeared, and crowds of 
 down-trodden thralls of various ages pressed 
 forward and began to raise threatening hands. 
 And Thora and the sculptor were standing 
 close together in front of a picture, in another 
 world altogether. 
 
 • ••••« 
 
 The following winter was different from the 
 one before for the young couple up on Mont- 
 
The Face of the World 67 
 
 rouge. Thora went to a school of painting, 
 and when Harold came home from the Insti- 
 tute, nothing was ready, and he had to get his 
 dinner himself. She went every eventog to the 
 Cafe de Versailles to meet the artists, and he 
 stayed at home to read, or went to meetings. 
 And if it did happen that they were together 
 hy their little lamp for an evening, there were 
 long intervals of silence; and now and again 
 one of them would look up at the other, won- 
 dering at that cleft between them that each saw 
 growing ever wider. 
 
y 
 
 One 'day in May, when there was sunshine 
 and budding leafage in Christiania, Harold 
 Mark was walking up Carl Johan Street. He 
 was looking about him, for he expected to meet 
 Dr. Wilse, with whom he had spoken on the 
 telephone for a moment. At last he saw the 
 taU figure coming across the Students' Grove. 
 It was three years since the two friends had 
 met, and they stopped involuntarily, each to 
 look for the possible change that mip-ht have 
 come in the other. 
 
 "Did you come by boat last night?" Wilse 
 asked as they shook hands. 
 
 "This morning by the boat from Havre," 
 answered Harold, "and the crossing was splen- 
 did." 
 
 "Then your wife was not seasick?" 
 
 "My wifel No. She stayed behind in 
 Paris." 
 
 "What? Have you left her behind?" 
 
 68 
 
The Face of the World 69 
 
 Harold Mark pulled at his moustache as 
 they sauntered up the street. 
 
 "Well, my wife, you see, she — she's going 
 to stay there another year and go to the school 
 of art. It was such a good thing that we 
 could manage it. 3he's really awfully clever, 
 — Oh, hut I say I Ha, ha, ha! I can't help 
 laughing." 
 
 "What's the joke?'* 
 
 "Why, the distances here!" And Harold 
 stopped and looked from the Storting, past 
 the Grand Hotel, up towards the University, 
 as if he were at a puppet-show. 
 
 "Does it seem so small?" 
 
 "I didn't know that all the distances in this 
 town measured only two steps. I can't help 
 laughing. If you light your cigar at the 
 Storting, the match burns all the way up to 
 the Palace Hill. It's unique I And just fancy 
 that we went about here for seven long student- 
 years, and imagined that this was a large 
 town!" 
 
 "You needn't be so stuck-up because you've 
 come from the Continent!" 
 
70 The Face of the World 
 
 They strolled along the street a little way, 
 while Dr. Wilse told Marks of the happenings 
 of their mutual friends. Most of them were 
 scattered about in various towns and districts, 
 two or three had drifted to America, and only 
 a few were still in town. He himself had just 
 begun as a specialist in skin diseases. 
 
 "But you must have a good deal to tell on 
 the subject that is new," he said. "You per- 
 suaded the chimpanzee to let himself be in- 
 fected with lues down there at the Pasteur In- 
 stitute." 
 
 Harold nodded, but laughed ironically. 
 
 "Laughing again?" 
 
 "Well, surely I'm allowed to laugh? But I 
 say — shall we go and drink a farewell glass 
 together?" 
 
 "Farewell? You don't mean to say you're 
 going away again at once?" 
 
 Harold smiled, but did not seem inclined to 
 enter into the subject. They went into the 
 Grand Hotel Cafe, where Harold ordered 
 port, and the two friends sat down by a win- 
 dow and drank to one another. 
 
The Face of the World 71 
 
 "I suppose you've finished working for your 
 doctor's degree now?" Wilse asked. 
 
 His companion smiled again, and looked out 
 at the people passing up and down the street. 
 
 "Do you know what I admire in these peo- 
 ple?" he said suddenly, without answering his 
 friend's question. "Their capability of dull- 
 ness. They know, of course, if they would 
 think a little, that, at this moment, the most 
 terrible things are happening round about 
 them, and yet they dress themselves up and 
 admire and laligh and haven't a care in the 
 world. When you see ladies like those just 
 coming out of the confectioner's, you'd think 
 the world was surfeited with chocolate and 
 nice cakes. Well, well, after all, that's wis- 
 dom — the art of living. Why in the world 
 should one trouble one's self about the thou- 
 sands of idiots sitting biting their nails who 
 have nothing?" 
 
 "You won't answer my question about your 
 doctor's degree?" said Wilse, with a searching 
 glance, as he offered Harold a cigarette, Har- 
 old lighted it, and smiled again as he blew 
 
72 The Face of the World 
 
 clouds of smoke towards the window; then he 
 leaned back in his chair and looked for a mo- 
 ment at his companion. 
 
 "I say," he began at last, "don't you think 
 we doctors are a set of ridiculous fellows?" 
 
 "Well, perhaps," said Wilse, blinking his 
 eyes. He liked to hear his friend's paradoxes, 
 to which he had been accustomed formerly. 
 
 "I won't mention facts such as that half the 
 prescriptions we write are at best harmless, 
 that only a fourth part actually kiU people, 
 and that the rest may help to make some one 
 or other well again. We'll say nothing about 
 that, for it may possibly be different some day. 
 A famous svu*geon in iEngland confessed to 
 me over his third glass of whiskey, that when 
 he thought of all the poor devils that he had 
 killed by mistake, neglect, or sheer ignorance, 
 he almost went mad. But we'll say nothing 
 about that either; things may become better 
 some day. No, the main point is that if we 
 want to be anything more than a cobbler, who 
 patches up a torn shoe as well as he can, «pe 
 must go to the source of most of the diseases 
 
The Face of the World 73 
 
 in this world, namely, the conditions of life. 
 Most people die either of starvation or of over- 
 feeding, either of idleness or of overwork. 
 There are factories where the employes have 
 no prospect of reaching the age of forty. We 
 wear shirts made hy young women whose daily 
 wage is so small that they must add to it by 
 becoming prostitutes. 'On the other hand, 
 comes old Metschnikoff and says: 'Another 
 victory for medical science! I've got a poor 
 ape infected with lues !' What do you think 
 of that?" 
 
 "You want us to mix up medical science 
 with politics?" asked Wilse. 
 
 "I once believed," Harold went on, "thai 
 mankind, taken as a whole, was on its way to 
 — ^well, to some better land, that the time 
 would come when there would be no more sick- 
 ness, and when the human race would be 
 healthy, beautiful and happy. But I know 
 now that the chances are just as great of our 
 going steadily and surely to hell. A famous 
 anthropologist said recently that a more or 
 less upright, happy community of men is an 
 
74 The Face of the World 
 
 impossibility, simply because before that time 
 mankind will have become completely degen- 
 erate. What do you say to that?" 
 
 "What do I say to that?" said Wilse, smil- 
 'ing a crooked smile as he turned his glass 
 round and round on the table. 
 
 "Well, I myself think that it's we who 
 have to be responsible for the direction it 
 takes, either to ruin or to a richer, greater 
 type of man. It's just we doctors. Do you 
 see that?" 
 
 "That's saying a great deal! Is all that re- 
 sponsibility to rest upon us?" 
 
 "Yes, if we don't shirk it, which is another 
 matter. But if we really wake up one day 
 and see that it is actually the whole of man- 
 kind that is diseased, we wouldn't seal our- 
 selves up in some specialty and sit comfort- 
 ably in a consulting-room putting on little 
 patches and letting everything else take care 
 of itself. No, we wouldn't do that." 
 
 Dr. Wilse flushed. "That's a hit at me," 
 he said with an attempt at a laugh. 
 
 "Yes, and at myself, too, sitting here and 
 
The Face of the World 75 
 
 only talking and enjoying myself drinking 
 this liquid, which, after all, is the main source. 
 . . . Ko, let us talk about something pleasant. 
 How is your sister? Married? Really?" 
 
 "What are you now going to do, then?" 
 
 "II Ah, my friend, I intend to take no 
 thought for anything but myself." 
 
 "Oh, yes; that would be like you!" 
 
 Harold kept on emptying and refilling his 
 glass from the bottle that stood between them. 
 His face was flushed and his eyes shone, bul 
 there were continual nervous movements of 
 his features. 
 
 "I'll go into the country and make love to 
 young girls. Oh, you wouldn't believe how 
 much I want to let myself go! But I say — 
 l\ow is it with you? I expect in your inner- 
 most soul you're cherishing some bright dream 
 or other, aren't, you?" 
 
 "A bright dream?" said Wilse soberly, look- 
 ing at his companion. 
 
 "Well, yes. You must have — or haven't 
 you? — deep down, as it were, a feeling that 
 tomorrow, or in a few years' time, aU evil will 
 
76 The Face of the World 
 
 be at an end, and that the world will have at- 
 tained everything that we and the other mil- 
 lions are dreaming about. Don't you feel like 
 
 that, Peter? I think " Harold closed his 
 
 eyes for a moment, and bent his head over his 
 glass. He seemed as though he were about 
 to rise suddenly and go, but leaned back 
 again, fingering his glass and looking into the 
 dark wine. 
 
 "After all," he said in a low voice, "we be- 
 long to the sun, but there are a few things 
 that must be cleared out of the way first. Or 
 perhaps — ^yes, that must be it — ^we have to go 
 like beggars to the great world of suffering to 
 acquire by barter the right to laugh two or 
 three times a week. Ha, Jia, ha! Why, I'm 
 actually laying bare my immortal soul!" 
 
 He rose suddenly, paid the waiter and pre- 
 pared to leave the restaurant. "Confounded 
 nuisance," he thought, "that even to your best 
 friend it's impossible to talk about what's near- 
 est to your heart!" 
 
 "You're a strange fellow!" said Wilse, ad- 
 justing his glasses as they stood in the street 
 
The Face of the World 77 
 
 before parting. "You talk about drinking a 
 farewell glass, and you won't tell me what 
 you're going to start onl" 
 
 Harold laughed and looked up the street. 
 "Well, my friend," he said, "it may be that I 
 shall have to begin on something or other that 
 you others won't like. This ought perhaps to 
 have been our farewell; but joking g,part — 
 can't we make a night of it? You come out 
 with me! We'll first have supper, and then 
 — ^well, confound it, we can surely just once 
 more crown ourselves with vine-leaves. Very 
 well, then, eight o'clock. Au revoir!" 
 
 A few days later Harold Mark sat in his 
 unpretending little flat in the poor part of the 
 town, and looked about him. He had raked 
 together the necessary furniture, most of it be- 
 ing second-hand things bought at an auction. 
 Why not? In the corner room all his surgical 
 instruments shone in their glass cases, and his 
 plate was already fastened to the street door. 
 He had also managed to get hold of an elderly 
 maid, who at the present moment was rattling 
 
78 The Face of the World 
 
 pots and pans in the kitchen in the prepara- 
 tion of dinner. 
 
 "So here I am!" he murmured as he looked 
 about him and then began to pace up and 
 down. "It's funny that I, who was considered 
 a talented fellow and with the makings of a 
 professor in me, should have gone quite wrong 
 — ^ha, ha! — ^have become a revolutionist and 
 have landed here." He stopped at the window 
 and looked out. Rain and mud, a view of fac- 
 tories and smoke and dirty houses, hang it aU! 
 Even in the poor districts in Paris you still 
 had the feeling that you were in that glorious 
 city. There was always some temple or other 
 of intellect and genius close by. But here! 
 Hideous houses, refuse in the street, spirits, 
 fear of hell, and priests who went round and 
 looked after the dustbins, and scolded on 
 .God's behalf when they doled out a halfpenny. 
 "Well, I've chosen to settle down here, so it's 
 all right" 
 
 He began to pace up and down again with 
 his hands in his pockets. "What am I here 
 for exactly?" he went on to himself. "Well, 
 
The. Face of the World 79 
 
 I want to arrange things with — ^with what? 
 With God, the theologian would say. With 
 my world's conscience, I myself say. Yes, 
 that's it. I want to serve my time and try to 
 get the moral means to live some day in nice 
 smrroundings, cultivate my mind, drink in 
 beauty, and have a share in all the joys and 
 pleasures of the world. That is what I want, 
 I suppose, and some day I shall probably be 
 able to afford it, too. But there are a few 
 things to be cleared out of the way first, and 
 a few things that I must be quite certain 
 about. What are they? Well, in the first 
 place, where we really come from. I must 
 form an opinion on that point. That's one 
 thing. And in the second place, where we all 
 go to — not science, technics, culture and poli- 
 tics, but mankind, all men. Where are we 
 going to? I can never feel quite easy until 
 I've formed a decided opinion on the subject. 
 We must be here for some purpose. We must 
 be going somewhere, and not into abysmal 
 'darkness; no, it must surely be towards the 
 Sim, when all souls stream together into the 
 
80 The Face of the World 
 
 infinite light. That's where we're going. But 
 I must be perfectly certain about it before I 
 can devote myself entirely to my own happi- 
 ness. Certain! When shall I be that? When 
 shall I be that? And is there much good in 
 my digging down into the dirt here, and giv- 
 ing up all the youth I have still left? Is there 
 really any good?" 
 
 He stood still for a moment facing the win- 
 dow, and whistled. 
 
 "Good? No, of course not, but the thing is 
 that I must have every one with me. Per- 
 haps when it comes to the point, that's why 
 I'm here now. Every one with me? I go 
 about dreaming that some day our mind will 
 take in the whole human choir, and then there 
 must be no voice out of tune. That's why 
 I'm beginning here. It's most needed here. 
 
 "But, dear me, isn't it ridiculous to want to 
 do it? If I look around I see what resistance 
 there is. Don't they, one and all, creep into 
 their shell and call it the world and feel com- 
 fortable? And I — I want to get hold of all 
 the others. I don't want to be comfortable 
 
The Face of the World 81 
 
 alone; I want to have every one with me. 
 When I learned anything new in my science, 
 the pleasure was never complete because I 
 thought: Why don't the others know this? I 
 wanted the others with me. I wanted to rise 
 to an ever richer life, but I wanted to hold the 
 others by the hand. Come with me! Even 
 the smallest shall come with me. Some day we 
 shall, all together, raise our voices in the great 
 hymn. A dream, a belief, music in the soul — 
 what more?" 
 
 He smiled as he faced the window. For a 
 moment of silent happiness he looked down 
 into the depths of himself. Then he passed 
 his hand across his forehead. 
 
 "Yes, I see — I see perhaps part of the im- 
 mense ocean, but what am I against this huge 
 volume? If most that happens in the world 
 is wTong, if all sound is discord, what is the 
 good of my drinking it into my being and Hv- 
 ing as I do? What can I change? What 
 am I equal to? Here I stand and occupy an 
 area of half a square metre in a gloomy room 
 in a corner of the world, and at the same time 
 
82 The Face of the World 
 
 the whole world is buzzing in my mind. Wh^t 
 am I equal to? The great world-conscience is 
 one thing, but the abUity to alter anything is 
 another. What can I put right, I, a little in- 
 sect, whose life can be extinguished in a mo- 
 ment? And yet I try to take the burden of 
 the world upon my shoulders, and to rise and 
 carry it on a little way. Good heavens, what 
 a comedy! God help me!" 
 
 He bowed his head. 
 
 "Thora! Thora! We were happy, we two, 
 when the world was only you and I. Where 
 are you now? What are you doing now?" 
 
VI 
 
 Some stirring years passed, during which 
 time Harold Mark's name became well known. 
 He began as a socialist and soon became a 
 total abstainer; he spoke at the great labor 
 demonstrations, was abused by the middle- 
 class press and applauded by his own ; he was 
 continually attending committee meetings and 
 calling at the editorial offices of his own 
 party's newspapers, always in impatient haste, 
 as though only anxious to be free to go on 
 to the next. He was soon a familiar figure in 
 the houses of the poor district where, as doc- 
 tor, he was always trudging up and down the 
 dark stairways both day and night. He never 
 had any leism-e, never any time to rest. He 
 entered into the joys and sorrows of the in- 
 dividual, but did not on that account lose inter- 
 est in the great outside world. If he lay 
 awake at night thinking about a patient whose 
 life might yet possibly be saved, the great 
 
 83 
 
84 The Face of the World 
 
 world would at the same time be passing 
 through his brain, and his thoughts be in Rus- 
 sia, following the long train of prisoners on 
 their way to Siberia, or with the labor con- 
 flicts in the various countries. In the Balkan 
 States, in Austria, in Russia, in Asia, there 
 were down-trodden races waiting for • their 
 hour of release. Was it a matter of indiffer- 
 ence to him? The pious Europeans went forth 
 with the cross in front of their guns, and dev- 
 astated with fire and sword the homes of 
 peaceful peasants in other parts of the world; 
 and every time a government committed a 
 mean act, the priests went in a procession to 
 church and praised ,God. These thronging 
 scenes from the great world were always in 
 his mind, and became especially vivid when he 
 should have been sleeping. They often seemed 
 like feverish visions; but bromide can do noth- 
 ing for a sick world. 
 
 As doctor also, he now began to be exceed- 
 ingly sceptical of himself, for the more he 
 travelled and saw and learned, the greater was 
 the demand he made upon himself, and the 
 
The Face of the World 85 
 
 better he knew how easy it was to fail. He 
 would come home inconsolable at having made 
 a wrong diagnosis, and thereby perhaps killed 
 a man. On coming to a bedside he would 
 sometimes instantly see that he could do noth- 
 ing, and yet he had to write a prescription. 
 He would have to prescribe a tonic for a con- 
 sumptive woman who worked in the steam- 
 laden atmosphere of a laundry; and if he said 
 what was the truth — "Go into the country! 
 The medicine you need is sunshinCj fresh air 
 and good food," — she might answer, "Well, 
 give me the money for it!" He soon became 
 cautious about ordering another kind of work, 
 for if a young girl left what she had, and did 
 not perhaps at once get anything else to do, 
 she would end on the street, and some day 
 would come to him again with a disease that 
 was still worse. 
 
 His day was cut up by visits, and by tele- 
 phone-calls during mealtimes or about mid- 
 night just as he had dropped off to sleep. He 
 would come home after a night spent at a con- 
 finement, and only just have time to drink a 
 
86 The Face of the World 
 
 cup of coffee before his consulting hours be- 
 gan again. But he was not allowed to be 
 tired. It might cost a human life if his judg- 
 ment were not wide awake. After a toilsome 
 day he might sit down in a comfortable chair 
 with a book, but the telephone would ring 
 again. He must always be ready to go when 
 called. When he entered a sick-room, many 
 eyes would be turned towards him, requiring 
 him to find a remedy immediately. When a 
 patient recovered, he seldom received any 
 thanks; if the patient died, he often felt that 
 the sorrowing relatives hated him. He had 
 grown accustomed to all this. He went up 
 to attics where several families with children 
 were crowded together in one room, where a 
 man might be lying in delirium in the one bed, 
 and a hollow-cheeked woman sitting on a chair 
 by his side with five or six children clinging 
 to her in terror, while on the other side of the 
 room sat a party of men playing cards. He 
 had grown accustomed to all this. As he 
 walked along the street, it was still with an 
 easy gait, and he still wore his hat on one side; 
 
The Face of the World 87 
 
 and he could often be heard whistling or hvrni- 
 ming a tune as he went up the stairs. 
 
 He had buried himself here, but he meant 
 to keep up with his science, go to hospitals 
 and see big operations, read his party's pa- 
 pers and those of his opponents and of the 
 world. When once he was in bed and his eyes 
 closed, then his mind opened, and he stiU felt 
 the great waves from the ocean without, wash- 
 ing in and out of his heart. 
 
 He was still young. His mind could thrill 
 in sympathy with so many things. 
 
 But every morning when he opened his let- 
 ter-box he felt a secret excitement. Would 
 there be a letter from Paris today? 
 
 There had been only one since he parted 
 from her, and he knew so well that it would 
 be so; yet he always hoped without really ex- 
 pecting. 
 
 When he came home weary and sat in peace 
 f Off a little while, a sigh would sometimes es- 
 cape him. "Oh, God; how long before I shall 
 have earned my freedom?" 
 
 Freedom! Oh, yes, the day must soon come 
 
88 The Face of the World 
 
 when he would think he had served his time. 
 That he, at any rate, was unable to bear the 
 world's burden any farther, was something he 
 would have to look into, however. He would 
 have to content himself with less. When, then, 
 would he have done his duty? When would 
 he be free? 
 
 There were moments in which it seemed to 
 his fancy that he would once more live through 
 those first happy days in Paris with Thora, 
 and the world stretched wide and radiant be- 
 fore his eyes. 
 
 There were only one or two things that had 
 to be cleared away first. He had to earn and 
 buy his freedom. 
 
 But why should he always have this great 
 window looking on to mankind? Mankind 
 was perhaps moving on to destruction, or per- 
 haps to the great dawn — ^who knows? But 
 why should he feel this ridiculous responsibility 
 for the result, and what difference would it 
 make if he did rush about and fuss night and 
 day in this little out-of-the-way corner of the 
 world? 
 
The Face of the World 
 
 To have interests becomes wearisome in the 
 •end. To want to keep up with everything, to 
 feel it of the greatest consequence that every- 
 thing finds its proper place — all this is weari- 
 some. Even if he had not exactly thought of 
 it, there had always been the oppressive feel- 
 ing that he had not time to laugh, to enjoy 
 himself, to rest, to see old friends. So there 
 Was more and more that positively must be 
 cleared away before he could feel free. 
 
 But why should every little step forward 
 take such a sadly long time? Does not man- 
 kind trudge round and round in the same 
 stupid circle? We talk, write, work, fight, 
 and after many years of it, everything is as it 
 Was before. Harold Mark began to feel it. 
 ■"Good heavens, Wilsel You call me a fanatic, 
 which is the stick-in-the-mud's way of saying 
 that we are impatient and want things to go 
 a little more quickly. Don't you see that when 
 we say total abstinence we mean something 
 ten thousand times greater. If alcohol lies 
 like a stone right across the road, and the 
 chariot of mankind — ^which I still believe to 
 
90 The face oj ttie yyona 
 
 be a triumphal chariot — comes up and wishes 
 to drive on, is it to take us a hundred years 
 to get that old stone cleared out of the way? 
 No, my friend! Room for the chariot! Away 
 with the obstacle! If there are any idiots who 
 stand in the way, put them gently on one side. 
 Room for that which is greater! Room for 
 man!" 
 
 Harold Mark could not stand the everlast- 
 ing trudging about on the same spot. His pa- 
 tience began to fail through the continual wait- 
 ing, and doing and saying the same things 
 over and over and over again. He became 
 rougher in his speeches, wilder in his articles, 
 more and more ruthless towards persons and 
 things. Once he had made his hearers enthu- 
 siastic; now he made them furious. At one 
 time he had perhaps made them believe; now 
 he made them hate. He had opponents before, 
 and now he made enemies. Nevermind! What 
 difference did it make? 
 
 As time passed a change took place in him 
 as doctor. When beside a patient he no longer 
 thought about the human being, but about the 
 
The Face of the World 91 
 
 disease itself in its widest sense. "Yes, here's 
 another tuberculosis!" he would say angrily to 
 himself after sounding a patient's chest. 
 "When will social conditions be sufficiently 
 clean and upright as to make this unneces- 
 sary?" "And here is cancer again! What in 
 the world are those barbers' blocks in the 
 great laboratories doing, not to have found a 
 remedy for it yet? Are we still to go on 
 boasting of our science?" When he went into 
 a workingman's little home, and saw the rav- 
 ages that alcohol and hunger together had 
 made, it was not sympathy he felt. No, he 
 cursed and swore to himself. "This is what 
 we must see every day, and it will be the same 
 a hundred years hence, if we don't make a 
 clean sweep. And still those confounded cap- 
 italists say that we exaggerate and are fanati- 
 cal, and the priests accept kind gifts from the 
 spirit-merchants, and fold their hands and 
 thank God!" 
 
 Harold Mark's ordinary emotions gradually 
 grew into fury, and the great world grew 
 ever darker as he looked out over it; but he 
 
92 The Face of the World 
 
 would still sometimes writhe in his bed and 
 moan: "O ,God, when shall I be free? When 
 shall I have served my time? Am I still to go 
 on leading this life for years? When shall I 
 be free?" 
 
VII 
 
 One evening late in March, Harold came 
 slowly up the stairs in the tenement-house 
 where he lived. The rain was pouring in tor- 
 rents and the west wind thundered over the 
 town, tearing the tiles from the roofs as it 
 passed. His yellow mackintosh was dripping 
 and his felt hat soaked. His galoshes left lit- 
 tle puddles at every step. It was dark in the 
 passage. He turned up the light, stripped off 
 his wet things, and by force of habit went into 
 his consulting-room to wash his hands. The 
 room smelt of drugs and of the laboring- 
 class patients who daily visited it. From the 
 kitchen came the odor of fried fish, his eld- 
 erly maid having probably thought that just 
 today he might want things a little comfort- 
 able when, at last, he came home. 
 
 "Supper's ready!" she said, as she stood, 
 broad and white-haired, in the doorway; but 
 
 93 
 
The Face of the World 
 
 the next moment she started back, for she had 
 never before seen such a look on his face. 
 
 "Thank you!" he said as he hung up the 
 towel. 
 
 In the sitting-room he stood still and looked 
 round. He had often thought that his furni- 
 ture was incredibly common, but nevertheless 
 this evening it seemed much too good for him. 
 "Oh, Mindal" he said as he sat down and un- 
 folded his napkin, "will you please take the 
 telephone-receiver off the hook? I want to be 
 undisturbed this evening." 
 
 "Yes, sir; you need a rest, I'm sure," she 
 answered sympathetically, and did as he asked 
 her. "Is there anything else you want, sir?" 
 she asked when she came back. 
 
 "No, nothing, I think; thank you." 
 
 "Then perhaps I might go to the prayer- 
 meeting at the Tabernacle, sir?" 
 
 "Oh, dear yes!" he replied with a sigh. 
 
 A little later the sound of her retreating 
 footsteps died away on the stairs, and he was 
 alone. He ate mechanically, and, every now 
 
The Face of the Wflrld 95 
 
 and then, fell into a brown study and sat star- 
 ing at the lamp. 
 
 At last he folded his napkin, rose from the 
 table, took up his pipe, and filled and hghted 
 it. For a moment he stood looking through 
 the clouds of smoke as he murmured to him- 
 self: "Well, I've got to take the consequences 
 of what I do. It'll do nobody any good if I 
 go to pieces. But honestly — ^haven't I been 
 going down hill all the time? Wasn't every- 
 thing much better before?" 
 
 He paced the floor for a little while, and 
 then went into his consulting-room and turned 
 up the light over the writing-table; but after 
 seating himself and taking out a sheet of note- 
 paper, he sat hesitating, with the pen in his 
 hand, looking at the light. 
 
 "Dear Mother," he finally began. 
 
 "Tomorrow the papers will tell you in 
 large-type headlines that the ill-famed law-suit 
 has gone against me. I have today been sen- 
 tenced to pay a heavy fine for 'slander,' the ex- 
 pressions I used concerning the said gentle- 
 men who have made fortunes by the sale of 
 
96 The Face of the World 
 
 intoxicating liquors have been nullified, and I 
 myself am made to stand in the pillory of the 
 country, where any wretch is at liberty to come 
 and spit at me. It gives one a strange feel- 
 ing, and as this is the fourth time that I have 
 been honored in this way, I suppose people 
 will really begin to look pityingly at you^ and 
 not think it strange that you should have gray 
 hair. I think, however, that this time too you 
 will be proud, and will continue to require me 
 to consider only my own convictions. 
 
 "On the other hand, as I sit here, I feel 
 strangely irresolute. I don't seem to know 
 myself. My mind was once filled with bright, 
 golden dreams, but now I dream only of ene- 
 mies, and am filled only with hatred. Where 
 have I drifted to? Have I myself been ruined 
 in the fight for a good cause? Dear Mother, 
 I am unhappy. I am not only tired, but thor- 
 oughly ashamed; and you must bear with me 
 when I, a gray-haired revolutionist, come and 
 lay my head in your lap to confess to you. 
 
 "I think I have for long enough had a great, 
 earnest desire to be useful, but it has brought 
 me down to the level of a little dog that is 
 always running between people's legs. Is that 
 necessary? Belief is one thing, the joy of at- 
 
The Face of the World 97 
 
 tack another; but is wishing to improve the 
 world the same thing as to be continually 
 swearing and raging? That is what I am 
 thinking as I sit here; and there is a mirror 
 close to me, but I dare not raise my head and 
 look into it. Oh, Mother, it is a sad fate after 
 all! I, who for a good many years have 
 imagined that I was a clearer of the ground, 
 must now admit that the evil I have rooted 
 out has been very little, while the evil I have 
 done has been much more. 
 
 "And I believed I was not an egoist! I like 
 a glass of wine, and an occasional dram is de- 
 licious ; and yet when, in my practice, my eyes 
 were opened to the ravages of alcohol, I gladly 
 threw my own glass into the fire. War 
 against that which is poisoning the world! 
 War against those that enrich themselves on 
 the ruin of others ! But why should I be vul- 
 gar when I wage war for so great and lofty an 
 idea? 
 
 "He that wants to cleanse an Augean stable 
 must of necessity, in so doing, smell foully. It 
 cannot be avoided. But as I sit here I look at 
 my hands. I have often written with a veno- 
 mous pen, I have talked fire and brimstone, 
 I have persecuted more or less honorable 
 
98 The Face of the World 
 
 men, and thrown evil-smelling bombs into 
 happy homes. The evidence that I was 
 obliged to make use of today has been called 
 coarse and scandalous; and now that I am no 
 longer blinded by my struggle to defend my- 
 self, I think my enemies may be right. I 
 look at my hands, and they seem to be spotted 
 with crimson stains; and perhaps 'all the per- 
 fumes of Arabia' wiU not make them white 
 again. 
 
 "Oh, Mother, can it be that he that fights 
 for a renewal of the world accomplishes noth- 
 ing but the deeper and deeper sinking of him- 
 self? 
 
 "Do you know of any remedy for me. 
 Mother? It is so long since I saw the sun. I 
 want to breathe in the scent of flowers, move 
 about in bright rooms, be with happy, har- 
 monious people. I want to forget who I am 
 and what I have done, and especially to be- 
 come something different from what I now am. 
 
 "I wonder whether this feeling that I have 
 had for several years of having the fate of the 
 world resting on my shoulders, has not been 
 a disease; for it is perfectly absurd. Why 
 should I never be able to hear beautiful music 
 without, at the same time, being aware of the 
 
The Face of the World 99 
 
 complaining cries of those that have to stand 
 outside? When I have plenty to eat I am 
 thinking all the time of those that have to live 
 on the crumbs that fall from the rich man's 
 table. This consciousness that the world out- 
 side is staring in at my windows has made 
 my rooms cold. The world? That is wrong, 
 however; it is only the shadow of the world. 
 My being is filled with the misery of this 
 world, with strikes, poverty, injustice, crimes, 
 bad governments and stupid laws. Is that the 
 world? Yes, the newspapers' and telegrams' 
 caricature of it. But there are also fine, 
 healthy men, beautiful women, entrancing 
 landscapes, roses and grapes. What room do 
 all these take up in my fife? None. I have 
 gradually become so unfamihar. Mother dear, 
 with everything like fragrance and brightness. 
 
 "If only the world's unfortunate ones had 
 been worth our sacrifice I I know them a little 
 better now. Who deserted me today? My 
 party friends. Enemies can be bad, but those 
 that share your opinions are often much worse. 
 Mankind. Mother, do you know mankind? 
 
 "Do you know who the oppressed are? 
 They are people that want to get on the top 
 so as to be able to oppress others! What do 
 
100 The Face of the World 
 
 most workmen do when they get higher wages? 
 They do worse work. Look out over the 
 world where we go about and boast of our 
 progress. What do you see? The continents 
 are resounding with racial hatred, the nations 
 with party hatred, the different groups in the 
 parties hate one another, and in each group 
 members stab one another in order to rise and 
 rule over the others. And I set myself up 
 against all this and will reform it! I! 
 
 "Good Lord, Mother! If I could only get 
 rid of this great, burning sympathy with 
 everything and everybody. Who has poisoned 
 my life with it? What good does it do any 
 one? If I never laugh myself, will it make 
 others weep less? If I go about in the dark 
 myself, will the others then have sunshine? I 
 know that the nearest of all progress is eco- 
 nomic and social justice; but even if we reach 
 this in a hundred years, we have only reached 
 the beginning — ^man. Who will undertake to 
 form a greater type of man? Is there material 
 in this crowd of sallow, rights-bawling pro- 
 letarians with hollow chests and crooked limbs, 
 to make an Apollo? Will their mind ever be- 
 come a temple and not a dingy tenement? And 
 
The Face of the World 101 
 
 the others? The parasites on the food-moun- 
 tain, who have everything, but have deserved 
 nothing — the priests with their false prating, 
 the politicians with their party humbug, the 
 executioners in uniform — are they any better? 
 I do not know. I no longer have any faith. 
 But if not, why do we voluntarily hang our- 
 selves upon the cross merely to provide some 
 fools with food? 
 
 "Good-night, Mother! I dread going to 
 bed, for when I close my eyes the nightmare 
 begins. I think about everything and every- 
 body. My mind enlarges itself so as to em- 
 brace the whole world. Mankind becomes a 
 seething ocean that rolls backwards and for- 
 wards through all my being. I grow dizzy 
 with the feeling of infinity. Millions of cries 
 for help rise from the hopeless confusion; I 
 see a crowd of faces, contorted with pain; arms 
 are outstretched for help as from millions in 
 danger of drowning. What can I do? Share 
 their suffering? Be ruined myself? That I 
 can do, and I am on the way to it. But I am 
 like the good swimmer who feels that some 
 one has seized hold of his feet to keep himself 
 up. I kick them away. I surely have the 
 
102 The Face of the World 
 
 right to save myself I — ^Ah, Mother, I am hun- 
 gering and thirsting for the happy youth that 
 I hate sacrificed, but God knows whether it is 
 not too late to overtake it." 
 
yiii 
 
 The little west-country town where Fru 
 Mark had her school lay among high moun- 
 tains at the head of a bay, and looked out to 
 the open sea. It was the meeting-place of 
 breezes laden with the scent of sea and snow- 
 mountain, of cultivated field and meadow 
 along the shore, and of fish and fish-oil from 
 the quays. The houses with their red-tiled 
 roofs stood in irregular groups dotted all 
 about the hills, and the principal street wound 
 past the quays, curved round a headland, and 
 finally disappeared in its course through the 
 surrounding district. In the harbor, espe- 
 cially in the fishing-season, there was life and 
 bustle with the numerous vessels of all kinds. 
 Large steamers lay to at the quays and took 
 in cargoes of fish-oil and dried fish; steam and 
 motor fishing-boats came in from the banks, 
 with their crews clad in oilskins; a multitude 
 of sailing-vessels, large and small, came in and 
 
 103 
 
104 The Face of the World 
 
 out; and, in among them all, there now and 
 then would shoot a gray torpedo-boat to fetch 
 the mail for the fleet outside. 
 
 It was a town with its face turned to the 
 sea, whence it drew its life, a small town with 
 large fish-merchants and large ship-owners, 
 whose cargo-steamers made tracks across dis- 
 tant oceans. At one time a single man, the 
 great Consul Pram, had ruled here like a king. 
 The fishing-islands, the ships, the fish, the fish- 
 oil, the meeting-houses, the banks, the posts of 
 honor, and the princely white house outside 
 the town, were all his. He was an imperious 
 man, who, according to report, had first he- 
 come rich by letting his vessels carry slaves 
 from Africa to America; but he died a sin- 
 cere Christian, and forgave all his enemies ex- 
 cept Fru Mark. 
 
 Things were different now. After his time, 
 men in small circumstances had worked them- 
 selves up to greatness, and movements had 
 come into power that went much further than 
 Fru Mark. Every morning that lady might 
 be seen coming down the main street on her 
 
The Face of the World 105 
 
 way to the school, and, later in the day, she 
 passed up it again to a little white house that 
 stood on a rocky knoll outside the town. At 
 one time there were a good many people who 
 dared not show her any sign of recognition 
 because she was at war, not only with the 
 priests, but also with the king of the town, 
 Consul Pram. Now every one greeted her, 
 and on festive occasions they called her the 
 mother of the town. She was just entering 
 on her sixties, was tall and dignified, with a 
 refined, small-featured face set in a frame of 
 white hair, and always dressed in dark colore. 
 She was on the municipal and school boards, 
 and had the credit of starting the home for 
 the aged, the foundlings' hospital, the art 
 union, the labor college and even the little 
 theatre; and it had all been done under pro- 
 test from King Pram. Fru Mark also kept 
 her eyes open, and would now and then pay 
 unexpected visits. If a drunken man went 
 home and ill-treated his wife, they might sud- 
 denly hear a knock at the door, and there 
 stood a white-haired woman. People said of 
 
106 The Face of the World 
 
 her that she never laughed, but her smile was 
 one that no one would forget. She had once 
 been the mistress of a large country house, but 
 was unhappily married; and she had had 
 much to contend with before she had gained 
 by her own efforts the position in which she 
 now stood. 
 
 One Saturday evening in the beginning of 
 May there was great excitement in the club. 
 The gentlemen of the town were sitting at 
 small tables with their whiskey and soda and 
 their newspaper, while broad streams of light 
 fell through the tall windows from the sun 
 which was setting in clouds of fire far out in 
 the west. The door opened, and the florid, 
 spectacled face of Lawyer Gundahl looked in. 
 Two or three heads were lifted with an ex- 
 pectant look, for Lawyer Gundahl always had 
 news to tell. 
 
 "What is it, lawyer?" 
 
 "You never heard such a thing!" he said, 
 coming in and waving a paper. "Have you 
 read the Evemng Paper?" 
 
 "No! Is there any news?" 
 
The Face of the World 107 
 
 "Appointments, gentlemen! "New senior 
 physician at the seaside hospital!" 
 
 "Is he appointed at last?" Several men 
 rose and looked eagerly at the little news- 
 paper, which seemed to have come straight 
 from the press. 
 
 "Yes, he's appointed!" cried the little law- 
 yer with a grimace. "And I'll just ask you 
 to guess who it is the Government has hon- 
 ored us with. Just guess!" And he held 
 the newspaper behind his back. 
 
 "Dr. Prahl!" suggested several, and a stout 
 man with a sandy beard and spectacles, sit- 
 ting at one of the vbles, rose and stood with 
 glass in one hand and i. 'iwspaper in the other. 
 It was Dr. Prahl, the district-physician. 
 
 The lawyer shook his head, and looked at 
 the paper through his glasses. 
 
 "Dr. Kemp then?" was suggested in various 
 parts of the room. 
 
 He was present, too, however, standing by 
 the wall, with an attempt at a smile on his 
 pale, clean-shaven face. 
 
 "Oh, dear no, good people! The doctors in 
 
108 Tlie Face of the World 
 
 our town don't speculate either in the friend- 
 ship of working-men or in total abstinence. 
 No, we're going to have a famous man this 
 time. It's Dr. Harold Mark I" 
 
 "jSTonsense !" exclaimed the district-physi- 
 cian, coming nearer. 
 
 "You're only humbugging!" said Dr. 
 Kemp, still trying to smile. 
 
 "It surely isn't the man who was recently 
 sentenced to hard labor?" asked Consul 
 Wahl, approaching from one of the tables. 
 
 "You are in error, sir !" said Gundahl. "He 
 should have been sentenced to hard labor, but 
 the authorities decided to aggravate the pun- 
 ishment, and are sending him here instead. 
 He's in too bad odor out there, but he's good 
 enough for here!" 
 
 "It's surely impossible for him to get a 
 post so immediately after that scandalous law- 
 suit!" said several. 
 
 "It's in the paper," said the lawyer. 
 
 Heads were crowded together over the pa- 
 per. Yes, positively it was ! 
 
 "How does the Government dare !" 
 
The Face of the World 109 
 
 "We're to put up with this!" 
 
 There was a buzz of voices in the room; the 
 excitement increased and clenched fists were 
 raised. Once more the Government had re- 
 warded a radical with one of the best posts in 
 the country. 
 
 The editor of the Evening Paper, a small, 
 pale man, had come in, and now suddenly got 
 up on a chair. 
 
 "I say I I suggest that we telegraph a pro- 
 test." 
 
 "We? Who? The club?" 
 
 "The chairman of the Citizens' Union is 
 here. He ought to do it, and the rest of us — 
 we — I suppose we can subscribe to it, too," 
 said the editor, with a glance at Consul Wahl. 
 
 "The whole town protests. We sign in the 
 name of the whole town!" answered the con- 
 sul, nodding and gesticulating, his face flushed 
 with excitement. 
 
 At that moment a quiet voice was heard 
 near the window. It was Halvorsen, a gray- 
 haired merchant, who was at last able to make 
 himself heard. 
 
110 The Face of the World 
 
 "But," he said, "isn't Dr. Mark considered 
 to be a clever doctor?" 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 "And what if he is?" said the editor, who 
 was still standing upon the chair. 
 
 "Well, I thought that was the main point," 
 replied Halvorsen. 
 
 The next moment all eyes were turned to 
 Dr. Prahl, who felt that he ought to say some- 
 thing. 
 
 "Well, I don't know what he is!" he said. 
 "But does any one here believe that that's the 
 reason why he gets it over the heads of the 
 fifteen other candidates that are older than 
 he?" 
 
 The editor looked round. "I should just 
 like to mention," he said, "that both the tem- 
 perance people and the socialists are getting 
 ready to meet him at the quay." 
 
 **Then that'll save the rest of us from hav- 
 ing to do it," said Dr. Kemp, biting his lip as 
 he slipped out of the room. 
 
 "We shall have the municipal elections in 
 the autumn," the editor continued, "and now 
 
The Face of the World 111 
 
 the socialists will have a leader who is accus- 
 tomed to pay siiit to low instincts. I think I 
 can prophesy that things will be quite changed 
 here, and the question is whether there isn't 
 stUl time to avert the calamity if we act im- 
 mediately." 
 
 "We'll telegraph!" cried several voices. 
 "Here's paper and pen!" And the buzzing 
 began aga,in worse than before. 
 
 The next day the town had something to 
 talk about. The socialist paper stated that the 
 total abstinence and labor parties had also 
 sent a telegram to the Government on this 
 subject, so that people in the capital should 
 not mistake five or six club-members, a little 
 the worse for drink, for the town itself. 
 
 There was only a couple of weeks to the 
 time when the new doctor was to enter on his 
 duties, and in the meantime the town talked 
 itself into a state of ever greater excitement. 
 One large section considered this appointment 
 to be an insult to the town; others— his party 
 friends — ^looked upon the doctor as a martyr. 
 
112 The Face of the World 
 
 and were beginning to make arrangements for 
 singing and flowers. 
 
 No one in the town could say that he was 
 personally acquainted with Harold Mark. 
 He had made short holiday visits, when mother 
 and son generally went away together to the 
 sea or to the mountains; but a few of his 
 opinions were known, and people formed their 
 idea of him from what they read in the papers 
 with additions from their own imagination, un- 
 til at last it seemed to most of them that they 
 had really known him well for many years. 
 
 In the lengthening spring evenings, Fru 
 Mark was now often seen on her knees in her 
 little garden tending her flowers. The house 
 was repainted, too, and shone whiter than ever. 
 "She's making everything look nice for his 
 coming" — people said as they passed. 
 
 One Sunday evening in the middle of May 
 the large Bergen steamer was making her way 
 into the bay. The whole town was on the 
 quay, a white straw hat or a reid sunshade 
 showing here and there above the dense wall 
 of people. 
 
The Face of the World 113 
 
 "Here comes Fru Mark driving!" said some 
 one in the crowd, and people tried to squeeze 
 up and make room. The brown horse 
 ploughed its way slowly into the mass of hu- 
 man beings. The white-haired woman in the 
 carriage looked reserved and cold. Perhaps 
 she was afraid of what might happen when 
 her son stepped on shore. 
 
 Nearer the warehouses stood the schoolmas- 
 ter, Brede, with the labor union under their 
 banner; and the red-bearded man dashed 
 hither and thither, perspiring with zeal. "Off 
 with you, youngsters 1" he cried as he took off 
 his silk hat with a flourish to Fru Mark. He 
 then darted lightning glances over the well- 
 dressed crowd. He was going to see to the 
 whole arrangement, the women and the men, 
 the cheers and the singing, and, in addition, 
 ^lake a speech himself; so it was not much 
 wonder that he was running hither and thither. 
 It was easy enough for Holmsen, the customs 
 officer, who was standing near with the total 
 abstinence people. He could stand about with 
 
114 The Face of the World 
 
 nothing to do but watch the steamer come in, 
 and join in the cheering. 
 
 The vessel lay to. A band was playing on 
 board. The gangway was raised, and people 
 began to stream ashore. All eyes were look- 
 ing for one particular passenger, but where 
 was he? The gangway was dropped again, 
 and the steamer moved from the quay. The 
 schoolmaster and the customs officer looked 
 across at one another open-mouthed. What 
 had become of the doctor? 
 
 "I know nothing!" said Fru Mark, making 
 the horse back and turn. "He may have been 
 delayed in Bergen." 
 
 Disappointed and crestfallen, the crowd 
 went home again. When Fru Mark arrived 
 at her house, she found a motor-car standing 
 at the door, and a man with a fair beard was 
 in the act of paying the chauffeur. It was 
 Harold. 
 
 "Good morning, mother! Have you bought 
 yourself a horse?" he asked, as he came and 
 helped her out of the carriage. 
 
The Face of the World 115 
 
 "My dear, where have you come from?" she 
 stammered, letting him kiss her. 
 
 "Well, you see, I heard a rumor that a 
 crows' parliament was being held over my re- 
 mains, so I went ashore at Taraldsund and 
 came by road. Thank goodness! I'm here at 
 last!" he exclaimed, taking off his hat and 
 looking about him. 
 
 "Good Lord, what's that hideous thing 
 you've put up there?" he asked, as his gaze 
 feU upon a large, brown, brick building that 
 rose above the cluster of houses. "What is 
 it?" 
 
 "That's the parish school," said his mother, 
 looking at him anxiously. 
 
 "I hope you haven't had anything to do with 
 the building of that frightful thing, mother?" 
 
 "No, I wasn't the architect," she said. "But 
 let's go in. The maid can carry up your 
 things." 
 
 "And what's that out by the bay?" he ques- 
 tioned further, as he looked at a large, yellow, 
 wooden building at the other end of the town. 
 
 "That's the new hospital." 
 
116 The Face of the World 
 
 "My hospital?" 
 
 "I suppose we may call it so," she said with 
 a smile. "Hadn't they begun to build it when 
 you were here last?" 
 
 "Built of wood — ^i» these days! That was 
 foolish 1" 
 
 He took his large portmanteau and followed 
 his mother through the garden gate and up the 
 steps to the white house on the rock. He was 
 soon wandering about the small rooms, which 
 seemed filled with the scent of the sea. It was 
 all so open and full of light. A peculiar feel- 
 ing of comfort overwhelmed him now that he 
 was once more under his mother's roof. How 
 long it was since he had been with any one 
 who was bound to him by any tiel 
 
 "Welcome home, my dear boy!" said his 
 mother, as she went and laid her hands upon 
 his shoulders. 
 
 "Thank you, mother, thank you!" he said; 
 and they stood thus for a moment, his smile 
 answering hers as their eyes met. These two, 
 who for so many years had talked together 
 
The Face of the World 117 
 
 only in letters, were now standing so close 
 that they could hear one another breathe. 
 
 "You're actually beginning to get gray 
 hairs I" she said, pulling his beard a little. 
 
 "So are you, mother!" 
 
 "What nonsense ! Why, I'm old! . . . But 
 come upstairs and let me see whether you're 
 satisfied with your two rooms." 
 
 The stairs creaked under their feet. The 
 elderly, red-haired maid was already up there, 
 and had placed his trunks on two chairs. 
 "Why, isn't that Lisbeth?" he exclaimed. 
 "Good day, Lisbeth! So you're still here?" 
 
 "Good day, sir!" said Lisbeth, flushing, as 
 he shook hands with her. 
 
 When she had gone, the mother and son 
 were alone again. He was standing at the 
 open window in the bedroom, looking out. 
 The bay lay like a mirror, and reflected the 
 mountains and farms on the other side. A 
 waterfall hung like a silver thread from the 
 top of a precipice, and at last splashed into 
 the sea. The fruit-trees were loaded with 
 
118 The Face of the World 
 
 blossom. It was wonderful to breathe this air, 
 and he drew deep breaths. 
 
 "And I am here now!" he thought. "I am 
 always thinking I've taken root in some firm 
 thing, now in a great passion, now in a great 
 work; but the roots are always pulled up. 
 How will it be now?" 
 
 It was beautiful out there, but he looked 
 at it without seeing it, because a multitude of 
 images flitted through his mind and drew a 
 veil between him and the objects on which his 
 eyes rested. He must learn now to tear this 
 veil asunder. 
 
 "How are you now?" said his mother, com- 
 ing up and taking his arm. 
 
 He turned towards her. "I?" he said. "Oh, 
 grand! And how are you? I'm so glad to see 
 you looking so well," he added, patting her 
 cheek. 
 
 "Do you think this bed will do for you?" 
 
 He could not help laughing. As if it mat- 
 tered in the least whether he lay on a hard 
 or a soft bed! 
 
 "I say, mother — about that stupid letter I 
 
The Face of the World 119 
 
 wrote you. You must promise me you won't 
 think any more about it." 
 
 She had sat down and was drawing her fore- 
 finger over the surface of a white table, on 
 which stood a brass candlestick. 
 
 "That letter was really one long accusation 
 against me," she said, avoiding his eye. 
 
 "What? Against you?" 
 
 She nodded. "It's I, of course, who am re- 
 sponsible for your life taking such a direction. 
 And there's little comfort in the thought that 
 I meant well." 
 
 "Now, mother, we two are only going to 
 think of how happy and jolly we shall be to- 
 gether now. Tell me — do they dance much 
 here?" 
 
 She stared in astonishment. "What? 
 Dance?" 
 
 "Yes, of course! There must be young 
 people here who do something more sensible 
 than shout hurrah for stupid prophets. I 
 shall fotmd a dancing-club, if there isn't one 
 already. I have some fun to the good that I 
 
120 The Face of the World 
 
 must make up for." And he whistled as he 
 swung round on the floor. 
 
 "How forced it all sounds!" thought his 
 mother, not daring to look at him. He had 
 gone to the window again, and stood looking 
 out and humming. 
 
 "There's one thing I should like to know," 
 she said at last. "Do you never hear from 
 — from Paris?" 
 
 He looked at her and smiled, but then 
 passed his hand across his forehead and bowed 
 his head. 
 
 "No," he said; "but I know they still live 
 in Paris," 
 
 "They? Whom do you mean?" 
 
 "Thora and her husband. She — she's mar- 
 ried a French artist now." 
 
 His mother's mouth grew hard. There was 
 a pause. 
 
 "She must not be blamed for it at any rate," 
 he said, raising his head. "The fault was mine. 
 If a man can't be what a young, light-hearted 
 girl has the right to expect him to be, he 
 shouldn't marry." 
 
The Face of the World 121 
 
 There was another pause,, and then his 
 mother said: "Why did you apply to come 
 here, Harold?" 
 
 "Why? Why, mother dear, I'd made my- 
 self quite impossible down there!" 
 
 "Oh, nonsense ! You're not a coward. You 
 wouldn't run away." 
 
 "No, I suppose I shotildn't," he said in a 
 low voice, turning to the window. "But I 
 needed to look out upon different surround- 
 ings. There are a few things that I must try 
 and understand now. So many of my ideals 
 have been shattered, and I don't know how 
 I'm to put them together again. But we won't 
 talk any more about that," he said, in a dif- 
 ferent tone, turning to her. 
 
 They went down, and had only been in the 
 sitting-room a moment when a dark, slender 
 woman, dressed in a brown velvet dress with a 
 white lace collar over her shoulders, entered 
 the room. Her pale, oval face was framed 
 by dark hair, which was gathered into a knot 
 at the back of her head. Her eyes were large 
 and dark, with luminous depths. Round her 
 
122 The Face of the World 
 
 neck she wore a band of brown velvet, from 
 which hung a gold locket. She might have 
 been thirty or even forty, but any one looking 
 at her did not think about her age, but only 
 that there was an individuality about her, and 
 that she was beautiful. 
 
 "This is Ahna Kahrs," said Fru Mark, in- 
 troducing her. "She is senior sister at your hos- 
 pital, but latterly she has lived here with me." 
 
 Harold looked surprised. "I thought a 
 senior sister lived in the hospital," he said, 
 smiling. 
 
 "No, there is so little room to spare there," 
 she replied, "and besides there's another senior 
 sister who lives there. But if the new senior 
 physician requires me to move out there at 
 once, there's no help for it!" she added rather 
 roguishly. 
 
 "Well, we can see about that when I've 
 looked into things a little," he said, shaking 
 hands with her. 
 
 "I suppose I'd better make the tea," she 
 said, and Ipft the room. When she was gone, 
 Fru Mark explained that Sister Alma's father 
 
The Face of the World 123 
 
 had been the greatest wholesale fish-merchant 
 in the town, and had gone bankrupt two or 
 three years ago. At that time she had been 
 engaged to a lawyer, who, when she became a 
 poor girl, immediately broke off the engage- 
 ment. 
 
 "And so she took to sick-nursing," said 
 Harold, raising his eyebrows. 
 
 "Yes, poor thing. And now she is pretty 
 well over it. I'm sure you'll appreciate and 
 like her." 
 
 "It's of rery little consequence whom I 
 like, mother." His first thought on seeing 
 Sister Alma had been: "She's some one moth- 
 er's got hold of to console me. Poor mother!" 
 
 It was a dainty little supper-table that 
 awaited them. Harold was accustomed to the 
 bad management of his elderly servant, and 
 to have his meals alone. Here the cloth was 
 so white, the cups and plates so pretty, there 
 were flowers from the garden, and everything 
 was so bright and cheerful. The evening sun 
 filled the room with golden light and shadows, 
 and through the open window came the cry of 
 
124 The Face of the World 
 
 the gulls. Harold ate quickly and told amus- 
 ing stories, but laughed so loudly that his 
 mother often looked at him in astonishment. 
 How he had changed I 
 
 "I suppose you're looking forward to start- 
 ing work at your new post. Dr. Mark?" said 
 Sister Alma. 
 
 "Looking forward?" he said slowly, putting 
 down his cup. 
 
 "Yes, for a doctor can do such a tremendous 
 amount of good." 
 
 "I'll tell you what, sister, — b. doctor oughtn't 
 to set about saving the life of a single smith 
 or tailor; for even if he gets well today, he's 
 bound to die tomorrow. What good has the 
 doctor done then? Now if he could get the 
 better of a disease, so that it never appeared 
 again, it would be a different matter. But 
 you know quite well that if we drive it out of 
 Tom today, it breaks out in Dick tomorrow, 
 or in a milhon other people all over the world. 
 Have we doctors then really done anything 
 worth bragging about?" 
 
 "But, dear me 1 looked at in that way, every- 
 
The Face of the World 125 
 
 thing becomes pretty hopeless!" said Sister 
 Alma, looking earnestly at him. 
 
 "And so it is!" he replied, laughing. 
 "Everything is really hopeless." 
 
 "Oh, don't listen to him!" said his mother. 
 "He doesn't mean it." 
 
 "Yes, I think that we doctors must do the 
 same as you others, namely, take care to be so 
 busy that you haven't time to think. . . . But 
 I say, mother, won't you really celebrate your 
 son's homecoming with a glass of wine?" 
 
 Both women looked at him in astonishment, 
 and finally smiled. 
 
 "You're a nice total abstainer!" said his 
 mother at last. 
 
 "It's a good thing you reminded me of it, 
 mother !" he replied. "Fancy, sister ! there's a 
 religious sect here that maintains that it's bet- 
 ter to ruin your stomach and nerves with cof- 
 fee than rejoice your heart with a glass of 
 white wine. And do you know who was the 
 archbishop of that religious community for a 
 couple of years in this country? Well, it 
 was I!" 
 
126 The Face of the World 
 
 Again the two women looked at one another 
 and tried to laugh. 
 
 As he handed in his cup for his mother to 
 fiU, he went on: "Isn't it strange, sister, that 
 some of us should be bom to be charwomen?" 
 
 "Born to be what?" 
 
 "To be charwomen," he said, putting sugar 
 into his tea. "We go about with a pail and 
 try to wash away the dirt that others have 
 made. That's called working for progress. 
 But if the charwoman has scrubbed it all clean 
 today, it'll be just as bad again tomorrow, 
 while she, poor thing, thought the floors would 
 lie there spotless for hundreds of years." 
 
 Fru Mark bent her head over her plate. 
 This had quite ceased to be amusing. 
 
 After supper it came to light that Sister 
 Alma could play, and Harold went to the 
 piano, selected some music, and saw her seated 
 on the music-stool. Fru Mark sat on the sofa, 
 looking before her with her hands in her lap ; 
 but was it the music she was listening to? 
 
 The last rays of the setting sun were light- 
 ing up the room and shining on the old ma- 
 
The Face of the World 127 
 
 hogany sofa and on Fru Mark's long, blue- 
 veined hands; but her face was in shadow. 
 She looked at the two over by the window. 
 Harold was leaning against the piano, looking 
 stUl so broad-shouldered and handsome, and 
 the color of his blue serge suit harmonising 
 well with his companion's brown velvet. 
 What was she playing? Fru Mark only saw 
 that as Harold bent forward, his fair hair was 
 touched by a golden ray from the sun; and at 
 the same time she thought of his lacerated 
 mind. 
 
 And she thought she had done some good 
 in the world ! Had he now come as her j udge ? 
 How would it all end? 
 
IX 
 
 Haboud had said good-night to the ladies, 
 and now, putting on a light overcoat, and tak- 
 ing the latchkey with him, he went out. He 
 wanted a walk alone before he went to bed. 
 
 He went along the road by the shore and its 
 continuation inland. It was nearly midnight, 
 and the mountains and the bay lay in a bluish 
 darkness, through which shone the red and 
 green harbor-lights. A gentle breeze had 
 sprung up on the water, and little waves kept 
 breaking on the shore — a monotonous and 
 melancholy nocturnal melody, repeated over 
 and over again interminably. The town was 
 asleep, and most of the lights in the bay were 
 extinguished. 
 
 Harold sat down on a stone by the wayside, 
 lighted a cigar, and rested both hands on the 
 handle of his stick. What had been his in- 
 tention in coming here? His mother might 
 well ask. No, it was not only to get away 
 
 128 
 
The Face of the World 129 
 
 from the sight of enemies at every comer, or 
 to escape the sympathy of stupid members of 
 his own party. That was not the reason. He 
 must have hoped to find an out-of-the-way 
 place where the world might be smaller. He 
 knew his disease now, for this feeling, that 
 all misfortunes all the wide world over con- 
 cerned him, was a disease; this huge world- 
 responsibUity, the weal and woe of mankind, 
 was a disease. It must be shaken off. "This 
 ubiquitousness in my thoughts" — ^he said to 
 himself — "so that I cannot concentrate on 
 anything close at hand, is sheer idiocy. I once 
 thought of serving my time and becoming free, 
 and now the time has come. I am free, and 
 I must use my freedom and become young 
 and happy again. There are beautiful dis- 
 tricts in Norway where I can go and drink in 
 the beauty, and let it live in my mind. And 
 no newspaper-reading! The papers report 
 only catastrophes; they overfeed us with sad 
 things. Our power of feeling pleasure will 
 soon become a rudimentary organ. Millions 
 of people are healthy and happy, and don't 
 
130 The Face of the World 
 
 care a hang for social defects and progress. 
 Learn to know some of them" — ^he exhorted 
 himself. "In that way you can re-form your 
 picture of the world. It's not so bloody and 
 dirty as you've been imagining. You've only 
 seen the ink that the newspapers use, and 
 there's a face behind it that's beautiful and 
 healthy. Try to get in to it! That's where 
 you have to get! That's where you have to 
 get!'^ 
 
 He looked out through the blue-gray dark- 
 ness which seemed to be a mixture of dusk and 
 dawn. On the sea-horizon there was a streak 
 of red in the sky. Harold looked at it, and 
 at the moimtains and the sea; but he stUl felt 
 that he could not quite take it in, because 
 irrelevant thoughts once more drew a veil 
 across his eyes. 
 
 He went on at a quick pace. Suddenly he 
 heard a peculiar sound, and stopped. Yes, it 
 was dance-music — a concertina. He went on, 
 and, rounding a little headland, he found him- 
 self by a small pilot-boat harbor, where a 
 number of young people were dancing on the 
 
The Fajce of the World 131 
 
 grass and the road, in front of a white house. 
 He could see light dresses in the half-dark- 
 ness. 
 
 The player, a young sailor with his cap on 
 the back of his head, was sitting on a stone 
 and had his pipe in one comer of his mouth. 
 Harold gave them the usual greeting and re- 
 membered that he himself was only thirty- 
 eight. He then went among them and said 
 who he was, oflfered cigars to the boys, and 
 begged them to go on with the fun. Perhaps 
 he might be allowed to dance, too? 
 
 The concertina stopped for a moment, and 
 they all looked at him. One or two of the 
 girls said quietly that they must be going 
 home, but after aU the party did not break 
 up, and the concertina began again. Harold 
 went up to a girl in a hght dress and straw 
 hat, and asked for a dance, and drawing her 
 to him began to dance; and in a little while 
 they were all dancing. 
 
 Ah, it was long since he had had his arm 
 round a girl's waist, or felt a girl's breath 
 against his cheek! It made him so delight- 
 
132 The Face of the World 
 
 fully giddy, and he stopped for a moment to 
 throw off his overcoat. 
 
 "You dance splendidly," he said. "What's 
 your name?" 
 
 "Petra." 
 
 "And is your father a fisherman out here?*' 
 
 "No, he's a pilot." 
 
 A light was still burning in a white house 
 where there was a kind of cafe, and it ended 
 by Harold asking them all in and treating 
 them to coffee and cakes. 
 
 It was two o'clock, aad dayli^t was al- 
 ready beginning to appear, and the snow on 
 the mountains to be tinged with gold. Harold 
 told stories and made tiiem all laugh; and 
 finally they went oiit again, and had one more 
 dance on the grass. 
 
 It was not until four o'clock that Harold 
 turned back towards the town, and as he went 
 he could not help laughing now and then. 
 
 "Her name was Petra, and she had black 
 hair, and looked at me out of the comer of 
 her eye," he said to himself; "but I didn't 
 manage to see her home. Old fool! Are you 
 
The Face of the World 133 
 
 bc^nning to shuffle along in the rear-guard? 
 Well, one may be as good as another. Petra ! 
 Twenty!" He stopped, pushed back his hat, 
 and looked aimlessly for the sun, as if they 
 two ought to be joining company; but as yet 
 only the snowy peaks were aflame, the clouds 
 were golden, and the bay lay once more re- 
 flecting a rosy sky, blue mountains and green 
 i^ore, while the flocks of white gulls under 
 the land lay rocking in the blue shadows. 
 
 Harold leaned upcm his stick and tried to 
 take it all in, to forget the unsuccessful rising 
 in Barcelona, and to look at the morning, and 
 only that, and to think, for instance, of young 
 Petra. There must be pretty girls in the 
 town. A boat on the bay some June evening, 
 she and he, she and he, rocking on the tiny 
 waves, and perhaps going out to an island. 
 Would that happen to him, he wondered? 
 One thing was necessary — ^to make his horizon 
 small, to turn down the light in those regions 
 of his consciousness that did not concern hiBi, 
 to sleep, to let his mind sleep. The more 
 wide-awake and far-seeing he was, the sooner 
 
134 The Face of the World 
 
 would his hair turn gray, and his laughter die 
 away. He ought to make his surrounding 
 world small. His mother was wise. She im- 
 proved the parish schools in the town, and be- 
 Kered that mankind had thereby made a great 
 step forward. That was wisdom. His mother 
 kept her good looks. All honor to the happy 
 people with a small horizon, Y?ith blinds down 
 towards the world and the great sea, and the 
 windows open to a tiny garden. That is 
 where he must go! Ah! how beautiful it was 
 here! He would be at peace here! 
 
 A feeling of siacere huHulity filled his mind. 
 Many things that he had overlooked for years 
 jMifw came and presaited themselves. A pair 
 of early starlings were running about, busy 
 over their new nest-bmlding. "Those are star- 
 lings," he said aloud. And was not that a 
 lark he heard right over his head? He whis- 
 tled up into the air. Then he noticed that the 
 grass running down to the water was yellow 
 with the flowers of the rock-rose. The meadow 
 was covered with dew and bathed in the rosy 
 light. He picked a dandelion from the way- 
 
The Face of the World 135 
 
 side. "You hardy brigand!" he said, "that all 
 the world is in pursuit of — you are a little sun 
 on earth aU the same. You shall sit in my 
 buttonhole. And now we'll go I" 
 
 He slept with his window open. Peace, 
 peace 1 He lay between his mother's sheets, 
 and felt in his whole body that they were 
 clean and nice. Through the open window 
 came the soiuid of the waves breaking upon 
 the beach or against the ships in the harbor. 
 The blind blew out into the room. He was 
 aware of it all, but only turned over and went 
 on sleeping. The room became filled with 
 golden light, with full, flaming daylight; but 
 he had not to go anywhere; he- was free, and 
 he slept on and on. 
 
 At last he felt there was some one in the 
 room. Must he go to another patient? He 
 started up, but it was only the maid with a 
 large coffee-tray. 
 
 "Goodness, Lisbeth! is anything the mat- 
 terf 
 
 "No, sir; but I was to say from the mistress 
 that she had to go down to the school, as the 
 
136 The Face of the World 
 
 examinations are on, but she would be back 
 by one o'clock." 
 
 "And what time is it now?" , 
 
 "Oh, it's scarcely more than twelve now." 
 "Oh, dear! and I meant to go on sleeping 
 for hours! Thanks, Lisbeth, all the same." 
 
 He still lay for a little while outstretched 
 with his hands clasped behind his head, in a 
 feeling of utter well-being. Thank goodness! 
 there were stiU three days before he was to 
 enter on his duties. For three mornings he 
 could wake with the feeling that every hour 
 of the day was his own. For the moment it 
 seemed like a great event; he was so comfort- 
 able now! Everything in the room looked at 
 him in a friendly way, and seemed to welcome 
 him home. There were flowers from his moth- 
 er's garden in a vase on the table, and this 
 afternoon he and she could go for a long walk, 
 and talk as they used to do in old days. No 
 patients, no societies to trouble about! Free! 
 Gentle forces seemed to enter his mind. He 
 no longer trembled with the continual ham- 
 mering of the surrounding world upon it; he 
 
The Face of the World 137 
 
 was just himself. And he looked down into 
 this self, and it was like a little edifice fiUed 
 with the sound of soft bells. Yes, this was 
 himself. There was a little chapel deep down 
 in his being, which had hitherto been hidden 
 by dust-clouds from the noisy, every-day 
 world; but now he could see it. The Easter 
 bells were ringing down there. After all, 
 there was something divine in him, too, and it 
 only needed quiet to unfold freely. iYes, this 
 was himself! This was himself I 
 Ah, how good it was to be alive I 
 When he came downstairs, the rooms were 
 filled with sunshine, and yet — ^what was the 
 matter? He stood looking at the breakfast- 
 table; it seemed to him something was want- 
 ing. He sat down, and everything tasted de- 
 licious; but — ^what was the matter? Ah, it 
 was the morning papers! Nonsense! What 
 did he care about them? But after breakfast, 
 when he had lighted his pipe, he nevertheless 
 went out into the kitchen for them. Lisbeth 
 told him that the papers came out in the eve- 
 ning here. Oh, hang it! He began to walk 
 
138 The Face of the World 
 
 up and down the room, and laughed at him- 
 self; and yet he felt there was something 
 wanting. It was as though a great part of 
 him had had no breakfast. He noticed a pe- 
 culiar hunger to know what had happened 
 during the last few days all over the world. 
 The beautiful life that he had felt awaken in 
 him a little while ago, was in a moment eaten 
 up, as it were, by another being that was also 
 himself. He went out, put on his hat and coat, 
 and sauntered out again along the road by 
 the bay; but this time he saw nothing of the 
 scenery, and had no thought for the dandelion, 
 the little sun upon earth. In large towns 
 people were now sitting and drinking in the 
 immense world-life from their morning papers. 
 He would have to wait until the evening, and 
 perhaps there wasn't much in the little rags 
 here either. The post from the capital did not 
 come in until tomorrow. He had only screwed 
 Ms restlessness back twenty-four hours. What 
 would come tomorrow? That was what he 
 would have to wait for every day all the year 
 round. How would he be able to manage it? 
 
The Face of the World 139 
 
 It was as if an enormous wave in retreat- 
 ing had once more got hold of him and drawn 
 him down. "Even if you hide yourself in the 
 innermost corner" — it said — "I shall find you 
 and drag you out again. You belong to the 
 ocean; and now you no longer have any party, 
 any rudder, or any course. You must drift 
 hither and thither, but do you think you can 
 shut yourself out from the great world-feel- 
 ing? You? Close your eyes ! Learn to know 
 yourself! What are you in reality? Was not 
 all you felt this morning only deception? You 
 are nothing after all but an echo of the wide 
 world!" 
 
 Harold drew his hat down over his eyes, and 
 walked slowly on along the shore. 
 
Lawyer Gxindahl was always busy. 
 When he came bustling along with his port- 
 folio under his arm, he looked as if he were 
 going everywhere at once. It was not exactly 
 that he was so overwhelmed with work, but 
 there was so much in his head, and he had so 
 many people to speak to, and so much that 
 he intended to speak about later on. He knew 
 all the men in the little town so well that he 
 never took off his hat to any of them except 
 the magistrate; he only waved his hand in 
 greeting or farewell, said a couple of words 
 here and a couple there, and bustled on, always 
 busy. If a new kind of shirt appeared in a 
 shop-window, or a new book at a bookseller's, 
 he might stop and adjust his spectacles to see 
 what it was. The world had been unjust to 
 Lawyer Gundahl. He was so small when he 
 was born, that he could lie in a cigar-box ; and 
 people teased him by saying that he would 
 
 140 
 
The Face of the World 141 
 
 still find room enough in a cradle. His hands 
 were so withered that people shrank from 
 touching them, his nose was flat, and his eyes 
 half blind. What caustic speeches he had had 
 to listen to, and how much he had to revenge! 
 Women avoided him wherever he went, and he 
 revenged himself by constantly stopping them 
 in the street to play the gallant and talk to 
 them of love. The men did not take much 
 notice of him either, although he was the only 
 member of the legal profession in the town 
 who had taken a first in his final examination, 
 and the only one who had been in Paris, 
 and who was something of a singer. He was 
 kept out' of every kind of election, and only 
 such cases came to his office as his colleagues 
 shrank from having anything to do with. 
 Well, the world made grimaces at Lawyer 
 Gundahl, and once it had hurt him; but now it 
 had ceased to do so, and he revenged himself 
 by making grimaces back. He had a lively, 
 peppery temperament, said smart things about 
 his neighbor, and rubbed his withered hands 
 in glee when the world also treated others un- 
 
142 The Face of the World 
 
 kindly. Why not? Every one is the better 
 for a little salt and vinegar. Had not he him- 
 self suffered from disappointed affection, and 
 written poems about nymphs and princesses, 
 and dreamed dreams worthy of a Byron? And 
 yet it ended by his marrying his cook. Well, 
 his house was kept clean and his money saved ; 
 but the woman herself? Beauty? Intellect? 
 Oh, no! but she drank coffee and gossiped 
 about the other married women, who imagined 
 they were finer than she; but the worst of it 
 was that she gradually expanded and became 
 a perfect mountain. Lawyer ,Gundahl did 
 not find all this very pleasant, but he put up 
 with it, and his laughter only became shriller 
 when misfortune befell others. Passers-by 
 often heard scolding in his house, but at other 
 times the couple would sit holding one an- 
 other's hands and looking amorously at one 
 another; but this was when some scandal had 
 occurred in the town, which gave them the op- 
 portunity of speaking evil of some one else. 
 
 On this occasion Fru Gundahl was sitting 
 knitting behind her window-plants, while she 
 
The Face of the World 143 
 
 waited for her husband to come in to dinner. 
 Her round face was red, her eyes were promi- 
 nent, and her bosom projected far beyond her 
 double chin. She had just prepared herself 
 to give little Paul a lecture ; for the night be- 
 fore he had come home from the club in such 
 a condition that there was no use in speaking 
 to him then. 
 
 That was his quick little step ! He hung up 
 his coat and hat in the passage, and when, as 
 usual, he put in his head and took a general 
 survey of the room through his spectacles, he 
 caught sight of his wife, and exclaimed: "My 
 word,' Emma! you can believe there's news 
 today!" 
 
 "News?" and Fru Gundahl dropped her 
 knitting into her lap, but gave her husband a 
 look which said: "Don't imagine you'll put me 
 off so easily!" 
 
 Gundahl came in, went into the dining-room 
 where his writing-table stood, and threw down 
 his portfolio. He then stood in the doorway 
 between the two rooms, and compared his 
 
144 The Face of the World 
 
 watch with the clock in the drawing-room, and 
 finally came in and continued: 
 
 "First of all it's the new doctor. What did 
 I say? What did we all say? Ha, ha, ha!" 
 
 "Has he already made himself impossible?" 
 asked Fru Gundahl without much interest. 
 
 "I don't know what you'll think, but he was 
 out the very first evening on the hunt for girls 
 out by the pilot-harbor. I only hope to good- 
 ness he'll go on with it! It's fine! And, 
 moreover, he's veered right round in his poli- 
 tics. His working-men and total abstainers 
 aren't fine enough for him out here in the 
 west, it seems. He's refused to let them have 
 a torchlight procession in his honor. They're 
 not even to go and give him a single cheer. 
 And now they're in a rage, and, by Jove, 
 they'll be going some day and hooting him! 
 That sort of people generally make short work 
 of fallen angels." 
 
 "You were late in coming home last night!" 
 said Fru Gundahl as she rose. 
 
 "But the best's still to come!" said Gun- 
 dahl, rubbing his hands, and appearing as if 
 
The Face of the World 145 
 
 he had not heard his wife's remark. "Fru 
 Harrang, you know — ^well, now we shall have 
 fun in good earnest." 
 
 "Fru Harrang? What about her?" 
 
 "Fru Harrang wiU be playing the part of 
 Cleopatra again." 
 
 "What? Is there anything new now?" Fru 
 Gundahl was more interested. 
 
 "No, on the contrary, it's the old story. 
 Ivar Holth came here today!" 
 
 "What? No, really ! Here? Ivar 
 
 Holth? Straight from prison then!" 
 
 "He landed from the Bergen boat today," 
 said Gundahl, trotting delightedly backwards 
 and forwards; for now his wife had got so 
 much to occupy her, that she would forget 
 that trifling matter concerning himself. 
 
 "And what is he going to do here now?" 
 she exclaimed, gazing at her husband in utter 
 consternation. 
 
 "That I can probably find out for you a lit- 
 tle later in the day. But that we shaU have 
 some fun again, that — he, he, he!" He was 
 rubbing his hands all the time, and at last had 
 
146 The Face of the World 
 
 the temerity to lay his arm across his wife's 
 broad shoulders, and ask ingratiatingly 
 whether dinner would not soon be ready. 
 
 "But what's the man to make a living by 
 now?" she asked, continuing her train of 
 thought. "And she — a naval officer's wife! 
 She ought surely to have some sense of 
 shame!" 
 
 "It's not written anywhere in the stars that 
 we're to have a sense of shame, little wife," 
 said Gundahl, shaking his head. 
 
 "How did he look?" 
 
 "Flourishing, my dear. He looked simply 
 splendid!" 
 
 Fru .Gundahl suddenly decided that today 
 her husband would be the better for a dram 
 with his food; and as they sat at dinner, both 
 their faces shone with mutual kindness, because 
 they now had something outside their own 
 home with which to occupy themselves. 
 
 Ivar Holth's history was quite an ordinary 
 history. He had come in from the country as 
 a boy, and had gradually worked himself up 
 to the position of head-clerk in Randers & 
 
The Face of the World 147 
 
 Son's office. He was an industrious young 
 man, who sat up at night and studied, the first 
 year languages and commercial science, after- 
 wards philosophical works. Latterly he had 
 lived with his sister, a young widow with sev- 
 eral children. He provided for this family as 
 if it were his own, and the years had passed by 
 without his having thought of marrying. 
 
 But then chance brought hitn his fate. 
 
 Captain Harrang had come to the town as 
 principal of the Seamen's School, and he 
 brought with him a young and unusually 
 beautiful wife. 
 
 Ivar Holth danced with her at the club ball 
 at Christmas. He held this slender, dark- 
 haired girl in a white silk dress, in his arms. 
 She talked to him, looked at him, smiled at 
 him, and encouraged him when she saw how 
 strangely he began to behave. Her delicately 
 flushed face and dark eyelashes were so near 
 his own face. Afterwards he talked to her of 
 Schopenhauer, and she said: "Fancy! Are 
 you really so learned?" And he conversed 
 with his partner about Newcastle, where he 
 
148 The Face of the World 
 
 had spent six months in an office, and she still 
 said: "Fancy! Have you been there, too?" 
 He amused her immensely; and when, late 
 that night, he stimibled homewards, he stopped 
 to look up at the stars and ask them whether 
 there was any meaning in life. 
 
 In the days that followed he was another 
 being. He sat writing poems in office-hours, 
 and when his principal asked him about some- 
 thing, his answer was such as to make the old 
 gentleman put on his spectacles in order to 
 observe him more closely. 
 
 The naval officer was an ardent card-player, 
 and in the club Ivar Holth was fortunate 
 enough to be at his table. He lost willingly, 
 gladly allowed himself to be fleeced, but at- 
 tained his purpose, namely, to be asked to 
 spend an evening at the caj)tain's house. At 
 last he stood in those sacred rooms in which 
 she moved about every day, every day. The 
 young wife was still kind to him. She had 
 amused herself with so many young men, and 
 this one was a new type. Before Ivar went 
 home, he had received permission to go down 
 
The Face of the World 149 
 
 to the market and carry her parcels home. 
 He did it that day and several other days. 
 He got her to go with him to a confectioner's. 
 He still amused her; and he had money, and 
 her husband had nothing but debts. 
 
 "I say, Sigurd!" said old Randers, opening 
 the door into the outer office one day, and 
 looking over his glasses at his son; "where's 
 the head-clerk today?" 
 
 Young Randers was sitting on his stool, 
 looking fat and indolent. "We-ell," he said, 
 "he's gone out." 
 
 "Don't you know where he is?" asked his 
 father, with his red eyes still looking over his 
 glasses. 
 
 "Well, yesterday I met him with a basket 
 of lobsters for Fru Harrang, and today per- 
 haps he's gone after salmon." 
 
 Old Randers blew his nose and said: "Very 
 well. Will you ask him to come in to me when 
 he makes his appearance again?" 
 
 Ivar Holth's love-affair became a disease. 
 He, an industrious workman, a careful young 
 man, who had hitherto taken no notice of 
 
150 The Face of the World 
 
 women, was carried away by a new element. 
 He had saved up his youth so long that he 
 was no longer able to control it. The town 
 began to talk about Fru Harrang and him. 
 Let them! He heard that Fru Harrang her- 
 self made fun of him. Let her! Would he 
 end it then? He lay awake at night and com- 
 posed terrible farewell letters ; but it all ended 
 in his sending her flowers. He kept on lettiag 
 her husband fleece him at cards, and by de- 
 grees he became so easily contented that he 
 felt these losses as little caresses from her. 
 Then one day she said "No" to a walk, but 
 he was allowed to send her cakes, and she still 
 accepted flowers. Then he began sitting at 
 night on the doorstep of her house. It was 
 a martyrdom that he voluntarily sought, and 
 it became sweeter every time. He sat and 
 looked at her bedroom window when it was 
 lighted up. They were undressing now. And 
 there! they had put out the light, and now 
 they were alone together up there, those two, 
 and he — ^he was sitting here! Now they were 
 kissing each other, locked in a fast embrace. 
 
The Face of the World 151 
 
 It cut right through his heart, but he sat on. 
 If he could not receive a single caress from 
 her, he could at least sit here and be unhappy. 
 He felt a desire to kill her husband, but in- 
 stead went on losing money to him at cards, 
 so that he might be invited once more. What 
 would be the end of it? Holth no longer 
 thought about that; he went about in a dazed 
 condition, and was indifferent to everything 
 and everybody except one. 
 
 One day he noticed, however, that the sur- 
 rounding atmosphere began to be strangely 
 sultry, as though a storm were approaching. 
 People looked at him in a different way, and 
 one evening, when he met Captain Harrang in 
 the street, the latter stopped him and did not 
 take off his hat or make the slightest sign of 
 any intention to do so. 
 
 "I say!" he said. "No, it was not that I had 
 any desire to shake hands with you. I only 
 want to say that you must be so good as to 
 leave my wife alone." 
 
 "What? I?" stammered Holth. 
 
152 The Face of the World 
 
 "You don't want to give me the trouble of 
 thrashing you, do you? Good morning!" 
 
 Holth went on, knowing that he had now 
 reached the limit. He had known it was 
 bound to happen, but he had not wished to 
 think about it, for he was determined, when 
 the day came, to throw himself into the sea. 
 
 But he did not do it after all. He allowed 
 the scandal to come. He let himself be ar- 
 rested for forgery, bowed his head, and sub- 
 mitted to punishment. He had not wanted 
 to reduce the allowance he made to his sister, 
 and of late his other expenses had been great; 
 and he had had such practice in writing 
 "Randers & Son." And if it gained him sev- 
 eral months in which to be unhappy, why 
 should he not do it? 
 
 When he went away, he bade a final fare- 
 well to his sister, saying that when his sentence 
 was over he would emigrate to South Africa; 
 but when the time came, he could not do it. 
 It would not be pleasant to appear again in 
 the little town after having been in prison; 
 and yet he canie back. 
 
The Face of the World 153 
 
 It was a fair, spare man of about thirty 
 who, with a bag in his hand, walked up from 
 the quays towards the town. He wore a dark 
 serge suit and a gray felt hat. He stooped, 
 was clean-shaven and pale, and so thin that 
 his cheek-bones and nose stood out sharply; 
 but his eyes looked full of defiance. When 
 he passed any one he had known well in former 
 days, he looked at him, but made no sign of 
 recognition. It was as if he said: "Yes, I 
 know the whole town will trample on me now; 
 but she lives here, so I'm coming, no matter 
 what you say!" 
 
 Up at the foot of the hills, where the houses 
 became small and scattered, he stopped at a 
 garden gate, opened it, and went in towards 
 the little yellow wooden house that stood be- 
 hind blossoming lilac-bushes. Clothes were 
 hanging to dry in the garden, little children's 
 petticoats and tiny stockings on the line. Sud- 
 denly a little girl of about five came round a 
 corner, and when she saw him, ran forward, 
 crying: "Uncle Ivar! Have you come home 
 after all? Mother, mother! It's Uncle Ivar 1" 
 
154 The Face of the World 
 
 In a momerlt the young man had lifted the 
 child from the ground, and her two little arnos 
 were clasped about his neck. 
 
 A pale young woman in a darfi cotton dress 
 appeared at the door, and involuntarily put 
 out a hand as if to steady herself. 
 
 "Ivar!" 
 
 The next moment she looked about her as 
 if in fear of her neighbors; but the young 
 man was still chatting with the little girl, and 
 it was only after he had put her down that he 
 approached his sister. 
 
 "Good morning, Inga!" 
 
 She was silent for a moment, and breathed 
 heavily. 
 
 "You — ^yqu must come in," she said softly, 
 and drew him in by the hand, as if she wanted 
 to hide him. 
 
 It was a small room, with plush chairs and 
 a piano, and on the wall hung pictures of great 
 German musicians. Ivar's brother-in-law had 
 been an organist and had also played the vio- 
 lin that how hung over the sofa between Wag- 
 ner and Chopin. 
 
The Face of the World 155 
 
 The brother and sister stood a moment look- 
 ing at one another. 
 
 "How are you all here?" 
 
 "Quite well, thank you. But you! Dear 
 Ivar!" she said, taking both his hands in hers, 
 her eyes filling with tears, 
 
 "Yes, I suppose I oughtn't to have come 
 here, but " 
 
 "Aren't you hungry? Will you Iiave a cup 
 of chocolate?" she asked, trying to get the 
 better of her emotion. 
 
 "I'm afraid you have a cough, Inga!" 
 
 "Don't talk about me, but sit down. It 
 won't be so very long before dinner is ready," 
 she said; and making him sit down on the 
 sofa, she hurried out. He heard her blowing 
 her nose and knew that she had begun to 
 cry. 
 
 So here he sat again in the little cottage 
 that had been his home for several years, with 
 its plants and ornaments and music and 
 books. His brother-in-law had succimibed to 
 a chest-disease, and after his death his wife 
 had gone to the expense of having a large 
 
156 The Face of the World 
 
 portrait of him done, and this now hung on 
 one wall by itself. The hollow-cheeked young 
 man up there seemed to be looking down at 
 him, Ivar, and saying: "You can't think how 
 hard your sister has striven to keep things 
 going while you've been away; but it's a 
 peculiar kind of help you're bringing her 
 now!" 
 
 Then the children came rushing in. The 
 eldest girl, Grethe, was seven. She had just 
 come from school, and headed the others. 
 "Uncle! Is it true?" she cried, throwing her 
 arms round his neck, while the little two- 
 year-old boy crawled over the threshold, cry- 
 ing, "Uncle !" "Have you come back now 
 from that long journey?" asked the little girl, 
 as she kissed him and hid her face on his 
 shoulder. And then they all began to talk at 
 once. 
 
 They had dinner together as in the old 
 days, and when the children were sent away, 
 the brother and sister sat silent for a little 
 while, looking out of the window. 
 
The Face of the World 15T 
 
 "I suppose you've let out my room?" he 
 said at last. 
 
 "No," she answered, drawing with her 
 finger on the table. 
 
 "I suppose you — ^you won't want me as a 
 lodger now, Inga?" 
 
 She did not answer at once, but bent her 
 head, and her breath came quickly. 
 
 "I'm afraid it'll be difficult for you to be 
 here in the town, Ivar." 
 
 "I know it will. And you will be ashamed 
 to have me in your house now." 
 
 "You know quite well that it isn't that; 
 but I'm afraid — ^well, that it'll be the same 
 thing over again. It isn't good for you to 
 be where she is." 
 
 He was silent for some time. "I ought, 
 of course, to have gone and drowned myself," 
 he said at last. "But it's you and yours I 
 have to consider. No, I must try to begin 
 again. If only I had something to do!" 
 
 "What have you thought of beginning now, 
 Ivar?" 
 
 "If there's nothing else to be done, I sup- 
 
158 The Face of the World 
 
 pose I can be a dock-laborer or a driver. I've 
 no reason to be proud now." 
 
 They sat in silence again for a little while. 
 
 "You've got a cough!" he said at last, as 
 he had said once before. 
 
 "Oh, it's nothing to speak of." 
 
 He looked at the pale, young face beneath 
 the brown hair. Her eyes looked weary with 
 watching, and indeed she had had much to 
 agitate her during the last f^w years. 
 
 "Have you managed without — ^without any 
 assistance, Inga?" 
 
 She nodded, and at the same time coughed 
 again. 
 
 "And you haven't suffered want?" 
 
 "No, but perhaps I've had to do rather too 
 much. I'm pretty tired." 
 
 "Do you still do embroidery for that firm 
 in Bergen?" 
 
 She nodded, but with a sigh. "I've done 
 the cooking at parties too, and helped at 
 different houses with the month's washing; 
 but I'm not much good at that, for I get 
 so tired." 
 
The Face of the World 159 
 
 Ivar's old room was made ready for him, 
 and when he entered it again, a peculiar warm 
 joy and peace streamed into his soul. At last 
 he was at home I He undressed and went to 
 bed, stretching himself on his old couch, and 
 breathing so easily in the lilac-scented air that 
 came through the open window. 
 
 His pale face had acquired a tinge of brown 
 from the sea-air on his way home, but his 
 closed eyes seemed to sink deeper and deeper 
 into their sockets. Ah, it was months since 
 he had really slept! His sister was washing 
 up in the kitchen, and he loved the sound 
 The children were chattering in the garden, 
 the flies buzzed, and he gently fell asleep, 
 sinking into deep slumber and finding rest 
 there. At last I 
 
XI 
 
 On Ihe morning when Harold Mark was to 
 take over the hospital. Sister Alma went 
 about in a peculiar state of uneasiness. She 
 had not forgotten how he mocked at his own 
 profession the first day he was at home; but 
 why then did he want to take so important a 
 post? She felt as if she had something at 
 stake, and as if she herself were more useless 
 than before. When she had gone into the 
 Red Cross she was crushed with suffering 
 and robbed of all her dreams; and the life 
 within the hospital-walls had brought her not 
 only forgetfulness, but also cheerfulness. She 
 was still young and pretty, and when she 
 entered a ward, with a newly-awakened joy 
 in living in her every movement, she seemed 
 to spread sunshine around her, and brought 
 smiles to the pale faces in the beds. 
 
 But she did not like to have to doubt what 
 
 a doctor did. She could attend the worst 
 
 ifin 
 
The Face of the World 161 
 
 operations without moving a muscle, because 
 she knew it was for the good of the patient; 
 but she could not bear to think that a doctor 
 doubted himself. 
 
 She worshiped Harold's mother. When 
 the great catastrophe befell her home, and 
 the town gossip was busy with its fallen mem- 
 bers, it was Fru Mark who came and called; 
 and afterwards, when she came back as sister, 
 and her parents were dead, it was again Fru 
 Mark who managed that the girl should live 
 with her, so that she should not feel quite so 
 lonely in her native town. 
 
 Many an evening the two women had sat 
 and talked about the much-discussed doctor 
 in Christiania, and Sister Alma had become 
 infected with his mother's care for him; and 
 she wanted things to go well with him now. 
 
 She had had a spring cleaning in her di- 
 vision, so that he should find everything in 
 order, although perhaps he would take no 
 notice of it at all. 
 
 The moment arrived. Harold went quickly 
 up the stairs, accompanied by the assistant 
 
162 The Face of the World 
 
 physician, Dr. Ramm, a square-built man 
 with a thick, brown moustache. It was to be 
 a preliminary survey of the various wards, 
 and Sister Alma and another nurse accom- 
 panied them in case they should be wanted. 
 
 "I think we'll look at the operating-rooni 
 first," said Harold, and when they went in 
 he stood in the middle of the room and looked 
 about him. 
 
 "Oh!" he said at last. "So this is the 
 operating-room. But I say, isn't there even 
 a Rontgen apparatus here?" 
 
 Dr. Ramm shook his head. "There's been 
 some talk about it," he said, "but we haven't 
 got any farther." 
 
 "Then I think we'll telegraph to Berlin for 
 it this evening," said Harold, nodding to Dr. 
 Ramm. "Will you be so kind as to see to 
 that?" 
 
 "Well," objected Dr. Ramm with a smile, 
 "but the Department must first grant the 
 money." 
 
 "I'll take the responsibility. There's a 
 limit to everything. But wait a little. There'll 
 
The Face of the World 163 
 
 be several other things that we shall have to 
 order in the same telegram." 
 
 Dr. Ramm bowed. The two sisters ex- 
 changed glances. 
 
 In going through one of the long passages 
 Harold suddenly stopped. 
 
 "Hullo!" he exclaimed. "Here's a little 
 organ! Who plays it?" 
 
 "I do," said Sister Alma. 
 
 "For the patients?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "Hymns?" 
 
 She nodded. "Yes, hymns; and other 
 things too." 
 
 "It's not bad medicine, that," he remarked, 
 passing on. 
 
 When they had been over the whole group 
 of buildings, Harold asked Sister Alma and 
 Dr. Ramm to come with him into his room. 
 
 "The hospital is overcrowded," he said. 
 "Those who don't die of disease or of our 
 drugs, will die of the atmosphere in there. 
 More room must be made." 
 
164 The Face of the World 
 
 "Well, but there is no more room!" said 
 Dr. Ramm, 
 
 "Yes, there's the senior physician's house. 
 I don't need to move in there; so this after- 
 noon we shall have to take some of them over 
 there. I've decided that the blue dining-room 
 shall be your room, Sister Alma. Have you 
 any objection to settling in there this eve- 
 ning?" 
 
 Sister Alma nodded. It was sad to have 
 to leave Fru Mark, but at the same time she 
 was glad that he was going into everything so 
 thoroughly; and he spoke in a tone that made 
 obedience a matter of course. 
 
 "Then about the provisioning!" he said, 
 seating himself at the writing-table and pass- 
 ing his fingers through his beard. "It seems 
 to me a most ridiculous arrangement that a 
 hotel shall provide the food for the patients. 
 And how can we have any check on it? But 
 there could be a splendid kitchen down in 
 the large basement. Where is the steward?" 
 
 "There is no steward," said Dr. Ramm. 
 
 Harold raised his eyebrows. "What!" he 
 
The Face of the World 165 
 
 exclaimed. "Well, it looks as if there'd be a 
 few things to see to in the first few days. It's 
 a good thing, however, to have something to 
 do," he added with a sigh, as he looked to- 
 wards the window. 
 
 When evening came. Sister Alma's few 
 possessions had all been moved in, her bed 
 made, and she herself was sitting by the 
 window, looking down into the big garden. 
 There were two or three cherry-trees in blos- 
 som down there; and beyond, the little gray 
 waves of the bay were breaking on the beach. 
 In the other direction, on the outskirts of the 
 town, she could see the white house on the 
 rocky knoll, where mother and son were now 
 probably sitting at supper. 
 
 And now she was living here. The house 
 was in one wing of the hospital, and on the 
 right she could look into the courtyard and 
 see the gray walls at the back of the building, 
 and feel the melancholy hospital atmosphere. 
 It was as though the great buildings them- 
 selves were iU; and in the wards there were 
 rows and rows of beds containing outstretched 
 
166 The Face of the World 
 
 forms, several of them half dead. She was 
 accustomed to it all, and yet, as she sat there, 
 she felt alone, and knew that she would never 
 have another home. 
 
 The telephone-bell rang, and she went to it 
 and held the receiver to her ear. 
 
 "It's Dr. Mark. How are you, sister?" 
 
 "All right, thank youl" 
 
 "I just happened to think of something. 
 I once bought a grand piano when I was in 
 Christiania. You have plenty of room, haven't 
 you? Wouldn't you like to have it down 
 there?" 
 
 "Why, yes, of course I should ! But it would 
 be too bad to take it!" 
 
 "And then you can sit and play Beethoven's 
 ninth symphony when things get too sad for 
 you down there." 
 
 "Well, but don't you want it yourself?" 
 
 "I haven't room for it, and I don't want it 
 either. Good-night, sister!" 
 
 The days came and went, and Sister Alma 
 still found it difficult to understand this 
 strange man. By the bedside of a patient he 
 
The Face of the World 167 
 
 was so professional and cold. It was only the 
 disease and not the patient that he cared 
 about; and in the milder cases he looked as 
 if he were indescribably bored. But she had 
 never seen a doctor so quiet when he stood 
 at the operating-table; and when his assistant 
 made a mistake he did not get angry, but 
 would say with a kindly smile: "Don't be 
 uneasy! It'll be all right, you'll see!" 
 
 A week after he had entered on his duties, 
 he had operated on a case of very advanced 
 cancer in an old woman. He did not go 
 home that day to dinner as he generally did, 
 for he did not want to leave the patient. 
 Late that evening she died, and her old hus- 
 band, a peasant from one of the islands, who 
 had been sitting waiting all the time in an 
 ante-room, was told of it, and went sadly down 
 the stairs. Sister Alma was very tired that 
 evening, and when at last she went to beJ, 
 only tossed from side to side, xmable to 
 sleep. 
 
 It was past midnight when she happened 
 to see from her window that there was a 
 
168 The Face of the World 
 
 light in the dissecting-room. She put on her 
 dressing-gown ^nd went across, and on open- 
 ing the door she saw the body of the old 
 woman lying on the table and Dr. Mark in 
 his white operating-coat, sitting by the open 
 window, smoking a cigar. Sister Alma stood 
 gazing in astonishment. Had he carried the 
 body in himself and then stood here at this 
 late hour, tired out after a fatiguing day, dis- 
 secting it in order to find out more about the 
 old woman's disease? Behind him was the 
 gray spring night, and through the open 
 window she could see the bay and the moun- 
 tains, and against them his profile with fair 
 hair and beard, and dreamy eyes looking 
 straight before him. 
 
 "Hullo!" he said, rising suddenly. "What 
 do you want?" 
 
 "Do you need any help?" 
 
 "No, I've finished," He threw away his 
 cigar, and turned again to the window. "I 
 only wanted to see whether we'd made any 
 mistake." 
 
 "But she was so old, and the disease was 
 
The Face of the World 169 
 
 so far advanced," she said, with an attempt 
 at consolation. 
 
 "Well, that only means that she was too 
 old for us, and the disease too far advanced 
 for me to manage it; but that's poor con- 
 solation." 
 
 "Now, Dr. Mark, hadn't you better go 
 home and go to bed?" 
 
 He looked at the dead body beneath the 
 electric light, with its fallen-in mouth and 
 straying locks of gray hair. "It's not the 
 old woman that interests me so much," he 
 said, "but the fact that we haven't got any 
 farther yet. We smile at the medical men of 
 a century ago, and in another hundred years 
 others will be smiling at us. And every step 
 onwards costs a number of lives and opens up 
 new problems. Well, well, let's be glad that 
 we're going to have strawberries and cream 
 for dinner tomorrow. I don't know of any 
 other consolation." 
 
 He changed into his usual jacket, nodded 
 a good-night, and went out. She turned out 
 the light, and in the passage stood for a 
 
170 The Face of the World 
 
 moment listening to his step as he descended 
 the stairs. The old man that had lost his 
 wife that day had gone away with a heavy 
 step; but the doctor's step sounded so hope- 
 less. The door banged, and the sound of his 
 footstep died away in the silence of the night; 
 but it sounded as if he did not know where 
 to go. 
 
 The town was, by now, becoming accustomed 
 "to the sight of mother and son coming in 
 together every morning from the white house. 
 He went with her to the school, and then went 
 on to the hospital. As soon as he was alone 
 he could smile. Oh, if only he had her well- 
 balanced mind, her self-esteem, her faith I 
 Indeed even her anger only did good, for 
 her enemies were not stronger than that they 
 could be overcome, nor her world larger than 
 that it was possible for the evil in it to be 
 put right. She still lived on the liberal ideas 
 that had been fought for thirty years before. 
 To help her neighbor was everything to her; 
 to feel a positive ray of light in her own 
 soul was something to which she never gave 
 
The Face of the World 171 
 
 a thought. He considered it very touching, 
 and yet they had been nearer to each other 
 when they met in those long, confidential 
 letters. They sat together in the evenings 
 now, and he would say: "Are you aU right, 
 mother?" "Oh, yes!" she would answer; "but 
 isn't there anything you would like, Harold?" 
 He so often noticed that when he talked to 
 her he was thinking all the time about quite 
 different things; and many a time when she 
 was talking about things that interested her, 
 he found the greatest difficulty in paying at- 
 tention to what she said, because this little 
 town, which was everything to her, did not 
 interest him in the slightest degree. Had he 
 then become incapable of living in companion- 
 ship with his mother? He had a home now, 
 but how could he give his attention to it every 
 day when his thoughts were roaming all over 
 the world? Home? A bed, a table and a 
 couple of chairs were enough for a man like 
 him; to fix his mind on things within those 
 four walls seemed a sheer impossibility to him 
 now. 
 
172 The Face of the Worl d 
 
 After he had left his mother at the school, 
 he noticed the numerous faces that he met, 
 and again he smiled involuntarily. He knew 
 that he had been a great disappointment to 
 the working-men, and at the outset he had 
 been a bugbear to the others; but what did 
 it matter to him? A man who has run through 
 all the world's papers while he drinks his 
 morning coffee is accompanied everywhere by 
 a mirage ^f the great events in all countries, 
 of stormy scenes in parliaments in all quarters 
 of the globe, of strikes, rebeUions, congresses, 
 catastrophes, the whole world in huge 
 glimpses. And it has one advantage, at any 
 rate, namely, that he can put little things in 
 their places. That one or another in this 
 little nest did not like him was something 
 that could really be borne. 
 
 One light June evening a large tourist 
 steamer came up to the quay, and some of 
 her passengers came ashbre to look about them. 
 The townspeople had gathered on the pier, 
 and were standing staring at the strangers. 
 
 "Why, bless my soul! if that isn't Dr. 
 
The Face of the World 173 
 
 Marki" exclaimed a man in a white cap, 
 standing at the rail; and the next moment he 
 had jumped on to the quay. 
 
 Harold was sauntering down dressed in a 
 light suit and tan shoes, and now caught 
 sight of the other. They shook hands heartily, 
 laughed, and talked both together. The new-, 
 comer was an artist named Lammers, with 
 whom Harold had drunk many a bottle of Ba- 
 varian beer at the Cafe de Versailles. 
 
 "But you can't have settled down in a con- 
 founded hole like this, man?" 
 
 "Be quiet and don't speak evil of the town. 
 This is a very large place. But do tell me 
 how long you stayed down there after I le'ft. 
 Tell me the Paris news!" 
 
 They walked up and down arm in arm. 
 Lanmiers had only returned from Paris in 
 the spring, and now he spoke of new methods 
 among artists, of the theatres, of little scandals 
 in the Scandinavian colony. At last Harold 
 could contain himself no longer, and said: 
 "And — and my former wife, Madame Duparc, 
 have you seen anything of her lately?" 
 
174 The Face of the World 
 
 His companion was a little embarrassed. 
 "Oh, yes," he answered. "She turned up 
 now and then in the old rendezvous with le 
 mari. We were asked there to dinner one 
 day too. She has a really beautiful home and 
 two dear little children." 
 
 Harold had turned red, and was glad that 
 at that moment the steamer's bell rang for 
 the third time. "Good-bye! Good-bye!" 
 
 He stood watching the great ship as she 
 steamed out across the bay in the yellow eve- 
 ning light, with a fan of waves behind her. 
 A fresh, living breath of air from the great 
 World had touched him. 
 
 "Thoral — And have you got two babies 
 now?" He went slowly homewards with 
 bowed head. 
 
 The weather changed to heavy rain for 
 the next few days, and the wind swept in 
 from the sea a storm of gray, dripping clouds, 
 which hid the mountains and filled the town 
 with a dreary gloom. The wind roared in 
 the west, it howled in the rigging of the ships 
 in the harbor, and in the street, when people 
 
The Face of the World 175 
 
 turned, tiieir umbrellas were blown inside 
 out. The old landing'-stages on their mussel- 
 covered piles creaked with the waves and tl» 
 wind, and now and then the wind tore open e 
 door in an upper story of a warehouse, and 
 caused such a disturbance among the bins 
 and coils of rope, the barrels and the cases, 
 that the employes rusted about shouting and 
 gesticulating. 
 
 The baker's cart, drawn by a dun f jord- 
 htsrse, was going throu^ the streets. The 
 driver, a pale young man in sou'wester and 
 oilskin coat, was Ivar Holth. The horse knew 
 the houses at wiiidi it had to stop, and the 
 man took in the bread and tiien went fsu 
 Ivar Holth had caice begun here as errand- 
 boy, and worked himself up to be head derk: 
 but now he had dropped down to the posrtitHi 
 of driver of a baker's cart, and, like tbe 
 hfKse, he bowed his head to the storm and 
 tried to make the best of it. There were one 
 or two things that were not pleasant. His 
 old dub companions looked anod^T way wfaoi 
 they pa^ed, and little bojTS sang songs about 
 
176 The Face of the World 
 
 him and called him Potemkin. The towns- 
 people were frequent visitors at the picture- 
 houses, but here they could see pictures for 
 nothing in the street. "Was it strange that 
 all eyes looked at him as at a play? 
 
 He went to the back door in many houses, 
 and more than one lady whose guest he had 
 formerly been, opened their eyes in astonish- 
 ment. "Why, dear me! aren't you ?" 
 
 "How many loaves do you want today?" he 
 would ask proudly, declining aU sympathy. 
 
 He also went to the back door of Captain 
 Harrang's house, where the maid was the 
 same that had waited upon him at table when 
 he was a guest at the house, and now treated 
 him rather differently. "I wonder if I shall 
 see Fru Harrang today?" he would often 
 think; but Fru Harrang was never in the 
 kitchen, although he often had a feeling that 
 she was somewhere near, looking at him 
 while she herself was unseen. He always 
 tried to pick out the best loaves for thjs 
 house, and it was such a pleasure to him to 
 stand for a moment at the dresser where she 
 
The Face of the World 177 
 
 probably often stood and busied herseK in 
 some way or other. 
 
 He was in the same town as she, and he 
 even went into her kitchen, which was a pleas- 
 ure. And everything else he had known in 
 advance. He felt as if the whole town were 
 tramping over his body so that it was broken, 
 sore and crushed; but at last that too ceased 
 to hurt him. 
 
 Every Saturday he took his week's wages 
 home to his sister, who often accepted them 
 with tears in her eyes. "But what about you?" 
 she would say. 
 
 "I? I don't need anything." 
 
 "But I can't take all you earn, Ivar!" "It's 
 not even enough for board and lodging," he 
 would say. "If only you would leave oflf 
 coughing like that!" 
 
 But every evening when he changed into 
 his best clothes, she grew uneasy. "Where are 
 you going, Ivar?" 
 
 "Oh, just for a little walk." 
 
 She would sit and wait, as anxious as if he 
 had become a reveler. It might be past mid- 
 
178 The Face of the World 
 
 night again before he rietumed, and she was 
 afraid he had gone back to his old ways. It 
 was almost worse than if he drank, for drink 
 would not, at any rate, so certainly lead him 
 into misfortune again. 
 
 When Holth went out, he always thought 
 of going in quite another direction in the 
 town, or indeed, far, far out into the country; 
 but it always ended in his finding himself out- 
 side Captain Harrang's house late at night. 
 It was a, two-story house with its main entrance 
 in a small side street where there were seldom 
 any passers-by late in the evening. 
 
 So he began standing there again, looking 
 up at one particular window. The nights were 
 too light now to need a light up there, but 
 he knew the window from former times; and, 
 within it, were she and that other! He went 
 and sat down on the steps again with bent 
 head, and began to tremble with the same 
 sufferings as of old. 
 
 He would sometimes raise his head and try 
 to collect his thoughts. He remembered his 
 sister. He ought to go home. He remem- 
 
The Face of the World 179 
 
 bered his father, the old parish clerk out at 
 Askoen, who had never shown himself in the 
 town since his son had gone wrong. And, in 
 old days, when any one from his old home 
 had met him in the street, he had taken off 
 his cap and was proud that one of themselves 
 had risen so high. Now most of them passed 
 him by without knowing him. All this was 
 not pleasant, hut there was no help for it. 
 He sat now beneath her window, tearing his 
 heart up into little bleeding fibres. He hoped 
 for nothing. Sometimes people passed and 
 laughed at him; he was the laughing-stock of 
 the town, but there was no help for it. There 
 was no help for it. 
 
 The next evening he, once more, intended to 
 go far out of the town, but came to anchor 
 here again. 
 
 She will be in bed now, perhaps with the 
 clothes drawn right up to her chin; but her 
 hair is let down and is lying in dark waves 
 over her pillow. Her breathing — those long, 
 light breaths — ^he can actually hear them; he 
 notices the fragrance of her beautiful young 
 
180 The Face of the World 
 
 body, and can see her bosom rise and fall be- 
 neath her white nightdress. 
 
 And then — then her husband will come, and 
 he will take her in his arms; and Ivar Holth 
 feels the perspiration break out, and he 
 clenches his fists and gasps for breath. "O 
 God! O God! keep me from going mad!" 
 
 He was sitting thus one evening when he 
 was aroused by a footstep. A thickset man 
 was approaching. He was in uniform and 
 wore a white cap, and his buttons glittered. 
 It was Captain Harrang; but he walked un- 
 steadily and must have come from the club 
 or a party. 
 
 Holth rose and tried -Eo slip away, but it 
 was too late. The unsteady man was already 
 in front of him; his face was red, and he 
 smelt of tobacco and whiskey. 
 
 "Good evening!" said Holth, touching his 
 hat. 
 
 "Now I've just got one thing to say to you, 
 Mr. — ^Mr. Baker' s-manl If I ever find you 
 again — ^no, wait! I've not finished!" said the 
 captain, seizing Ivar by the collar. 
 
The Face of the World 181 
 
 "Let me go!" 
 
 "I'll teach you to go! Do you know that 
 you're making me and my wife ridiculous all 
 over the town?" 
 
 "Let go, confound you! I'U never show 
 myself here again. Oh, you're scratching me, 
 I say!" Ivar set his teeth, and tried to push 
 his assailant away. 
 
 "What! You dare to touch me? You dare 
 to push me? You? I'll teach you once for 
 all not to lie like a dog outside my house!" 
 And as he spoke he gave Ivar a blow on the 
 side of the head. 
 
 Before he knew what he was about, Ivar 
 had returned the blow. The repressed desire 
 of years to throw himself upon this man now 
 broke loose. He hit, kicked, was hit and 
 kicked again, tumbled about in the road, fell, 
 but sprang up again, was thrown against the 
 wall, but the next moment had sprung upon 
 the other, who was as furious as himself. 
 
 Neither of them saw that a window in the 
 first floor opened. Neither of them heard a 
 woman call. Other windows opened in houses 
 
182 The Face of the World 
 
 round, and people in night-attire appeared at 
 them. The captain had lost his cap and a 
 cuff. At this moment he retreated a couple 
 of steps to get a run, but his blow missed its 
 aim, and instead a fist was planted in his eye, 
 and he fell to the ground. 
 
 At that moment the police arrived; but 
 only Holth was taken into custody. 
 
 At home in the cottage at the foot of the 
 hills his sister lay and waited for him. The 
 clock struck three and it struck four. What 
 had happened to Ivar? 
 
XII 
 
 When for once something really happens 
 in a little town, it sends a shock through old 
 and young. The wives drink still more coffee, 
 the husbands are obliged to go into the town; 
 and the groups of men stand at all the 
 corners, gesticulating. 
 
 Dr. Prahl was a highly-esteemed man. He 
 had been in England two or three times, he 
 kept a large motor-boat, he bought paintings, 
 and got his claret direct from Bordeaux. He 
 was now standing outside the bank, shaking 
 his stick at Dr. Kemp, and saying that abroad, 
 in Germany, for instance, Captain Harrang 
 would have had to leave the navy immediately 
 after such a scandalous affair. "Don't you 
 agree with me?" he asked. 
 
 "But what about the other then?" said 
 Kemp with a smile, stepping aside to avoid the 
 stick. 
 
 "The other! A monomaniac! In my opin- 
 
 183 
 
184 The Face of the World 
 
 ion he's a person with inherited failings, 
 whom Lombroso would have shut up on the 
 testimony of his face alone. Just you wait! 
 He'll do still worse things, you'll see!" 
 
 "But he'll be sentenced pretty severely now, 
 since he's been in prison once before." 
 
 "Sentenced! Are you so innocent as to 
 think that he'll be sentenced? No, in the 
 present day you can kill people outright 
 and still strut about and shake hands with 
 the authorities. Sentenced! No! In the 
 autumn they'll elect him a member of the 
 Municipal Board, you'll see. Wait and see 
 if I'm not right! Good morning!" And the 
 doctor raised a finger to his straw hat and 
 went on his way with a dignity peculiar to 
 himself. Alas! this town was so much too 
 small for him! There was scarcely any one 
 here who possessed real culture ; and he sighed 
 and looked out over the bay, as if he would 
 like to go on a voyage. 
 
 Now it happened that Lawyer Gundahl 
 came home to dinner in the best of spirits, 
 and that the husband and wife were once 
 
The Face of the World 185 
 
 more good friends and drank claret at din- 
 ner and exchanged loving glances. But he 
 did not say much, for the town was seeing to 
 all that, and the feeling was there all the 
 same. He rubbed his hands, noticed that it 
 was perfect summer weather, and decided not 
 to go to his office that afternoon, but go for 
 a walk with his wife instead. 
 
 And this he did. 
 
 They went arm in arm through the little 
 town, these two, and today Gundahl was 
 polite enough to raise his hat to the groups 
 who stood in the street, all talking at once. 
 But he said nothing. It was splendid simi- 
 mer weather, and they were going to take 
 a stroll — ^he so very small, and she so big and 
 plump. Now he was really going to do what ' 
 he had often thought of doing; he was going 
 to try to open his wife's eyes to the beauty of 
 nature, and tell her a little about poetry. 
 
 Dr. Mark was also going through the 
 town, and it was still as impossible as ever 
 for him to feel any interest in what the 
 people here did. He did his daily work with- 
 
186 The Face of the World 
 
 out remembering where he really was, and 
 he went his way like one who raises his hat 
 to a colleague and knows no one else, while 
 every one knows him. He had come here to 
 make his world* small. Had he succeeded? 
 What had he found here that would bind his 
 thoughts firmly, and could take the place of 
 this interest in evei'ything on earth, that had 
 become such an intolerable burden to him? 
 He went for long country walks, but forgot 
 to look at the scenery; he brought home 
 plants, but finally took them down to the 
 kitchen; he read novels and poetry, but they 
 only increased his thirst for the great heaving 
 life of the moment all over the world. So it 
 was the papers he went to after all, the 
 numerous papers from Europe, which he 
 hated, but which unfolded his soul and gave 
 him the dizzy feeling of riding huge, heavy 
 billows. A being had grown up within him, 
 which greedily and inexorably demanded this 
 nourishment, and it was stronger than his 
 own little ego which he sometimes felt as 
 something beautiful and peaceful within him. 
 
The Face of the World 187 
 
 This little ego kept on shrinking. It was 
 being eaten up by the other. That was how 
 it was. That was how it would be. The 
 thing was to endure it as it was. 
 
 This evening he was sitting at home in 
 the drawing-room, bending over Le Temps, 
 while his mother knitted by the window. The 
 last rays of the sun were shining across the 
 floor, and through the open window came the 
 sound of the sea. Fru Mark had gold-rimmed 
 eyeglasses on her nose, and as she bent her 
 head to count her stitches, there was a serious, 
 thoughtful look on her delicate face. 
 
 Now and again she glanced at this son of 
 hers, Jbut shrank from speaking to him. It 
 seemed to her too that they had become 
 greater strangers to one another since he 
 came home. It was as though she could not 
 get hold of him. He always slipped away. 
 He hid himself. When he spoke, it was in 
 grim humor that was only a grimace. What 
 did he think of her? Had he any respect for 
 what she had accomplished here? Why did he 
 make no friends? Why was there no one he 
 
188 The Face of the World 
 
 associated with? Why was he so indifferent 
 to women? What in the world could she do 
 to bring back some of the bright gaiety that 
 had once made him such a favorite with 
 every one? 
 
 "What are you reading?" she asked at 
 last. 
 
 He let the paper fall, turned round in his 
 chair, and looked at her absently for a little 
 while. 
 
 "Mother!" he said at last. "Can you tell 
 me what the politicians in all the Christian 
 countries do?" 
 
 "No, indeed! You know more about that 
 than I do, my dear." 
 
 "And what they use their armies for? Oh, 
 weU, that's true — ^the armies are only a crow(i 
 of waiters on the financiers. They go out and 
 rob their neighbors when Bank-Manager So- 
 and-So needs a piece of their property. But 
 I was reading here of the latest massacres in 
 Armenia. The Turkish soldiers are having a 
 merry time, and they make a mother look on 
 while her child is dashed to pieces against the 
 
The Face of the World 189 
 
 font in the church. And what do you think 
 she does? She tears out her own eyes, and 
 cries that God must have gone mad. God! 
 Mad! Not so bad, was it?" 
 
 Fru Mark let her knitting fall upon her 
 lap. She gazed at him, but the expression 
 on his face made her afraid to say anything. 
 
 He threw down the paper, rose, and began 
 to walk up and down. "You sigh, mother, 
 and by tomorrow you'll have forgotten it, and 
 a good thing too; and all over the world 
 people are reading this now, and they sigh 
 and will have forgotten it by tomorrow. But 
 I ask myself, mother, what does the policy 
 of the great Christian Powers aim at, when 
 such things as this can happen? And they 
 happen now, and will happen tomorrow, and 
 next year; and kings and presidents and 
 ministers and bishops all over Europe sleep 
 well. But I also ask myself what the social- 
 ists really want, what the revolutionaries want. 
 Are they only fighting about pots and pans? 
 I am certain that when they get the power 
 into their own hands, they'll be just as coarse 
 
190 The Face of the World 
 
 and brutal as the others; and thus all the 
 battles will be wasted, all the fine speeches 
 thrown away. Over and over again! And 
 therefore it'U always be the same problem, 
 mother — ^What really is man? I have dis- 
 sected many, and rummaged about in many 
 brains, and studied psychiatry and psychology, 
 and seen and learnt a little; but man — ^what 
 in the world is man?" 
 
 He walked slowly backwards and forwards, 
 with now and then a nervous movement of 
 his hand through his beard. It irritated him 
 that his mother could sit there so calmly and 
 look at him. She did not tremble: it was 
 too far off. It was probably only like a 
 play to her. He suddenly went to the door. 
 He must get out into the open air. 
 
 "Harold!" she caUed. 
 
 "Good-night!" he said. 
 
 "No, don't go, Harold! Come and sit 
 down! There's something I want to talk to 
 you about." 
 
 He stopped at the door. "What's the mat- 
 ter now?" 
 
The Face of the World 191 
 
 "Come and sit downl You surely aren't 
 too busy?" 
 
 He sat down with his hands on his knees, 
 and looked expectantly at her. 
 
 "What I wanted to say, Harold, was that 
 latterly, at any rate, you haven't cared about 
 anything except what was very far away. 
 God knows that this with the Armenians is 
 dreadful, but neither you nor I can help 
 them. But there are people in this very town 
 who are suffering, suffering terribly. Have 
 you heard about Ivar Holth?" 
 
 "No, mother, I haven't, and I tell you 
 honestly it'll do no one any good by telling 
 me about him either. If he's a person who's 
 really unhappy, as you say, then neither you 
 nor I can help him, I suppose; and, besides, 
 my life is simply divided up into little bits 
 by thinking of all the unfortunate beings on 
 this earth. That's the stupidity of it! Why 
 the deuce should I mix myself up in things 
 that don't concern me? Tell me something 
 pleasant, mother! Give me the name of a 
 newspaper that brings a little sunshine into 
 
192 The Face of the World 
 
 one's mind, and I'll go out at once and put 
 my name down for it!" 
 
 He slapped his knees with his hands, and 
 rose, still in a state of excitement. His 
 mother sighed and was silent; and after stand- 
 ing for a moment, Harold went out and 
 downstairs. 
 
 An hour later he returned, however, and 
 was calmer. He went to his mother, who 
 was still sitting in the same place,: and kissed 
 her on the forehead, then sat down, and, tak- 
 ing her knitting away from her, laid it on a 
 chair. 
 
 "Don't be angry with me, mother," he said, 
 "for being so impossible ! Now tell me what's 
 wrong with that fellow 1 Ivar Holth was his 
 name, wasn't it?" 
 
 So his mother began to teU him, and 
 Harold's attention was aroused. This was 
 not a case of a man who was ruined by drink 
 or poverty. This was not the fault of society. 
 This was only a man who had become a prey 
 to himself and a prey to others. It was im- 
 possible to place his case in the usual cate- 
 
The Face of the World 193 
 
 gories. Even if the world were some day to 
 be ruled with perfect justice, a thing like this 
 might still happen. Man — do you know man? 
 
 When she had finished he sat looking out of 
 the window, running his fingers through his 
 beard. 
 
 "And the sister, poor thing!" he said at 
 last. "Has she any one to look after her?" 
 
 "I've been to see her today, but unfortu- 
 nately it's as you say: 'What is there we can 
 do?' " 
 
 "I could go and have a talk with him," 
 said Harold. "I suppose they'd let me into 
 the prison." 
 
 A couple of days later he was sitting read- 
 ing in his study, when some one knocked and 
 Ivar Holth entered, dressed in a blue smock 
 and big workmen's boots. 
 
 "Excuse my showing myself like this, sir, 
 but I've come straight from work." 
 
 "Sit down, Herr Holth!" 
 
 But Holth remained standing. "I only 
 svanted to come up at once," he said, "and 
 ithank you for what you've done for me." 
 
194 The Face of the World 
 
 "I?" said Harold in astonishment, as he 
 mechanically placed a paper-knife in the book 
 he was reading. "Have I done anything for 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes; that day you came down to the 
 prison, you spoke to others besides me, and 
 I've heard that you went to the King's Coun- 
 sel and — and that you ended by giving a kind 
 of bail for me." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense!" 
 
 Holth flushed slightly as he stood playing 
 nervously with his cap, but at last he looked 
 up. "It's only that I don't understand" — 
 he said — "how you could do anything of the 
 sort, sir, because you know nothing about 
 me. 
 
 "Have you got anything to do now, 
 Holth?" 
 
 "Yes, I've got work on the quay, at Som- 
 merfeldt's. But it was Fru Mark who helped 
 there." 
 
 Harold looked at this strange man, who 
 spoke like a head-clerk, and stood there in the 
 clothes of a dock-laborer. His face was pale 
 
The Face of the World 195 
 
 and his eyes were sunken and surrounded by 
 shadows. There was one town in the world 
 where he had to run the gauntlet every day, 
 and that was the town in which he wanted 
 to live. Do you know man? 
 
 "I'm sorry to say I have a favor to ask 
 of you, sir. It was if you would come up 
 and see my sister." 
 
 "Is your sister ill?" 
 
 "She always has a cough. If you had time, 
 would you mind going with me to see 
 whether it's anything serious. I'm very sorry 
 to trouble you to go to her, but I shall never 
 in this world get her to go to a doctor her- 
 self." 
 
 "Will you wait a minute while I ring up 
 the hospital?" And Holth heard him say 
 through the telephone: "Hullo! Is that 
 Sister Alma? How is the boy that got the 
 shot in his head? Is he conscious now? — And 
 temperature? — Good! I'll look in later this 
 evening. Good-bye !" 
 
 In a little while they were walking to- 
 gether through the town. Just now there 
 
196 TJie Face of the World 
 
 was nobody so much talked about as these 
 two, and people stared. Near the New 
 Church, the brown brick building up on the 
 hill, they passed Lawyer Gundahl, who was 
 taking an evening stroll with his wife. When 
 they had gone past, the lawyer turned, and 
 adjusted his spectacles to look at them, say- 
 ing: "Do you see that? We may have some 
 fun out of that." 
 
 Holth opened the door of the little cottage, 
 and let the doctor go in before him. The 
 children were all in bed, and could be heard 
 chattering in the next room. The young 
 mother was sitting sewing. She rose with an 
 expression of astonishment on her face, and 
 then hastened to clear away some children's 
 clothes that had been left on a chair. 
 
 "This is the patient," said Holth. "And 
 this is the doctor, Inga," he went on, turning 
 to his sister. "You mustn't mind our taking 
 you by surprise, but now you've got to go 
 through with it anyhow." 
 
 His sister blushed. "But there's nothing 
 the matter with me, Ivar," she stammered. 
 
The Face of the World 197 
 
 looking at the doctor. "Whatever have you 
 got into your head?" 
 
 "Well, now you must be good enough to let 
 the doctor examine your chest. I'll go and 
 wait outside." 
 
 Ivar walked up and down the little garden 
 in suspense. Suppose it were already too late 
 to save his sister, there would one day he 
 four little children who had neither father 
 nor mother. 
 
 At last the doctor came out. Ivar hastened 
 up to him, saying: "Well* sir, what do you 
 think?" 
 
 Harold stood still and lighted a cigar. 
 "Would you like to come for a walk with 
 me?" he asked. 
 
 "A walk! We two!" Ivar involuntarily 
 glanced at his clothes. "No, thank you; I 
 shall be satisfied if you will tell me what you 
 think of my sister." 
 
 "Nonsense! Come along and have a httle 
 walk with me — ^up the high-road. It won't 
 do you any harm." 
 
198 The Face of the World 
 
 The result was that Ivar went in and put 
 on another coat and went with the doctor. 
 
 It was not until they were outside the town 
 on the road that ran at the front of the 
 precipitous cliffs along the bay, that Harold 
 stopped and looked at his companion. 
 
 "Yes," he said. "Your sister would need 
 to go to a sanatorium as soon as possible." 
 
 Holth turned pale and gazed at him. "Then 
 — ^then she is really bad!" he said. 
 
 "As far as I can tell after this one exami- 
 nation, she is not so bad but that she might 
 get, over it if it were only taken at once. But 
 I suppose it will not be very easy for her to 
 leave the children?" 
 
 Ivar was not listening. He took off his 
 cap and wiped his brow, and looked out over 
 the bay. "Is that feo?" he said as if to him- 
 self. "And— and it's my fault!" He breathed 
 heavily and wiped his brow again. 
 
 "Let's go on a little farther," Harold sug- 
 gested. 
 
 When Ivar Holth that evening went home 
 alone from the white house, he walked with 
 
The Face of the World 199 
 
 an unsteady step. He was thinking of his 
 sister — that was one thing — and of the doctor 
 having treated him as an equal — ^that was the 
 second thing. He was confused and be- 
 wildered. Yes, Dr. Mark had called him 
 Herr Holth all the time. He had spoken 
 in a tone that was neither condescending nor 
 dictatorial, but only pleasant; and when they 
 separated he said that they must soon have 
 another walk like that. Did he mean it? 
 
 Ivar Holth went to bed and drew the 
 clothes over his head. Ah, he had continually 
 fallen lower, both in his own and in others' 
 eyes, and a few days ago he was deep down in 
 the abyss; but then a strange hand had ap- 
 peared and drawn him up again. He had 
 now risen so high that he could once more 
 walk freely about the streets, and once more 
 be the laughing-stock of the town; but sup- 
 pose the doctor meant to lift him still higher 
 — ^what then? 
 
 "I'm a shipwrecked man," he said to him- 
 self, "and the one wave beats me down into 
 the depths, and the next lifts me high up into 
 
200 The Face of the World 
 
 the light again; but can I bear all this? 
 Wouldn't it be better to remain down there, 
 and get peace at last?" 
 
 A couple of days later a piece of news 
 dropped upon the town like a bomb. A new 
 post, that of steward, had been created at the 
 Seaside Hospital, with a salary of <£170 per 
 annum; and the senior physician had ap- 
 pointed Ivar Holth. 
 
 There was a commotion in the club when 
 the Evening Paper was brought in. Lawyer 
 Gundahl trotted round, rubbing his withered 
 hands. Dr. Prahl sat for a little while look- 
 ing straight before him, his face growing 
 redder and redder; then he suddenly rose, 
 took up his hat and stick, and going out into 
 the street, turned up towards the white house. 
 
XIII 
 
 Hakold was sitting at the supper-table 
 with his mother when the maid came in and 
 announced that Dr. Prahl had come, and 
 would like to speak to Dr. Mark privately. 
 
 "Very well," said Harold, folding up his 
 napkin. "Ask Dr. Prahl up into my study!" 
 
 "Now you've got a visitor!" whispered his 
 mother, looking at him. "And I suppose 
 you've no doubt as to what he's come for." 
 
 "Poor me !" said Harold smiling as he rose. 
 "I mustn't let the man wait." 
 
 This matter of Ivar Holth was something 
 he had settled without its having made any 
 great impression on himself. Why in the 
 world then should the town interfere in it? 
 
 When he went upstairs, he found the 
 portly gentleman standing in the middle of 
 the room with his straw hat in one hand and 
 his stick in the other. He bowed stiffly, g,nd 
 
 201 
 
202 The Face of the World 
 
 Harold tried to imitate him by bowing just as 
 stiffly. 
 
 They looked at one another for a moment. 
 Harold pointed to a chair; Dr. Prahl looked 
 round, caught sight of the chair, sat down, 
 placed his stick between his legs, held his hat 
 over one knee, and cleared his throat. Harold 
 seated himself at his writing-table, leaned 
 back, and met the other's eyes. The situation 
 was comical; neither of them had as yet 
 spoken a word. 
 
 Dr. Prahl cleared his throat again. "You 
 were good enough to call on me. Dr. Mark," 
 he said. "I was sorry not to have been at 
 home. And so we have not, I think, met 
 one another before, not, at any rate, since you 
 were a boy. Ah yes, by the bye! At the 
 medical meeting in Christiania two or three 
 years ago." 
 
 "Very possibly," said Harold, stroking his 
 beard. "Yes, I remember, now you mention 
 it." 
 
 Dr. Prahl shifted his position, and his face 
 flushed a little. 
 
The Face of the World 203 
 
 "I have — ^hm — followed your career. Dr. 
 Mark. You have always interested me as — 
 as a phenomenon." 
 
 "Thank you!" said Harold with a smile, 
 taking up a paper-knife and passing it 
 through his fingers. 
 
 "You are a great idealist, but of the one- 
 eyed type, be it said; and for that very reason 
 you are — if you will excuse my saying so — 
 a dangerous person." 
 
 "Thank you!" 
 
 "It is being said in the town that you have 
 given this Ivar Holth the appointment of 
 steward at the hospital." 
 
 "That is so." 
 
 "It is not a joke then?" 
 
 "A joke?" 
 
 "You did not wish to give capable and 
 esteemed men in this town the opportunity 
 to apply for such a comparatively good post?" 
 
 "It's so easy for esteemed men to get good 
 posts." 
 
 "It was perhaps your deliberate intention 
 to appoint a person of unsound mind?" 
 
204 The Face of the World 
 
 "Excuse me, but I thought this was a mat- 
 ter between the Department and me." 
 
 "Now, Dr. Mark, you can of course show 
 me the door and decline to have any inter- 
 ference on my part; but you mustn't forget 
 that we're both stubborn men. I know what 
 I'm about in coming here." 
 
 "What do you want then?" 
 
 "I would very seriously counsel you to 
 reconsider the matter for your own sake. Do 
 it this very day! Ivar Holth is mad." 
 
 "Nonsense! He is not mad." 
 
 "I know more about that than you do. He 
 has long been dulled and deaf to the very 
 centre of all, namely his own dignity." 
 
 "That is what I want to restore to him." 
 
 "You!" 
 
 "Yes, I," said Harold, bending forward. 
 
 "Then the position of steward is to be a 
 medicine?" And Dr. Prahl laughed scorn- 
 fully and wiped his forehead with his pocket- 
 handkerchief. 
 
 "I don't think there is any use in our talk- 
 ing about this matter any longer," said Har- 
 
The Face of the World 205 
 
 old. "Ivar Holth is a clever accountant. I 
 have that from his former employer." 
 
 "Do you know that he's been in prison?" 
 
 "So had Bishop Skrefsrud." 
 
 "And what if the man's madness develops 
 further, and he one day kills people?" 
 
 "Oh, Dr. Prahl, how can you]" 
 
 "Well, I've warned you I Afterwards, when 
 it's too late, you can come with the excuse 
 that you meant well; but then I shall stand 
 up and say that there is a kind of philanthropy 
 that is criminal. I have told you so today; 
 and if you answer that you take the re- 
 sponsibility, then I say to you: 'If the man 
 sets fire to the town some day, what good 
 can your responsibility be to us?' " 
 
 "I think that now you've explained this 
 sufficiently clearly," said Harold. 
 
 Dr. Prahl rose. He was crimson with 
 vexation, and had to use his handkerchief 
 again. 
 
 "Well, now you know what all the town 
 thinks about this." 
 
 "I'm sorry, but——" 
 
206 The Face of the World 
 
 " — But it naturally does not interest you to 
 know what a whole town thinks of your ac- 
 tions." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "No, of course not." Dr. Prahl bowed and 
 turned to the door. Harold rose to accom- 
 pany him downstairs, but the other turned 
 as he placed his hand on the door-knob. 
 
 "I regret, though. Dr. Mark, that you 
 won't give me any explanation of this re- 
 markable action; for you see" — ^he looked 
 down at his straw hat — "I should be sorry if 
 you continued to lead such a solitary life." 
 
 "Explanation? Are you so anxious for an 
 explanation?" 
 
 "Yes. I talk to so many people, you 
 know." 
 
 "For goodness' sake, don't bring in the 
 many! But between ourselves I may say: 
 Show Ivar Holth a little forbearance! You 
 who talk to so many people, remember that. 
 I suppose we agree in believing that every 
 man has in him material both for heaven and 
 hell; but when once he begins to go down, the 
 
The Face of the World 207 
 
 world comes and pushes, and wants him to 
 go down still more quickly. I will ask you 
 not to help with that. As for me, I have 
 striven to the best of my abiUty for so many 
 things, but " 
 
 "You have indeed 1 Ha, hal" 
 
 " — ^But I've " he became almost em- 
 barrassed as he leaned against the writing- 
 table — "I've come to the conclusion that if 
 you can save a single human being from 
 going to the dogs, it's better than fighting for 
 ten programs." 
 
 "Hm !" The other blew his nose loudly and 
 looked towards the window. "So that is your 
 — ^your explanation?" 
 
 "Take it as you will. But we doctors try 
 cures upon so many who nevertheless die. Sup- 
 pose that once in a while we could succeed 
 in — in helping a human being over a purely 
 moral difficulty?" 
 
 "It's a sheer impossibility to help Ivar 
 Holth." 
 
 "I don't think so." 
 
 "Think! No, no! This is a kmd of ideality 
 
208 The Face of the World 
 
 again, isn't it? You imagine you can save 
 Ivar Holth by vaguely going about and be- 
 lieving in him." 
 
 "Well, honestly — if we lose what we call 
 faith — for instance faith in mankind — ^why in 
 Heaven's name do we want to heal them?" 
 
 "That sounds well, but in this instance 
 your faith is criminal foUy, which is what a 
 doctor should be the last to engage in. And 
 now I've said my say, and I wash my hands 
 of the whole business. Good evening!" 
 
 When the doctor had gone, Harold re- 
 mained standing at the window to collect his 
 thoughts. "The old fooll" he thought, and 
 smiled. "What in the world does it matter to 
 himl But I was frightfully solemn myself, 
 and talked about rescuing and faith, and about 
 its being better to raise one poor wretch than 
 to fight for ten programs. Did I mean it? 
 Goodness knows whether I didn't mean it I 
 WeU, well!" 
 
 Dr. Prahl, however, walked past the quays 
 in a strange condition of mind. Something 
 within him told him that when he was young 
 
The Face of the World 209 
 
 he might have behaved exactly hke Harold 
 Mark. Why, then, had he made so much fuss? 
 Why had he interfered in the confounded 
 matter? What business was it of his? 
 
 Dr. Prahl was in reality a warm-hearted 
 man. He would willingly go out to the 
 islands to see sick fishermen who, he knew, 
 were unable to pay him a farthing; and he 
 had many a time given a poor old woman 
 both a prescription and a few coppers to go 
 to the chemist's with. But he had a weak- 
 ness, and that was that he liked to act pope. 
 If anything happened in the town that he 
 had no share in, he inflated himself and 
 thundered. He had once set afloat this as- 
 sertion that Ivar Holth was mad. He was 
 not quite sure that it was the case, but when 
 he had said a thing, a great many people be- 
 lieved that it must be so. "Dr. Prahl says 
 so too," they would say. But now perhaps 
 Harold Mark would triumph some day. You 
 false prophet! You gossip! You old fool! 
 Well, we shall see! 
 
 To save by faith in mankind. Ha! Ivar 
 
210 The Face of the World 
 
 Holth was to be saved by human faith. Dr. 
 Prahl could not restrain himself; he handed 
 over the phrase to be laughed to scorn by 
 the town; and though he was a little ashamed 
 when he did it, the first person he repeated 
 it to was Lawyer Gundahl. They were just 
 words that would raise a laugh all over the 
 town. 
 
 Afterwards whenever he met Ivar Holth, 
 he scanned him with severe eyes. "I have said 
 you'll be an incendiary some day, or a 
 murderer, and we shall see." And it was as 
 though, without knowing it himself, he ex- 
 erted his will-power as he looked at him, as 
 if to force him to commit these crimes at 
 once, so that he could gain his point. 
 
XIV 
 
 It was in the hot days of July, and the 
 town lay in a blue haze. Haymaking had 
 begun along the shore, and this was the time 
 when the young Consul Mohn held his an- 
 nual summer ball at his country-house on an 
 island off the coast. 
 
 Harold Mark was invited, and Harold 
 Mark accepted. Both things were unex- 
 pected; but his mother was now sitting alone 
 at the dinner-table while he walked up and 
 down in the room overhead, dressing. 
 
 The footsteps sounded so cheerful, and he 
 was humming a tune. He was looking for- 
 ward to the evening. She could hardly be- 
 lieve that it was he walking about overhead 
 and singing. 
 
 Fru Mark had also sung like that when 
 she was a young girl going to a ball, but that 
 was long ago; and she wondered whether the 
 seriousness acquired in her long life of labor 
 
 211 
 
212 The Face of the World 
 
 had not also cast a cold shadow over her son 
 when he was young and gay. 
 
 He was still singing. Great heavens, how 
 he sang! 
 
 He was standing in his shirt-sleeves in 
 front of the mirror, struggling with his collar- 
 stud. "Now, you idiot 1 won't you? At last! 
 But that tie's got a spot on it." He went to 
 the drawers and turned them over. 
 
 "Ah, mother! Have you come to see how 
 fine I'm going to be? Today I'm going to put 
 on a white waistcoat and dress coat. Have 
 you ever seen me so smart before?" 
 
 "'No, my dear, not for a long time, at any 
 rate." She sat down on the sofa, and looked 
 at him with loving, smiling eyes. 
 
 "That rose of yours, mother, down there on 
 the wall, has such a scent that it makes me 
 drunk. Things like that ought to have a 
 temperance society too, don't you tliink so?" 
 
 "Now you must dance a great deal," said 
 his mother, "and choose a very pretty part- 
 ner." 
 
 "Do you know I'm dancing-mad in every 
 
The Face of the World 213 
 
 muscle! And now I understand why I've 
 wanted to root out all the evil in the world. 
 It was so as to have a good conscience to put 
 my arm round girls' waists and just dream 
 and dance. What time is it?" He looked at 
 his watch and put it in his pocket. 
 
 "Well, good-bye then, little mother!" He 
 went to her, and taking her head between his 
 hands, smiled down into her face, and finally 
 sat down beside her on the sofa for a moment, 
 with his arm round her shoulders. 
 
 "You sit here like a patient mater dolorosa 
 for the whole world! That must be why your 
 hair's become so gray." 
 
 "Now, why will you always talk nonsense 
 when you talk to me, Harold?" 
 
 "Why, you know perfectly well, mother, 
 that there's nothing but nonsense in me. Now, 
 for instance, I'm going to play pope-joan with 
 the devil for — for Ivar Holth. The prophet 
 Prahl will probably hold the cards for the 
 evil one, and all the town will look on as at. a 
 play. Ha, ha, ha! Isn't that amusing? 
 That's the kind of trifle I enliven myself with 
 
214 The Face of the World 
 
 now — I who once dreamed of becoming a 
 great man — ^Well, I suppose it's time. Good- 
 bye!" 
 
 "Don't forget to take a warm coat with 
 you! You'll be warm after dancing, and it's 
 cold on the water." 
 
 The little steamer sailed out of the bay, 
 looking as if it were filled with flowers of 
 every hue; but they were people in bright 
 summer attire — coats, dresses and straw hats. 
 A little band began playing, and the faces on 
 board began to brighten. Harold was stand- 
 ing at the railing, talking to Consul Mohn's 
 sister; but when he saw something white be- 
 gin to wave from his mother's house, he 
 sprang up onto a seat and eagerly waved his 
 straw hat. 
 
 Froken Mohn was fair, tall and stately. 
 She wore a light cloak and a veil over her hat, 
 and she looked at him with a peculiar smile. 
 
 "You're fond of your mother, I can see. 
 Dr. Mark." 
 
 "You've no idea what a large heart I've 
 got, Froken Mohn; so beware! I'm quite 
 
The Face of the World 215 
 
 unmanageable when I start in that direction." 
 
 "You!" She laughed. "You who shun us 
 all! What can have come over you to let my 
 brother succeed in dragging you out here to- 
 day?" 
 
 "Why, of course, it's all purely a matter of 
 calculation. I held back at first. I know how 
 much every one loves me, and then one 
 oughtn't to give way at once. You, being a 
 woman, know that." 
 
 She shook her head and smiled. 
 
 It was a hot evening. The sun stood among 
 flaming clouds far down in the west. The 
 water lay without a ripple, and it was only 
 when the bay widened out into the sea that 
 the surface was ruffled with a blue breeze. A 
 world of islands unfolded themselves, strewn, 
 as it were, all over the broad surface of wave- 
 lets. Low rocks covered with seaweed, and 
 smooth rocky islets, lay in groups like mother 
 seabirds with their young ones round them. 
 Great animals with blind faces had lain down 
 out here, and in their shelter stood one or two 
 gray fisher-huts, with smoke going up from 
 
216 The Face of the World 
 
 their chimneys. Old men with humps on 
 their backs were rising out of the sea to gaze 
 into the west; and there a giantess had waded 
 out from the mountain and sat down in the 
 sea to blow upon it. Her cauldron lay bot- 
 tom upwards beside her, and over it thfere 
 now wandered large flocks of hardy sheep. 
 Multitudes of white gulls sailed overhead, 
 screaming ajid calling, gilded by the sun; the 
 waves foamed at the foot of the cliffs, and 
 there was a smell of salt sea, of seaweed and 
 of green things wafted over to the steamer, 
 that made nostrils expand and eyes brighten 
 with the feeling of freshness, while the band 
 involuntarily played with more vigor. 
 
 Harold did not know many on board, but 
 he wandered about, giving special attention to 
 the ladies. He had once more made an ef- 
 fort to put aiside all seriousness, and today he 
 was going to look at women. He knew that 
 to many of them the consul's ball was the 
 event of the year. Lady clerks saved up their' 
 white dresses from year to year ; young wives 
 who could not afford to keep a maid, had got 
 
The Face of the World 217 
 
 their mother-in-law to look after the children, 
 and were here in wedding-dresses re-made; 
 and clerks and shop-assistants were among the 
 guests today, for they were generally the 
 most indefatigable of dancers. 
 
 They were approaching an island on which 
 stood a single house, a large white one, flying 
 a flag. The steamer went alongside a pier 
 that jutted into the water on piles, and her 
 passengers streamed ashore, talking gaily. 
 Lawyer Gundahl was running about with a 
 rose in his buttonhole and a word for every- 
 body, A dancing-floor of boards had been 
 laid down on the flat courtyard behind the 
 house; and after food and wine had been 
 served at small tables among the fir-trees, the 
 hand began to play and the couples moved 
 out. 
 
 A young man with a reddish beard and eye- 
 glasses came out of the house with a white- 
 haired lady on his arm. She held back a 
 little, but he drew her on, and as they passed 
 Harold the young man said with a smile: 
 "We two generally open the ball, but mother 
 
218 The Face of the World 
 
 had hidden herself today," It was Consul 
 Mohn and his mother. 
 
 The sinking sun was sending crimson shafts 
 across the green water. A tall-masted 
 schooner stood out on the horizon to the 
 south, and in the sunset light her sails were 
 filled with purple and gold. The year was 
 so far advanced that the evening gradually 
 became dark blue; the sun disappeared, the 
 clouds faded, and here and there a pale star 
 came out, while, all round the island, bonfires 
 were lighted and rockets sent up. 
 
 The steamer had anchored a little way out, 
 and her colored lights twinkled across the dark 
 water. 
 
 Baskets of champagne were constantly be- 
 ing carried to a long table under the fir-trees, 
 and every now and then the consul's voice 
 was heard above the general conversation, 
 making known the fact that fresh supplies of 
 the strengthening beverage had arrived. 
 
 And they danced. A few of the gentle- 
 men began to grow red in the face, and to 
 embrace one another and roar with laughter 
 
The Face of the World 21& 
 
 at the veriest trifles. Differences in business- 
 life and on the municipal board were forgot- 
 ten, and men drank to eternal friendship be- 
 tween two waltzes. 
 
 And Harold danced. He felt that he had 
 regained his own youth again. He did not 
 care much for these men, but that must be a 
 fault in himself. He was dancing now. Dr. 
 Prahl was not here, but innumerable eyes sent 
 him timid glances that said: "There he isl"" 
 Well, now it was the daughter of the director 
 of police with whom he was dancing for the 
 fourth time. She was twenty, red-haired, 
 slim and pale, and with the most mischievous 
 brown eyes in the world. Gay little feet in 
 white shoes were once more tripping about 
 beside his own, and he felt little breaths 
 against his neck, one after another. And the 
 stars were above them, her thin yellow dress 
 harmonised so well with the dusk, the water 
 rose and fell on the beach, the bonfires gleamed, 
 and all around were people with whom he 
 would still try to be friends. 
 
 By degrees, however, he became quite in- 
 
220 TTie Face of the World 
 
 toxicated, not with the couple of glasses of 
 soda water he had drunk, but with this girl, 
 with the dancing, with all the light dresses, 
 and with the blessed feeling of being free, 
 free at last from everything painful in the 
 Vvorld. The infinite horizon disappeared from 
 his mind, the ubiquitousness of his thoughts 
 dosed in, and there was nothing left but they 
 two, they two, borne upon broad, golden 
 Waves of sound. He threw back his head, 
 ■and held the young girl a little closer to him; 
 the measure seemed to become more linger- 
 ing, and they danced to a secret rhythm of 
 their own while everything round them van- 
 ished. Man at play is divine, and he was now 
 sheer delight in the great forgetfulness. Eve! 
 What a little name! It is like a bunch of 
 white flowers! 
 
 People stood round and watched them, 
 whispered together and laughed. Now they 
 were the only couple on the floor, and it 
 seemed as if they were never going to leave 
 off. 
 
 Lawyer Gundahl was standing at the long 
 
The Face of the World 221 
 
 table with a glass in his hand and in an. 
 elevated mood. "What!" he exclaimed, ad- 
 justing his spectacles to look at the two that 
 were dancing. "I thought that man there 
 was only a gramophone, but just look! He's 
 really a human being!'' 
 
 The feeling among the gentlemen of the 
 town had been rather uncertain on account 
 of the inclusion of this revolutionist among 
 the guests ; but the wine and the dancing had 
 so enlarged all minds, that they were ready 
 to forgive all the world, and Lawyer Gun- 
 dahl suddenly jumped up on to a form and 
 tapped his glass, saying: "Ladies and gentle- 
 men! " 
 
 When Harold made his way out of the 
 circle with his partner on his arm, a young 
 man came up to him and said: "Dr. Mark, 
 you must really come up to the table, for 
 Lawyer Gundahl is making a speech for 
 you." 
 
 "It would be better if he came and danced," 
 was all the reply Harold made as he went on. 
 He wanted to do a little love-making among 
 
222 The Face of the World 
 
 the rocks, and perhaps find an ox-eyed daisy to 
 decorate his lady-love with. 
 
 "Now, Eve, why do you laugh at me all 
 the time like that?" 
 
 "My name isn't Eve, and, moreover, we 
 haven't dropped titles, though that may 
 come in time; and besides it's so funny that 
 you don't recognise me at all." 
 
 "Recognise you? Have I met you before?" 
 
 "I'm in the State Telegraph Oifice, and I 
 don't know how many times you've come to 
 me and handed in telegrams." 
 
 With the first rays of the morning sun, the 
 steamer came in among the rocks again. The 
 party had been so successful that the younger 
 people continued dancing on deck, while 
 others sat wrapped up in shawls, leaning 
 against the railing and trying to sleep. 
 
 By nine o'clock the steamer had reached 
 the town, and half an hour later Harold was 
 far out along the shore, bathing. He lay 
 on his back out there, and let himself drift. 
 Little wavelets washed about his ears, but he 
 rose and fell on the fresh, smooth surface. 
 
The Face of the World 223 
 
 Ah, he stiU felt so light and free! He 
 could look at sky and mountain without at 
 the same time thinking of a thousand other 
 things. A solitary strip of snow still lay up 
 there on a mountain-top and hlushed in the 
 sun; and two little houses on a green patch 
 hung upon the steep mountain side hke a 
 picture on a wall. And here he lay. Could he 
 at last succeed in making the world small round 
 him? He ought to have a wife and children, 
 hut it would have to be a wife who would go 
 with him to protest-meetings against the mas- 
 sacres in Kiev, ha, ha! "Thora!" he said to 
 himself. "I wonder if you're still in Paris! 
 Have you really two httle ones? I wonder if 
 he's good to you. ... So the little girl with 
 the red hair last night was not called Eve, hut 
 Elina. Would she marry me, I wonder? To- 
 morrow we're going for a walk together, she 
 and I." 
 
 He turned over and swam in towards land; 
 but before going to the hospital he went home 
 to get a cup of coffee and see if the foreign 
 mail had arrived. 
 
XV 
 
 It was a strange day for Ivar Holth when 
 he dressed himself to go and begin work at 
 his new post at the hospital. Yesterday he 
 was a dock-laborer and the laughing-stock 
 of every one; today he was going to walk 
 through the town again as a well-dressed 
 man, and how would he manage it? When he 
 lay on the ground, people's laughter and 
 scorn were matters of indifference to him; 
 but now, in these clothes, with this new posi- 
 tion, he had risen into another atmospheric 
 stratum, and the desire to win again the 
 •esteem of others was awakened. He knew, 
 however, that everybody was angry with Dr. 
 Mark for having given him the appointment, 
 and he dreaded having to go out and meet 
 "the stony glances from those hundreds of 
 eyes. It was as if he were not sure whether 
 his knees would manage to bear him. 
 
 Captain Harrang had many friends, and 
 
 224 
 
The Face of the World 225 
 
 he was now applying for his removal from 
 the town. His wife was the beauty of the 
 district, and the gentlemen were going to 
 lose her. This was Holth's fault. It was 
 said that she scarcely dared to walk in the 
 street any longer, and that again was his fault. 
 Very well, but they might set their minds at 
 rest now ; he was done with all that nonsense^ 
 He now had only one thought, and that was 
 that his benefactor. Dr. Mark, should not 
 be disappointed. 
 
 He came out of his room into the sitting- 
 room in his blue suit and white collar. His 
 sister was sitting sewing by the window, and 
 raised her head and smiled at him. The chil- 
 dren stopped in their play and cried: "Oh, 
 Uncle Ivar! what are you so fine for?" He 
 patted them on the head and his sister on 
 the cheek, and went towards the door, where 
 he suddenly sank on to a chair. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked his sister as 
 she half rose. 
 
 "Oh, nothing!" he said, drawing his hand 
 across his forehead, and trying to laugh. 
 
226 The Face of the World 
 
 "It's only so strange that — ^that this is me." 
 He looked down at himself, then rose sud- 
 denly, said "Good morning," and went out. 
 In the passage he put on his straw hat, took 
 his coat upon his arm and his stick in his 
 hand, but had to stand at the door for a 
 minute to pull himself together again, before 
 he went out to meet the hundreds of eyes. 
 
 It was a beautiful day. It had rained in 
 the night, but the sun was just beginning to 
 shine. The sound of a steamer whistle came 
 from the harbor, and a three-master was 
 tacking across the bay to get out into the 
 open. It was the hour when people left their 
 homes for the office or shop in the town. In 
 former days Ivar Holth had many acquaint- 
 ances among the younger members of the 
 commercial class ; but when he drove a baker's 
 cart he had kept his head down when he 
 passed them, so as to save them from having 
 to recognise him. But today? Would they 
 know him again? Would their faces smile 
 and as it were welcome him back? Or would 
 they shut themselves up and indicate that it 
 
The Face of the World 227 
 
 would never be of any use for him to try 
 and rise again? 
 
 So he started on his walk. He met the 
 old town magistrate, and took ofif his hat 
 with a stylish sweep. The white-haired old 
 gentleman nodded slightly without raising his 
 hand to his hat, and looked straight before 
 him all the time. "It'll be worse when I meet 
 men I know," thought Ivar, and there was 
 one of them coming now, Hvass, the bank 
 manager. He and Ivar had been at the com- 
 mercial college together in olden days, and 
 both of them had risen steadily until the one 
 suddenly fell. Hvass was carrying a port- 
 folio under his arm, and must have recognised 
 Ivar had he not looked so obstinately straight 
 before him. At this moment Ivar had a 
 thousand watchful eyes. He took off his hat. 
 The other raised his hand to his, and went on 
 undisturbed. Well, Dr. Prahl's evil prophecy 
 had come to Ivar's ears, so it had probably 
 gone all over the town. He was a dangerous 
 person, and his friends were quite right to 
 
228 The Face of the World 
 
 be on their guard; but he knew what this 
 meant. 
 
 He met others and felt fresh stings, and 
 his steps quickened hke the steps of one that 
 flees. He met Dr. Prahl, who drew himself 
 up and swung his stick; and Ivar dreaded 
 meeting his glance, which he knew of old, 
 for it seemed as if it would compel him to do 
 something evil. Outside the cathedral-school 
 he met some boys with books imder their 
 arms. They did not know him at first, but 
 took him for a stranger. Suddenly, however, 
 one of them shouted: "Thank you, three 
 loaves tomorrow!" and after Ivar had passed, 
 he heard them singing about Potemkin. At 
 last he found himself inside the gates of the 
 hospital, and stood stiU to wipe his forehead 
 and take a good breath. 
 
 "Pull yourself together, confound you!" he 
 muttered. "They can't do you any harm!" 
 
 It was so reassuring when Dr. Mark came 
 and talked in a pleasant, natural manner. 
 They went round and decided what should 
 come under his administration. He was to 
 
The Face of the World 229 
 
 superintend the newly-installed kitchen, the 
 accounts and the provisioning. He also had 
 the cash in his keeping. A little office was 
 prepared for him in the back building, and 
 all he had to do was to start work; there was 
 no magic about it, and as head-clerk he had 
 had fal more difficult things to manage. 
 
 "You're getting on splendidly," said Dr. 
 Mark that evening. "I never imagined you 
 would get through so much in one day." 
 
 Ivar knew this was intended as an en- 
 couragement, and he smiled; but it did him 
 good nevertheless. If only the doctor would 
 praise him out in the town too! It would 
 feel like a counter-move, and it might even 
 reach — her. Her? Was he really still think- 
 ing about Fru Harrang? No, hang it! He 
 had done with that nonsense now! It was 
 only that she was going away — away from 
 the town! 
 
 He grew busy. It was splendid to have 
 plenty to do, for then he had not time to 
 think; but every day he had to run the gaunt- 
 let going to and from his home. Dr. Prahl's 
 
230 The Face of the World 
 
 evil prophecy seemed to gaze at him out of 
 every eye. He was dangerous. He would 
 end with murder or incendiarism. It was al- 
 most as if the town wanted it, and as if this 
 will entered into him and almost became his 
 own. Oh! the contorted face of this town! 
 How evilly it glared into his mind! He 
 actually felt a desire to let it gain its point; 
 he felt something within him that wanted to 
 yield to and humor it. If he had only had 
 something with which to resist, some faithful 
 friends or a wife! There was the doctor, of 
 course; but one man beside you when your 
 knees are weak and you have to face the 
 whole world, is not enough. 
 
 He had his father, however, the old parish 
 clerk out on the island Askoen, to write to 
 and tell of his good fortune. He also began 
 to borrow books from Dr. Mark. Then 
 there was his sister, whom he would soon be 
 able to help to get into a sanatorium. But, 
 above all, there was the necessity of not dis- 
 appointing the doctor. All this was certainly) 
 
The Face of the World 231 
 
 worth a struggle, and he would make it suc- 
 ceed. 
 
 A group of gentlemen were standing talk- 
 ing outside the grocer's shop. They were Dr. 
 Prahl, Consul Mohn, Pastor Larsen and 
 Lawyer Gundahl. 
 
 "Sh!" said the lawyer, as Dr. Mark and 
 the new steward went by on the other side 
 of the street. 
 
 Pastor Larsen was a small, pale man with 
 eager gestures, and wore spectacles. 
 
 "So those are the two?" he said. 
 
 "Precisely," said the lawyer. "Those are 
 the two." 
 
 "Ye-es," said Dr. Prahl, looking another 
 way with heightened color. Of late he had 
 become excited at the mere sight of Ivar 
 Holth. 
 
 "You doctors are rather strange," said the 
 lawyer pleasantly to this imperious gentle- 
 man. "You don't always agree. One of you 
 orders a lunatic asylum, and the other writes 
 a prescription for faith in mankind." 
 
 Dr. Prahl laughed scornfully. 
 
232 The Face of the World 
 
 "Wliat does Pastor Larsen think about it?" 
 asked Consul Mohn with a smile. 
 
 "I think, of course — and I've said it dis- 
 tinctly enough to all who've asked me — that 
 if anybody's to be saved by faith, it won't at 
 any rate be the faith of his fellow-creatures." 
 
 "But what if the man turns out to be both 
 capable and steady?" suggested the lawyer 
 still more pleasantly than before. 
 
 "Well, I've no doubt that if they succeed 
 in keeping that fellow out of prison, this 
 phrase about faith in mankind will become a 
 new battle-cry against Christianity. We're 
 accustomed to all sorts of things from that 
 quarter. Good morning, gentlemen!" And 
 the excitable little man put up his umbrella 
 as a protection against the few drops of rain 
 that were falling, and went his way. 
 
 "I believe that Dr. Mark uses that man as 
 an object of study," continued Lawyer Gun- 
 dahl, "As an animal for vivisection. In the 
 Pasteur Institute they had monkeys for that 
 purpose; but here he has found Ivar Holth. 
 He's his chimpanzee, he, he! That too can be 
 
The Face of the World 233 
 
 called, in a sense, faith in mankind. Ah! you 
 doctors! I shall follow the example of his 
 reverence and make my escape." 
 
 It sometimes really happens that a small 
 town holds together in some particular mat- 
 ter, and becomes like one being. Its face, its 
 play of features are turned in the same direc- 
 tion. One day it needs something to look up 
 to in common, another day something to jeer 
 at. What would there otherwise be to talk 
 about when people went to see one another? 
 People go to church and to picture-houses, 
 they weep at funerals and are affected by 
 beautiful music; but they also have a little 
 laughter, and it must have an outlet. If once 
 a man has become ridiculous, it will be diffi- 
 cult for him to be taken seriously again. The 
 town needs him as a laughing-stock. To take 
 him away, to raise him, becomes almost an 
 injury. A man who, before the eyes of every 
 one, throws himself away because he is hope- 
 lessly in love with another man's wife, has 
 made himself ridiculous. Another man, who 
 tries to help the poor fellow up again, and 
 
234. The Face of the World 
 
 openly confesses that he does it through faith 
 in mankind, makes people prick up their ears. 
 What? In reality it is what is preached in 
 church, and it is beautiful and sublime; but 
 then some one laughs, then two more, and 
 then they will all see that they must save 
 themselves from becoming ridiculous, and so 
 they all join in. Then came Lawyer Gun- 
 dahl's remark about the chimpanzee. This 
 ran from house to house, and even serious 
 people could not help laughing aloud. Then 
 when they met Holth in the street, they 
 could not possibly help staring at him. There 
 comes the animal! The two doctors were 
 playing, as it were, for this man; which of 
 them would win? Dr. Prahl was a highly- 
 esteemed man: Dr. Mark's coming had been 
 an offence to the town, and he was now re- 
 garded as a renegade even among the labor 
 and prohibition parties. Which of them would 
 win? Well, we shall seel It is less ridiculous 
 to hold with the one who prophesies evil. 
 Just look at the fellow! Here he comes! 
 Could any one doubt that Dr. Prahl is right? 
 
The Face of the World 235 
 
 What are you keeping us waiting for? You 
 may just as well throw off your mask today; 
 we can see through you, and we shall be on 
 our guard. It shall not be said, at any rate, 
 that we have had any fellowship with you ! 
 
 From that time a watch was kept on the 
 man. His words and actions were explained 
 — ^in a manner; and he himself felt it when 
 he went through the town, felt it as if he were 
 breathing in an atmosphere so sultry that he 
 had continually to wipe the moisture from his 
 forehead. 
 
 One day in the beginning of August, Ivar 
 came home looking very important, and stand- 
 ing in the middle of the room, slapped his 
 breast-pocket and said to his sister: "What 
 do you think I have here, my dear?" 
 "Have you got your salary now?" 
 He nodded, took out his pocket-book, and 
 waved some large bank-notes before her eyes. 
 "What do you think this is for?" 
 "You need a suit of clothes perhaps?" 
 "Oh, you think so, do you? No, my dear; 
 you're going to a sanatorium. Dr. Mark had 
 
236 TJie Face of the World 
 
 word today that there's room for you now at 
 Reknses, so you're going tomorrow." 
 
 "Going? Are you still keeping on with 
 that nonsense that there's something the mat- 
 ter with me?" 
 
 "You're going tomorrow," he repeated as 
 he put the money back into his pocket. 
 
 "Now, Ivar, do you really mean that I'm to 
 go away and leave my four children?" 
 
 "I've got hold of a trustworthy woman to 
 come and look after both the children and 
 me. 
 
 The battle continued as the day went on. 
 It ended by her taking out the children's 
 things and beginning to look them over. The 
 little ones stood with their fingers in their 
 mouths, and asked her what she was crying 
 for. Going away? Was she going away? 
 Oh, then they would go too! The little boy 
 with the golden curls stretched out his arms 
 and wanted to go at once. 
 
 In the evening, when everything was at last 
 quiet, she sat down beside the little beds and 
 looked at the four rogues with their eyes 
 
The Face of the World 237 
 
 closed. Tomorrow another woman would un- 
 dress them. 
 
 Afterwards she sat by the window in the 
 sitting-room, looking out, her pale face tinged 
 with red from the flaming evening sky in the 
 west. 
 
 And Ivar — if he did not even believe her — 
 ah, how would things go with him? 
 
 On the following day the little party went 
 down to the quay, she herself carrying the 
 youngest boy, and the three other children 
 walking between Ivar and the stranger who 
 was now to be both sister and mother for a 
 time. 
 
 'When the steamer moved away from the 
 quay, the pale young mother stood leaning 
 upon the railing, trying to stifle her weeping 
 and coughing with her handkerchief, and 
 the little group that was left standing on the 
 pier waved and waved, while the little boy 
 screamed because he had not been allowed to 
 go with his mother. 
 
 But Ivar was to experience a fresh emotion 
 before he went home. He had let the children 
 
238 The Face of the World 
 
 and the housekeeper go on in front while he 
 wandered a little way along the shore, when 
 round one of the landing-stages a woman 
 in a white cloak and a brown veil came to- 
 wards him. It was — ^it was Fru Harrangl 
 
 She stopped suddenly, and he did the same 
 and then quickly took off his hat. She drew 
 nearer with an embarrassed smile, and held 
 out her hand; but the next moment she looked 
 round. Was there any one watching them? 
 
 "I haven't had an opportunity of con- 
 gratulating you on the new appointment 
 yet," she said; "but I've been so glad that 
 things are beginning to go so well for you." 
 
 "Thank you very much!" He smiled and 
 put on his hat. 
 
 "And now we all hope that you'll behave 
 sensibly. You will, won't you? You must 
 promise me you will." 
 
 *'Are you going away, Fru Harrang?" 
 
 "Yes, in about a month, I think. My hus- 
 band's got a post in Stavanger, and it'll be 
 best for all parties. Good-bye then, and don't 
 forget what I've asked of you!" 
 
The Face of the World 239 
 
 He was left standing and looking after her. 
 She was charming, as charming as ever! She 
 had hlushed when she looked at him, had 
 pressed his hand and smiled up at him. In 
 spite of everything! 
 
 But she was going away! 
 
 That evening he moved his hed into the 
 children's room, so that they should settle 
 down quietly without their mother; and he 
 lay listening to their gentle breathing. Sup- 
 pose their mother never came back any more! 
 Then these four would have no one in the 
 world but him. 
 
 But she was going away! 
 
 "And you?" he said to himself. "Can you 
 bear all the evil in this town when it's no 
 longer for her sake? You still love her. You 
 think of her every day. When you tie your 
 tie in the morning, it is with the thought of 
 possibly meeting her. You dream of being 
 allowed to carry a basket home for her just 
 once more. She is the holy temple in your 
 mind, now, always, for ever. But she is going 
 away, and then the town will be nothing but 
 
240 Tie Face of the World 
 
 an icehouse for you. You cannot go after her. 
 But the town will stone you. And she is go- 
 ing away, going away, going away! 
 
 "Go to sleep now, children! Mother is all 
 right." 
 
XVI 
 
 SiSTEE Alma was in the doctor's clinic, 
 talking to him at the writing-table, when the 
 door opened and a country-woman of about 
 fifty, gray and wrinkled, came in. "I just 
 want to say good-bye," she said. 
 
 "Oh, is that you, Martha?" said the doctor, 
 turning round in his chair. "Yes, of course! 
 You're discharged today, aren't you!" 
 
 Martha had undergone a serious operation. 
 For years she had suffered with a tumor in 
 the stomach, so large that she could not 
 breathe when she lay down, and had therefore 
 to sit up in a chair when she slept; but this 
 had now been removed, and as it weighed with 
 its appurtenances more than sixteen pounds, 
 she was now as slim and light as a young girl 
 and her dress much too loose, her skirt-band 
 going almost twice round her waist. 
 
 "God bless you!" she said with tears in her 
 eyes, as she held out her hand. 
 
 241 
 
242 The Face of the World 
 
 "Well, good-bye, Martha! You'll be quite 
 like a bride again with your husband, for 
 you're thirty years younger than when you 
 came. Good-bye! And a pleasant journey!" 
 
 When the woman had gone, Sister Alma 
 exclaimed: "Upon my word. Dr. Mark; you 
 must feel happy yourself now, after having 
 performed such a miracle!" 
 
 "Miracle? Why, it was a comparatively 
 benign timior. Any one could have done it 
 equally well." 
 
 "Oh, yes! I think I see them!" 
 
 "And moreover, the thing that's successful 
 is not really interesting. What I'm always 
 thinking about is all that I can't do." 
 
 "Then you can never be quite happy." 
 
 "No; but where in the stars is it written 
 that I should be happy?" 
 
 "What if I invited you to have a cup of 
 chocolate in my room?" 
 
 "That's another matter," he said, rising and 
 laughing. "Just wait a minute while I wash 
 my hands." 
 
 Sister Alma's was a comfortable room, with 
 
The Face of the World 243 
 
 flowers in the windows and pictures on the 
 walls; and music stood open on the doctor's 
 piano. Harold bent down to see what it 
 was. "Why, I really believe," he said, "that 
 you've been tackling Beethoven — ^the ninth 
 symphony!" 
 
 Her face flushed and she busied herself over 
 the spirit-lamp on which the chocolate was 
 standing. 
 
 "Wasn't that the condition on which I was 
 to have your piano? You required me to 
 practice the piano arrangement of the ninth 
 symphony?" 
 
 "Did I? I'm glad you've dreamt about me. 
 But isn't it frightfully difiicult?" He sat 
 down on the piano-stool and played a few 
 bars. 
 
 "Difficult! It's almost impossible unless 
 you have four hands. I've done scarcely any- 
 thing else in my leisure moments for the last 
 five or six weeks; and I think it gets more 
 difficult every time." 
 
 "I heard it on a large orchestra at the 
 Queen's Hall in London. By Jove, sister. 
 
244 The Face of the World 
 
 it's a comfort to us all that the man who 
 created that has actually lived !" 
 
 "You once played the violin, didn't you. 
 Dr. Mark?" 
 
 "Yes, fancy! I did!" He looked out over 
 the piano towards the window. "Yes, and I 
 didn't play so hadly either." 
 
 "Why did you leave off?" 
 
 "You may well ask. But, you see, there 
 must be a certain rhythm in one's self — ^well, 
 the long and the short of it is, I don't play 
 now." 
 
 The chocolate was ready. Sister Alma, in 
 her gray linen dress, and at her throat a blue 
 enamel brooch with the red cross on it, was 
 very deft. 
 
 He wondered whether this woman was still 
 restless. Her good spirits made sunshine in 
 the wards wherever she went; she was as 
 happy as a bird. Had she still her dreams? 
 Yes, he had heard her say that she hoped 
 to have a little cottage with a garden right in 
 the country when she grew old. It was the 
 evening-land to which she now and then 
 
The Face of the World 245 
 
 turned; but she was still young, and might 
 bewitch as many men as she liked. 
 
 "The chocolate's ready," she said. "But 
 you must excuse the cakes." 
 
 When Harold went to his room for his hat 
 and coat, before going home to dinner, he 
 found Ivar Holth sitting there waiting for 
 him. He rose, and the doctor was so startled 
 at the expression of his face that he could 
 not help gazing at him. 
 
 "Well, my friend," he said, "what's the 
 matter?" 
 
 "It's only, doctor, that I shall have to give 
 up being steward." 
 
 Harold offered him a cigar, but he declined 
 it. The doctor took one himself, lighted it 
 very carefully, blew out the match and laid 
 it in an ash-tray; and not until this was done 
 did he look at the other again. "What's all 
 this nonsense about?" he asked. 
 
 "Have you seen what the Evening Paper 
 and the Socialist said last night?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Don't you read the papers?" 
 
246 The Face of the World 
 
 "Oh, yes, far too many, but none of those 
 that are published here." 
 
 "There's an attack on you, because you 
 didn't advertise the post of steward. There 
 are many who would have applied for it, both 
 the editor of the Everting Paper and the btisi- 
 ness-manager of the trade unions, as weU as 
 one or two teachers and a lawyer. They say 
 it's scandalous that it should have been done 
 secretly." 
 
 "What does it matter to you if they attack 
 me?" 
 
 "No, no one can do anything to you; they 
 all know that. But it falls back upon me. 
 I'm sure there'll be an article tomorrow about 
 the man who's superseded the others — about 
 me! I can't stand any more, sir. Let them 
 have the post and fight over it! They've tor- 
 mented me enough now. If I only go into a 
 shop, or show myself in the street — oh!" 
 
 "What? Do you pay any attention to other 
 people when you go along the street?" 
 
 The other raised his head and stared. "Pay 
 any attention to others?" 
 
The Face of the World 247 
 
 "I don't. I never have the least idea whom 
 I meet. I'm thinking about my own affairs. 
 iYou ought to do that too." 
 
 The other shook his head. He did not un- 
 derstand all this aloofness. 
 
 "By the way, I've got a Nordland boat 
 down here, and I'm going out on a trial trip 
 this afternoon. She's a six-oared boat. You 
 must come with me, but take plenty of warm 
 clothing with you, for we shan't be back be- 
 fore night. And now come with me down 
 town, and look the rabble in the face; for 
 hang it all, you're more capable than all of 
 them put together. Come along!" 
 
 The little Nordland boat with her high 
 prow and stem, white sheer-strakes and 
 tanned square-sail, looked like a foreign bird 
 among the large ships. She shot out across 
 the bay, the water foaming up her bow. Har- 
 old sat at the rudder, his sou'wester down 
 over his ears, and long sea-boots up over his 
 thighs, and with a pipe in his mouth. It re- 
 minded him of his life in Finmark. How 
 often he had sailed out like this to a light- 
 
248 The Face of the World 
 
 house where a young gu-l sat watching for him 
 at a window! That was long ago. That was 
 when he saw all the world in the light of him- 
 self. Now everything was reversed, and he 
 had become nurse to a man whom, he thought, 
 should be able to help himself, if once he were 
 placed by a quick movement upon his feet. 
 
 Ivar sat forward on a thwart, with his soft 
 cap pulled down over his ears, and his face 
 screwed up against the wind and water. He 
 was from Askoen, and had, so to speak, grown 
 up in boats. But his eyes looked so sleepless 
 in his pale face, and he smiled all the time 
 like a man without will, without peace of 
 mind, without confidence in himself. No, 
 thought Harold, he could not leave hold of 
 him. It was true it had nothing to do with 
 him, but he had taken him on his shoulders, 
 and for very shame he must try to carry him 
 out. Could he? Suppose he could not even 
 manage as much as that! 
 
 "Loose the tack there! Look out! We're 
 going over! That's it! Make the sail fast! 
 You know the knot, I see. Well done!" 
 
The Face of the World 249 
 
 As the sun went down, the islands rose 
 copper-red out of a greenish blue, choppy sea, 
 the last spray-besprinkled islet was left be- 
 hind, and the open sea unfolded its green sur- 
 face, which looked as though it were rolling 
 up into a yellow strip of sky in the west. 
 Against this yellow strip could be seen a 
 sohtary steamer with her trail of smoke. 
 Twilight began to fall. The sun had disap- 
 peared. The boat went more slowly; they 
 were cutting through a shoal of herrings, and 
 the water seethed with shining little tails, 
 while in the air above, a flock of gulls were 
 screaming distractedly over such abundance. 
 
 It was almost dark when they landed on a 
 little island where multitudes of eider-ducks 
 raised a chorus of protests against the in- 
 vasion of their kingdom by strangers. The 
 two men leaped on to the beach, drew up the 
 boat, and began to carry ashore the neces- 
 saries for a meal. Ivar brought the kettle full 
 of water, and an armful of dry wood, and in 
 a short time a little fire was burning on the 
 shore and they were sitting one on each side 
 
250 The Face of the World 
 
 of it watching the kettle, which was suspended 
 over it» Far away to the west a beam of Ught 
 shot up every now and again from the horizon 
 over the dark surface of the water; and this 
 time it was neither from saihng-vessel nor 
 steamer, but the light from Simlingen Light- 
 house. 
 
 Men become comrades beside a fire such as 
 this. They drown the sound of the waves 
 breaking on the shore with their talk and 
 laughter. "Look out, you duffer! It's boil- 
 ing over!" "Now don't upset the cream!" 
 "Just open that tin of anchovies!" "What's 
 become of the butter?" "Here's the green 
 cheese." "The bread's in the basket." 
 
 It was so good for Ivar to be scolded a 
 little, to talk about all sorts of things, and to 
 be out in such weather in this great realm of 
 ocean and birds of the ocean. It distributed 
 the emotion in his mind. If one has a sore 
 place in one's mind, one's thoughts are al- 
 ways rubbing against it, and it hurts, hurts 
 unbearably. But now his ideas were dancing 
 about in other regions of his head, and he saw 
 
The Face of the World 251 
 
 them and smiled, and thought it was well that 
 the sore place could escape for a moment. 
 They ate their supper, resting on their el- 
 bows. The coffee tasted delicious. Then pipes 
 were lighted. It was quite dark now, but 
 from the sea in the east a golden line emerged 
 slowly, growing wider until it looked like 
 half a shining coin; and soon there lay a 
 broad bridge of moonlight across the waves. 
 
 They put on their ulsters and lay down on 
 the sand, both looking at this bridge from the 
 sky to them, with the waves rising and falling 
 in it. Dry seaweed crackled under their 
 heads. Now and then a puff of wind came 
 and drew a shower of sparks from their pipes. 
 It was the end of August, and far out at 
 sea in the mild evening air. 
 
 Holth would have liked to move nearer to 
 his companion but a feeling of respect kept 
 him back. The doctor was silent, his mind 
 occupied with thoughts that he wanted ta 
 keep to himself. If only he could have gone 
 close to him, thought Holth, and confided 
 everything to him, asked his advice and help 
 
252 The Face of the World 
 
 against the terrible thoughts that often fright- 
 ened him; but one cannot talk to others about 
 what is really private and concerns one's 
 destiny. They will only laugh. He had met 
 her again today, and she was more beautiful 
 than ever; but she did not seem to notice his 
 greeting, and that hurt him and gave him so 
 much to ponder over. But if he spoke of it, 
 others would laugh. Nonsense, they would 
 say. So he must be silent and shut it in, so 
 that no one could see that he was thinking 
 about it continually. It is the sore place that 
 has been raw and bleeding for so long that it 
 has mortified, so to speak. Then there was the 
 town, whose gaze forced an evil will into him, 
 and wanted him to decamp with the money, or 
 kill somebody, or set fire to something. He 
 would soon be unable to do otherwise than let 
 them gain their point. He must give way in 
 order to obtain peace. But talk about it? And 
 to one so superior as Dr. Mark? Oh, no! Hide 
 it, hide it well! There might be much to say 
 on the subject of how things would go with him 
 when she was gone ; but he must be silent. Who 
 
The Face of the World 253 
 
 would listen to it without laughing at him ? He 
 must be silent and think about it and shut him- 
 self out from the whole world so as to think 
 deeply about all this. And here he lay, far 
 out at sea, in the company of an able man, and 
 yet he was quite alone in all the world. 
 
 "What are you thinking about?" asked Har- 
 old, turning to him. 
 
 "I'm sleepy. I almost think I was asleep." 
 
 Harold looked at his outstretched form with 
 his ulster buttoned up to his chin and his eyes 
 closed. The firelight flickered over his thin 
 face, showing nervous movements about his 
 mouth. Oh, indeed! Did he think he could 
 make him believe he was asleep? 
 
 "Now here's a young, capable, good fellow," 
 thought Harold, "but some mouse or other has 
 set itself to gnaw at his life's root. Can I help 
 him? Here's a human being who's unhappy. 
 Am I not a doctor? I could prescribe a treat- 
 ment, write a prescription, select a knife, or — 
 or suggest social re-molding, a better distri- 
 bution of food and dwelling. Would that help 
 him? Or I could preach a new religion, and 
 
254 The Face of the World 
 
 point to a man hanging upon a cross, who died 
 for him. Would that help him? 
 
 "He is only a human heing, not an idea, 
 not a principle, not a party; he is only a 
 human being. Can I help? 
 
 "Is it worth whUe spending so much of my 
 time on this fellow? Nurse! A bad word. I 
 can't let go of him in any case. 
 
 "You've come here," he said to himself. 
 "You ploughed through so many books, 
 listened to so many professors, went abroad 
 and learned still more, you wandered through 
 palaces of art, and lived in a poor neighbor- 
 hood and felt yourself called, and believed in 
 systems and theories and gospels. You've 
 come through all that now, and here you've 
 reached the human being. Can you help a 
 single being who is unhappy? You, who are 
 tormented by the feeling that your conscience 
 encircles the entire world, while you are help- 
 less and can improve nothing — ^you have at 
 any rate a human being beside you. Do you 
 believe in man? Do you believe that there's 
 
The Face of the World 255 
 
 so much of the divine in him as to make it 
 worth a battle, help, a sacrifice? 
 
 "Don't despise a single human being! He 
 is made of the same material as mankind in 
 general. The infinite world is mirrored in the 
 small. You, who want to take every one with 
 you on the way to the great dawn, help that 
 manl" 
 
 Harold lay staring into the darkness and 
 the sky, and forgot to fill his pipe. 
 
 But what had happened to the sea? It had 
 become a scene of living lights and shadows. 
 A large cloud was still on fire towards the- 
 south, and kept a strip of sea as bright as 
 copper. In the wejst, long gleams of light 
 darted out of the bridge of gold every time a 
 wave lifted its head in the moonlight. The 
 waves were dancing with the night and with 
 the moon. The sea was holding a special 
 festival of light that night. 
 
 "Even if you could help that man," he 
 went on to himself, "you would have to change 
 the whole town too. He is an echo of the 
 couple of thousand souls in there, as you are 
 
256 The Face of the World 
 
 of the world. Take him by the hand! Go 
 with him towards those stupid lights beyond 
 the harbor, towards the stupid provincial 
 souls there, stand by his side, support him! 
 Perhaps it will not be of the slightest use, 
 becatise it is the people all round us who de- 
 termine what we are and what we are to do. 
 
 "You are independent of the provincial 
 town; but the world's press determines your 
 mood. Arouse his interests, widen his horizon, 
 teach him to put little things in their proper 
 place — then perhaps he'll be like you, and will 
 that be any better? 
 
 "Help him? You? 
 
 "You don't even know what he's lying 
 groaning there for now! Win his confidence 
 — yes, but he'll hide the main things. A 
 human soul is not an easy instrument to play 
 upon. 
 
 "Then will you let go of him? Shall the 
 others win the game? Shall he be ruined? 
 No, it must not, must not happen! 
 
 "Do you believe in man?" 
 
 The little boat was rocking with its stern in 
 
The Face of the World 257 
 
 the water, the lighthouse was still sending out 
 its flashes over the sea, and the two men lay 
 stretched one on either side of the fire, each 
 with his eyes closed over his thought-world, 
 luUed by the soothing rhythm of the sea in the 
 gentle night. 
 
XVII 
 
 She was a little princess from Fairyland, 
 and she lay in her bed in the hospital, and 
 always had tears in her eyes, because she 
 wanted so much to go home. She was fifteen, 
 and was the daughter of a schoolmaster in 
 one of the fjords; and just as the tuberculosis 
 in her knee seemed to be disappearing Tinder 
 the X-ray treatment, suspicious symptoms 
 made their appearance in her shoulder and 
 back. Harold, who went with indifference 
 past so many patients, used to stop and talk 
 to her; indeed he sometimes kept both the 
 assistant and the sister waiting while he sat 
 trying to get the little girl to laugh. 
 
 "Well, Marie, have you thought about me 
 at all since yesterday? I mean it, you know!" 
 
 And the child lay still and laughed. In 
 order to save her shoulder and back, she was 
 suspended in a long frame which rested on 
 the mattress; and she was only allowed just 
 
 258 
 
The Face of the World 259 
 
 r • 
 
 to turn her head and to lift one arm. But 
 she laughed. There was a faint color in the 
 delicate little face surrounded by fair hair, 
 but also suffering, dreams, and intelligence. 
 Her gaze was open and far-seeing. She did 
 not know that she would have to lie like that 
 for six months if it was to be of any good; 
 and perhaps it would be necessary to use the 
 knife, and then — ^poor little Marie! 
 
 "What would you like to have now, my 
 dear? Shall I buy you a horse, so that you 
 can ride over the mountains when you go 
 home?" 
 
 The child laughed again. She was careful 
 not to move her right arm, but her red lips 
 laughed and showed a number of regular, 
 white teeth. 
 
 "I've brought a book for you today. Do 
 you know it?" And he gave her Bjornson's 
 "Synnove Solbakken," into which she peeped 
 eagerly. 
 
 "I shall like reading it," she said, laying it 
 down on the counterpane. 
 
 Harold was going to take a fortnight's holi- 
 
260 The Face of the World 
 
 day, and was therefore particularly careful 
 on his rounds today, so that the assistant doc- 
 tor should know what to do. He had ex- 
 tracted enough from Ivar Holth to know that 
 he was greatly dreading the day of Fru Har- 
 rang's departure; and he was going to take 
 him for a walking-tour in the mountains, so 
 that he should not be on the spot just then. 
 
 When he said good-bye to Sister Ahna in 
 his clinic, he put a bank-note into her hand, 
 saying: "Buy some nice cakes now and then 
 for little Marie, but don't say they're from 
 me." 
 
 What was coming to the doctor! She had 
 never seen him like this before with any 
 patient. Was he beginning to get some of 
 that rhythm into his mind, of which he had 
 lately spoken, so that he would perhaps begin 
 to play the violin again? 
 
 All the afternoon the place seemed so 
 empty without him. Not long before, she 
 had been sitting up one night jvith a blind 
 boy who had cerebritis, and just after mid- 
 night the door had opened quietly, and the 
 
The Face of the World 261 
 
 doctor had Some in ; and then these two grown- 
 up people had sat there, one on each side of 
 the bed, looking after this child together. 
 
 Now he had gone away, and she felt as if 
 she must be more vigilant than ever, in order 
 that nothing wrong should occur while he was 
 away. 
 
 She went through the wards again, and saw 
 Marie,, the little princess, lying with "Synnove 
 Solbakken" in her hand and tears in her eyes, 
 and laughing. 
 
 In a room on the other side of the passage 
 there lay a queer fellow, a Norwegian- Amer- 
 ican, who had recently undergone an opera- 
 tion for hernia. He was from some place on 
 the coast, and had been in America for a 
 great many years, but was now going home 
 to marry the love of his youth ; but on his way 
 through the town he had fallen ill, and while 
 in the hospital this hard, dry man of fifty had 
 fallen in love with Sister Alma. It was not 
 the first time that this sort of thing had hap- 
 pened, but she was always inclined to laugh. 
 He was on his way home to marry an old 
 
262 The Face of the World 
 
 maid who had perhaps waited lor him for 
 twenty years, and had now — fallen in love 
 ivith her I Every time she went in to him, 
 he whispered with emotion: "I love you I" 
 How could she do anything hut laugh? And 
 yet what would happen when he had to leave 
 the hospital and go home? 
 
 Ivar Holth had gone into the town with 
 the doctor. On the quays they stopped, and 
 the doctor, pointing up to the mountain above 
 his mother's house, said: "Have you ever 
 been to that little farm up there? I always 
 think it's like a picture hanging on a wall, and 
 it must be pretty difficult to get up to, for I 
 can't see so much as a path even." 
 
 Ivar laughed. "I climbed up there one day 
 a couple of years ago," he said, "but it was 
 really dangerous. They're a queer old couple 
 that live up there, I can tell you! They have 
 two cows and some fowls; and they never see 
 a hxmian being from year's end to year's end. 
 They hate town people, and if any go up, 
 the old man sometimes takes his gun to them." 
 
 "I must go up some day," said Harold. 
 
The Face of the World 263 
 
 In the afternoon he went for a walk along 
 the shore with his mother. It was a stUl, mild 
 autumn day, with patches of yellow showing 
 here and there among the trees on the slopes, 
 and the water as smooth as glass. He was 
 telling her something he had just read in the 
 New York Herald about the English india- 
 rubber plantations in South America — in Bo- 
 livia, it was. They made the natives carry 
 and drag indiarubber in quantities far beyond 
 himian strength, or, failing to do so, they were 
 whipped. Weary mothers might be seen with 
 a child at their breast and their burden of 
 indiarubber on their shoulders ; they were foot- 
 sore and bleeding, they went on until they 
 dropped, but had to struggle up again and 
 stiU drag themselves along; for if they 
 brought too little indiarubber they would be 
 flogged. "The shareholders in London get 
 two hundred per cent.," said Harold. "That's 
 a nice story, isn't it, mother?" 
 
 Fru Mark sighed and looked across the bay. 
 If only he would give up reading news- 
 papers! 
 
264 The Face of the World 
 
 A little while after she smiled and tried to 
 give a brighter color to his thoughts by say- 
 ing: "What's this I hear about you, Harold? 
 I'm told you danced nearly the whole evening 
 with one young lady out at Consul Mohn's!" 
 
 "Oh, is that what's occupying your 
 thoughts?" he said, raising his eyebrows. 
 
 "And since then you've been for a walk 
 with her two or three times, and you've never 
 mentioned it to me." 
 
 "I'd quite forgotten it, mother. But thank 
 heaven we still have little visits from youth, 
 only unfortunately they're all too short." 
 
 "What nonsense! Why, you're not forty 
 yet!" 
 
 "Much obliged!" 
 
 "Would you like me to ask your little lady 
 friend to spend an evening when you come 
 back?" 
 
 "Oh, no, mother!" he answered with a melan- 
 choly smile. "For between ourselves she's 
 much too stupid, or I'm much too wise. But 
 if only we were grasshoppers and could al- 
 
The Face of the World 265 
 
 ways be dancing together, we should suit one 
 another down to the ground." 
 
 His mother looked out over the water and 
 sighed again. 
 
 "How is your friend the steward getting 
 on now?" she asked. 
 
 "Ivar Holth? Oh, pretty well. But ise 
 don't determine how things are to go with 
 us; our surroundings decide that." 
 
 "Oh, do you think so!" she exclaimed, stop- 
 ping to look at him as she lifted her skirt 
 to avoid the mud. "Then I think he must be 
 all right now, with you looking after him as 
 you do." 
 
 They turned and went back towards the 
 town. Harold glanced at his mother. How 
 simple a matter it all was to her ! Ivar Holth 
 had now been helped, he had food and cloth- 
 ing and social reinstatement, and nothing was 
 wanting but old age insurance. 
 
 This was the mother who had sent him those 
 serious letters in his joyous youth, and been 
 his conscience whenever he had enjoyed him- 
 self. He did not then understand that her 
 
266 The Face of the World 
 
 seriousness suited her so uneominonly well. 
 It gave her the best conscience in the world. 
 She did what she had to do. The world, for 
 her, was only what she herself managed to 
 make bettej.; the rest, humanity itself, or 
 what lay outside the town and her pro- 
 grams, she might just show some interest 
 in, but it was never of any great consequence, 
 and robbed het of neither sleep nor appetite. 
 That was the way to live a healthy life! If 
 only she could have taught him that too! 
 
 The two men went off together. They left 
 the steamer at the head of a fjord, and with 
 knapsack on back started up the vaUey, as- 
 cended a slope on to a heath, and slept that 
 first night in a saeter on the moor. 
 
XVIII 
 
 DuKiNG the first mild days of September 
 they wandered over moor and heath. Behind 
 them lay mountains with a fissure in them; 
 and deep down at the bottom of this there 
 was probably a fjord. As they ascended 
 higher and higher, the heavy sea-air became 
 lighter and lighter, until now they were 
 breathing in only a pale blue sky. Oh, the 
 days up there! So pure, so bathed in light 
 and quivering with bright transparency. The 
 ling on mountain and moorland, which had 
 been green in the summer, was now rosy with 
 bloom. An eagle hung high above a shining 
 lake, which reflected the golden leafage of the 
 dwarf trees surrounding it. The lowing of 
 cattle could be heard, and flocks of horses 
 lifted their heads to gaze at the two men. 
 The report from the guns of grouse-shooters 
 roused the echoes, and so still was the air that 
 
 267 
 
268 Tlie Face of the World 
 
 the smoke lay motionless like pieces of cotton 
 wool. 
 
 During the first few days Ivar Holth was 
 in the best of spirits, always ready to talk, 
 and interested in eveirything they came across. 
 It did him good; fresh regions of his thoughts 
 were reawakened, and he left off touching his 
 everlasting wound; he still felt it, but put con- 
 straint upon himself, and vowed that there 
 should be no more of it. He talked with the 
 doctor about distant lands, and was always 
 asking about Paris, about England, and about 
 new discoveries in medicine. He told Harold 
 a little of what he himself had read when he 
 was head clerk — Schopenhauer, Stuart Mill, 
 Pascal. It was such a pleasure to explore 
 these healthy regions of his mind ; he laughed 
 at almost nothing; and though he might be 
 tired, he was always asking whether he could 
 not carry something for the doctor. They 
 came down into little valleys where clusters 
 of saeters stood, and where they got milk and 
 something to eat, and either went on or slept 
 a night there and went on the next morning. 
 
The Face of the World 269 
 
 Wliere were they going? They did not 
 know. Ivar Holth was only going with the 
 doctor, and the doctor had compass and map; 
 they would come down somewhere to in- 
 habited regions, and why should they hurry? 
 
 "My word! how hot it is here!" said Harold, 
 rubbing his head with his cap. 
 
 "Yes, it's just like summer still!" said Ivar, 
 mopping his face with his handkerchief. 
 
 When they were tired with walking, they 
 lay down on the warm, red ling, with their 
 knapsacks under their heads, and gazed up 
 into the glorious blue symphony above them, 
 with its golden disc that shone and burned so 
 exceedingly. Their pulses beat gaily, and 
 their chests rose easily at every breath they 
 drew. On the bogs around they saw some 
 little lakes, all so still that they seemed to 
 be lying there thinking. And here they were. 
 Was it not splendid to be alive? 
 
 The only misfortune was that neither of 
 them could enjoy it any longer. They saw 
 very little of the country through which they 
 were passing; it no longer made any impres- 
 
270 The Face of the World 
 
 sion upon them. Ivar was already wishing to 
 return. Far away in the west, out by the sea, 
 she was still going about in the streets of a 
 little town where he had been very unhappy; 
 but he had already begun to wish he was back 
 again. He had found out that this walking- 
 tour was a trick of the doctor's to keep him 
 away from home when she went away, and 
 from seeing her the last few days she was 
 there. He had been carried oif by his 
 benefactor, who meant well; but his benefactor 
 did not understand that the farther he 
 dragged him away from the town, the nearer 
 did it come to him in a way. She — and the 
 others — and his own bleeding wound, only 
 became more alive the farther he went from 
 them. 
 
 This evening he meant to go back. He 
 could not help it if the doctor was offended, 
 but he would go no farther this evening, and 
 the next morning he would set out on his 
 way home. 
 
 "I believe that's Hallingskarv over there," 
 said Harold, stopping and looking through 
 
The Face of the World 271 
 
 his field-glasses. "There's newly-fallen snow 
 on it, do you see? How it sparkles against 
 the blue sky!" 
 
 "Yes, it must be Hallingskarv," said Ivar, 
 borrowing the glasses and trying to see. i 
 
 But he would turn back this evening. 
 
 Harold, too, was so astonished that this 
 glorious mountain region where he had longed 
 to be did not make any impression upon him 
 now. He was free, the twelve hours of the 
 day were his and his alone, he was healthy, 
 strong, and still young; and here, under this 
 dome of light which arched over the earth — 
 was it not good to be here either? There was 
 something he missed, not his patients, not his 
 mother, not his home, but the newspapers. 
 Those daily impulses to his mind that made 
 him so wide-awake, that gave him an excuse 
 for anger, indignation, or offence — ^they were 
 not here. That was a pity. He missed his 
 daily wrath. His thoughts searched for it, 
 and he felt it was sad, and yet it always took 
 him by surprise, again and again. Ah! when 
 he was a young student, he used to look at a 
 
272 TJie Face of the World 
 
 landscape as other people listen to music, and 
 hills and sea and sky flowed through him in 
 joy and gladness. That was long ago. Now 
 he was looking at HaUingskarv, but his real 
 consciousness was busy with the indiarubber 
 plantations in Bolivia, and with the new 
 Morocco conflict, which would perhaps bring 
 about a world- war; and he saw the war, saw 
 the various nations of the earth move out, 
 weapon in hand. And why? Because the 
 industrial magnate required still more foreign 
 soil, and therefore the nations were to begin 
 to slay one another. There was not one in 
 a hundred thousand who had any concern in 
 it, but nevertheless they were to kill one 
 another. This, O human mind, is thy present- 
 day divinity 1 
 
 "Where are we going to sleep tonight?" 
 asked Ivar. 
 
 "I thought we could get as far- as Oset 
 Sjeter. It's a boarding-house, and there'U 
 probably be late papers there, so that we can 
 see if there's anything new happening in the 
 world." 
 
The Face of the World _ 273 
 
 "My foot's beginning to be bad," said Ivar, 
 walking, on sullenly and slowly. "I'm afraid 
 I've got it chafed." And he pulled his knap- 
 sack higher up his back, and looked cross and 
 tired. 
 
 "Let me look at your foot I We can sit 
 down here, and you can take off your boot 
 and stocking. I've got some plaster." 
 
 At Oset Ivar wanted to go back. 
 
 "Oh, nonsense!" said the doctor. "We'll 
 both turn our faces homewards when we've 
 taken in all the air we need. ^You've only 
 got to come with me." 
 
 His wiU was strong. Ivar concealed his 
 disappointment, his defiance, his impatience 
 to retiu-n. He went on, but saw nothing of 
 the regions they were traversing. 
 
 One evening they were up on the Valdres 
 mountains, and were fishing in a lake whose 
 waters reflected the stormy, yellow glow of 
 the clouds, while opposite them rose the moun- 
 tain NorkaUen with its blue-black sides and 
 tawny shoulders. Ivar rowed, and Harold 
 had an otter out; but the fish would not bite. 
 
274 The Face of the World 
 
 for there was no wind. The board of the 
 otter cut obliquely through the water like a 
 little ship at the end of the line. 
 
 They were going to sleep at a saeter that 
 night, where there were two dairy-maids. If 
 only Ivar could be made to see that they were 
 both young and pretty 1 
 
 "Is your mother still living, Ivar?" 
 
 "No; mother died many years ago," said 
 Ivar, turning his face away towards the west. 
 
 "Have you many brothers and sisters?" 
 
 *'N'o; only one brother and Inga. He's in 
 Alaska, working in a saw-mill." 
 
 "I think we'll row back now, and help the 
 girls milk," said Harold, beginning to haul in 
 his otter. 
 
 The two fair-haired girls looked at one an- 
 other and laughed at these town-men who 
 helped them to rake the dung out of the cow- 
 shed, and light the fire on the hearth in the 
 living-room. 
 
 Harold found a concertina on the shelf, and 
 after supper the four of them made a regular 
 dancing evening of it. Harold was cheerful 
 
The Face of the World 275 
 
 for the sake of his companion, and it really 
 looked as if Ivar were waking up and holding 
 the girls firmly round the waist as though 
 he were really enjoying it. A flicker of youth 
 must have shot up within him. If only it 
 would last! 
 
 They slept together in a little room, on 
 a high mattress with a coverlet over it, "If 
 only he would go in to the girls!" thought 
 Harold ; but Ivar lay down, put his hand over 
 his eyes, and pretended he was asleep. 
 
 "You who were to fill his mind with fresh- 
 air thoughts on this tour," said Harold to him- 
 self, "you're only taking him with you and go- 
 ing on thinking about your own affairs. And 
 he hides his soul from you. It's a case of 
 making a diagnosis when the patient lies to 
 you, or of sympathising with a misfortime, 
 comforting in sorrow, when your friend covers 
 it over with words and smiles. 
 
 "And we two are wandering over the most 
 beautiful regions in the world, and our minds 
 are closed to it all. What will be the end of 
 the world-conflict? It follows my steps over 
 
276 Tlie Face of the World 
 
 the moors like a dark mirage, and he, I sup- 
 pose, has an even darker one; and the sun 
 shines in vain upon us both. 
 
 "We and the others — all the hunted beings 
 of today — ^we have lost the power to be 
 thrilled by anything natural and beautiful in 
 the world. Close your eyes on the moor, and 
 what do you see? Lay your ear to the warm, 
 flowering ling, and what do you feel? Can 
 you be intoxicated by the joy of the moment? 
 The leaves that fall now in September — ^they 
 can. The May-fly can. The child can. But 
 you cannot! 
 
 "Your home is the newspaper, your normal 
 state of mind is vexation over the evil in the 
 world, and the day's work is only for the pur- 
 pose of making the time pass. 
 
 "If one could only kneel some day in deep 
 adoration of something! At the back of every- 
 thing there must surely be a fundamental 
 soul to the universe, of which you are a ray! 
 Shine then I But how? 
 
 "There's some one lying beside you, isn't 
 there? Where wiU you find a little light to 
 
The Face of the World 277 
 
 fill him with, so that he does not fall into 
 some catastrophe? 
 
 "Are you asleep, Ivar?" 
 
 Ivar's hand was still covering his eyes, and 
 he seemed to be sound asleep. 
 
 There was an intolerable number of gnats. 
 The little hvmmiing imps approached with 
 their irritating song, and settled on cheek, or 
 forehead, or lip. 
 
 Towards morning Harold got up quietly, 
 redressed, and went out. 
 
 The morning air was chiU. He heard the 
 ptarmigan calling in the thicket, probably 
 gathering her brood together after they had 
 been scattered the day before by the guns. 
 His feet made a dark path across the frosty 
 grass, a cow-bell moved in the long cowshed, 
 there was a sound of running streams among 
 the hills, and the red light of day began to 
 tinge the east. 
 
 Harold sat down upon a stone, and sup- 
 ported his chin upon his hands. It was so 
 tieaceful and quiet out here now. There was a 
 peculiar pleasure in knowing that the tourists 
 
278 The Face of the World 
 
 had left the mountains, and that the boarding- 
 houses were closed; the mountain plateau was 
 for the solitary wanderer, and for the winter 
 which would soon cover it all with snow. 
 
 An infinite peace rested upon the pale, si- 
 lent morning landscape. The noisy brooks 
 would soon be dumb ice, but now they bab- 
 bled. And they were certain of a spring when 
 they would come to life again. What are 
 you? 
 
 "You live," he said to himself. "You are 
 alive now. You have the will to the infinite, 
 but you are incapable of transforming this 
 feeling of infinity into pleasure, into worldly 
 dehghts, into harmony with the great festal 
 rhythm of the universe. But surely that was 
 what was intended? That was what we all 
 should do. Otherwise— what otherwise? 
 
 "If you yourself cannot, then you must 
 take this young man with the soft mind, and 
 lead him there. He really has a great deal 
 of music in his soul — that much you have no- 
 ticed. Do you think it will be of any use? 
 Is it in your power to re-create him, make him 
 
The Face of the World 279 
 
 strong and rich and great? If so — ^well, if so, 
 there is salvation for us all. We are of the 
 same material. Every single human being is 
 a little mankind in himself. Do you believe 
 in it? Do you remember your old dream of 
 the tmited march — towards what? We surely 
 have to go somewhere? There is a red dawn 
 for which we are making, and of which all 
 religions are a reflection. Do you believe that 
 some day mankind will arrive at the sacred 
 hour when they will have time to sit quietly 
 down and let the hymn of the universe roll 
 jubilantly through their thoughts and minds? 
 Do you believe that? Otherwise — ^what other- 
 wise?" 
 
 The sun rose. The mountains stood a pale 
 copper-color against the sky, the lakes re- 
 flected rosy clouds, the dew upon grassy slopes 
 and knolls turned to gold dust. He would 
 go in now and make coffee, and take some to 
 the girls before they got up. 
 
 Then the two men continued their wander- 
 ings — two gray figures moving over mountain 
 and moorland, in rain and mist and wind, be- 
 
280 The Face of the World 
 
 neath sun and stars, each accompanied by his 
 own mirage, those scattered strips of the world 
 that were their life. 
 
 "Hullo! there's Jotunheim!" exclaimed 
 Harold, getting out his field-glasses again. 
 They gazed out over an ocean of billowing blue 
 and white mountains, towards a giant billow 
 in the far north, which seemed to foam up 
 into heaven itself. "Oh, yes!" said Ivar. 
 "That's Jotunheim sure enough!" 
 
 There were only a few days now before she 
 would be going away, and here was he, going 
 farther and farther away from her. He would 
 never see her again. Without her the town 
 would close over him like an ice-ceUar, full of 
 evil influences with oblique, bloodshot eyes. It 
 made him sick to think about it. He felt he 
 could go no farther; his feet refused to carry 
 him. 
 
 His excuse was pain in his knees, in his 
 stomach, in his head. Harold scolded, joked 
 and told amusing stories. 
 
 "Let's sit down here," he said, "and have 
 a pipe. Do you know, I was once staying at 
 
The Face of the World 281 
 
 Karasjok, and that's where love-making's car- 
 ried on in fur coats. Young people make love 
 out of doors under the rays of the northern 
 lights in a temperature of fifty degrees below 
 freezing, she in a fur coat, and he in a fur 
 coat. They embrace in fur coats, kiss in fur 
 coats, and recline on the snow in fur coats. 
 Perhaps it's snowing, but they don't notice it 
 and get buried under the snow; and the next 
 morning the fathers have to go about with 
 long sticks to poke into the snow, to find the 
 various loving couples. What do you think 
 of that?" 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha!" 
 
 They came one day to a place from which 
 they could see down into Gudbrandsdal. It 
 was a new district. There lay sunburnt houses 
 with smoke ascending from their chimneys. 
 They came down to Lillehammer, and went 
 over the folk-museum at Maihaugen, where 
 they saw the old farms, the comfortable old- 
 time homes from up the valley. 
 
 "Tomorrow is the day she's leaving," 
 thought Ivar; but he kept it to himself, for 
 
282 Tie Face of the World 
 
 now he hated the man who was dragging him 
 along with him. 
 
 They were standing in the old Gudbrands- 
 dal living-room, with its open hearth and 
 leaded window-panes, and everything in it 
 handmade. Harold sat down on a chair and 
 looked about him, absorbed in all that he saw, 
 drinking it in, hearing, as it were^ the echo of 
 forgotten tones, which it was a delight to lis- 
 ten to again. 
 
 "I say, Ivar, do you know what this is? 
 It's a real human home; the people actually 
 lived in their own home. In the present day 
 we may have our own house and our own 
 furniture, but all the same it's a hotel we live 
 in; there's nothing made with our own hands, 
 nothing born out of our own dreams; it's all 
 bought with money, and brought from far and 
 near. But here! The man himself or his 
 father made it all in peaceful hours. Per- 
 haps a httle girl in a red petticoat ran chat- 
 tering about the room and laughed at a shav- 
 ing, and the man made this childish chatter 
 into a story, and carved it on a soup-ladle. 
 
The Face of the World 283 
 
 The grown-up daughter wove variegated fig- 
 ures into draperies while she dreamed of the 
 lover who would surely come some day; and 
 the woven picture was hung on the wall in the 
 best room. And the whole became a home for 
 people, a shelter for the mind, a frame for the 
 soul. Their horizon extended probably no 
 farther than to the confines of their farm, 
 about which they were at law with their neigh- 
 bor; but here, as a set-off, there was a per- 
 sonality. Dear me! how happy those people 
 were! They didn't read the papers. They 
 didn't care a hang about anything in the wide 
 world. They had a home! 
 
 "That's what you must have, Ivar. You 
 must marry and get a home. I've never had 
 one and never shall have; but you're young 
 still, and you must get hold of a pretty girl, 
 confound you!" 
 
 It was the worst thing he could have said 
 to his companion just then. Ivar smiled a bit- 
 ter smile. "I ! A home !" was all he said ; but 
 he thought: "That home will be a dark one!" 
 
284 The Face of the World 
 
 Then they started on their homeward jour- 
 ney. 
 
 "It's too late nowl" thought Ivar. "I shall 
 never see her again 1" 
 
XIX 
 
 When the west wind, accompanied by the 
 autumn rains, rolled volmnes of dark cloud in 
 from the sea, it tore across the bay with such 
 impetuosity that chain-cables broke, boats 
 were driven ashore, and huge waves washed 
 right up to the houses. The old landing-stages 
 stood upon their piles in the sea like fabled 
 animals that dared not venture out any far- 
 ther; but they creaked in the long October 
 nights, while the hoisting-tackle shrieked, and 
 tiles flew about the town and people who were 
 out late had their umbrellas turned inside out 
 and were obliged to cling to the house-walls 
 for support. Far out in the west could be 
 heard the dull sound of the ocean itself as it 
 dashed itself once more upon the rocks and 
 islands as if to tear them away. "It's to be 
 hoped we shan't have bad news from the sea 
 tonight!" old people said as they put out their 
 lamps and crept into bed to dream of ship- 
 
 285 
 
286 The Face of the World 
 
 wreck and wreckage drifting ashore, and of 
 cries for help from the darkness far out. 
 These were familiar dreams in this town, 
 whose sons were always on the sea. 
 
 On an evening such as this, Ivar Holth was 
 sitting in the little room in which the four chil- 
 dren were sleeping, the youngest girl with her 
 doll upon her arm. It was not far from mid- 
 night, and he should have been in bed him- 
 self; but he knew he would not be able to 
 sleep. It was best to keep his eyes open, for 
 then he saw the children in their innocent 
 sleep ; and if he shut them he saw all the time 
 the town where she no longer was, the town 
 with the distorted face, which jeered at him 
 because he had to be there without knowing 
 her to be close by — ^the town with the himdreds 
 of eyes that only blinked at him and wished 
 him ill. He had heard through street-boys 
 that he was now called the chimpanzee. Dr. 
 Mark's monkey. Well, it was strange that 
 that man should have enticed him away those 
 last few days she was here. Suppose it were 
 an experiment! Suppose he had only wanted 
 
The Face of the World 287 
 
 to read his expression and observe his suffer- 
 ings! Suppose it were only another experi- 
 ment when he appointed him steward, an ex- 
 periment on the animal, an inoculation of the 
 chimpanzee! He could not bear to think of 
 it, but he ground his teeth and clenched his 
 fists. If it was true he would — ^he would hke 
 to go out to the white house and — and do 
 something dreadful. 
 
 But today he had had another experience. 
 Lawyer Gundahl had come up to him in the 
 street and begged him to join a choral society. 
 "You sing like a thrush, young man; I re- 
 member that from long ago. And you'll be 
 able -to put feeling into your singing, for 
 you're animated by an ardor that the rest of 
 us lack, ha, ha!" 
 
 "Many thanks!" said Ivar, and tried to es- 
 cape, but the other held on to him. 
 
 "I envy you, young man. Yes, seriously I 
 would gladly exchange with you. We others 
 all have our hearts filled with professional 
 jealousies, hatred, deceit, and the gossip of a 
 little town; but you — ^you have a sacred sor- 
 
288 The Face of the World 
 
 row, like Dante, or Petrarch, or Byron. 
 There's oilly one thing I don't understand, 
 though, and that is that you can submit to his 
 beating her. He comes home drunk, and the 
 neighbors hear the blows and her wails; and 
 that even now when she's expecting a child! 
 Well, well, she's gone now, but " 
 
 "Good-bye!" said Ivar, tearing himself 
 away. 
 
 He was sitting now thinking that perhaps 
 the lawyer had spoken the truth. Now and 
 then he shook his head. It seemed unlikely, 
 and yet just now he was unable to believe any- 
 thing except what was evil. 
 
 Beat her! And she was gone! But the 
 captain was still living in their old house; he 
 was to be there another week. 
 
 Did he beat her? Her! And she was ex- 
 pecting a baby. She! And with him! With 
 him! 
 
 But it was not that, on the whole, that hurt 
 him most; it was a deep, painful wonder as 
 to when it — ^when it took place. 
 
 If he had had a friend so dear that he could 
 
The Face of the World 289 
 
 have confided everything to him, everything, 
 and asked for counsel and help for all the sor- 
 rows in the world, he could not have gone to 
 him with this. The very best of friends would 
 have burst out laughing. "When it hap- 
 pened? Ha, ha! You must really ask them 
 about that." It was ridiculous, of course, and 
 yet it hurt him so, and burnt deeper and deeper 
 into the tenderest part of his heart. When 
 did it happen? 
 
 Perhaps one evening when he had sat upon 
 the steps and felt the exquisite pain of know- 
 ing that she was undressing upstairs, that she 
 had got into bed and drawn the clothes over 
 her splendid, young body, that he came up 
 and that they were together. And he himself 
 •had sat below, the window was darkened and 
 they two were alone with one another up 
 there. 
 
 When did it happen? It was as if a knife 
 were driven into him each time, so that his 
 face was distorted with pain. When — ^when 
 did it happen? 
 
 The children slept on, sometimes talking in 
 
290 The Face of the World 
 
 their sleep. A small lamp was burning. The 
 town was dark and filled with the noises of the 
 autumn storm, and the night was long. 
 
 What should he do with the children? For 
 this could not go on. What in the world 
 should he do with Inga's little ones? 
 
 He felt that he was drifting towards some- 
 thing terrible. The town should have its way; 
 he was no longer able to resist. One after 
 another the things to which he had clung gave 
 way; the doctor was the last. If people took 
 him for a chimpanzee, they should have what 
 they wanted. 
 
 But the children! 
 
 Oh, if he could only sleep 1 What would 
 he not give to be a child himself! There they 
 lay in their patched nightgowns, dreaming 
 perhaps of their mother. 
 
 He felt himself so strangely unworthy to 
 sit beside them. He was defiled with the mire 
 in which the town had plunged him, last of all 
 Dr. Mark. It would never do for him to be 
 with these little ones every day, to have them 
 climbing on to his knee, putting their arms 
 
The Face of the World 291 
 
 round his neck, and calling him Uncle. No, 
 no, it would never do! 
 
 And it was not easy to say what might hap- 
 pen now. 
 
 Tomorrow he would send the housekeeper 
 with all four out to Askoen to his old father, 
 who lived in a little cottage there on his pen- 
 sion as parish clerk. There they would he safe 
 whatever happened. 
 
 Perhaps, then, it was the last evening he 
 would sit beside their beds where they lay 
 sleeping safely and happily. There was noth- 
 ing to be done about that. 
 
 The next morning he dressed as usual, and 
 in the afternoon he went with the children and 
 the housekeeper down to the ship that was to 
 take them out to Askoen. The storm had 
 abated somewhat, and the distance was not 
 great. 
 
 "My father has written for them," he said 
 to the woman; and he handed her a good sum 
 of money to be given to the old man. "Good- 
 bye, children!" And he kissed them all four, 
 
292 The Face of the World 
 
 and gave each of them a packet of good 
 things. 
 
 When they were gone he set out for the hos- 
 pital, but, on arrival there, turned away with- 
 out going in. He could not bring himself to 
 see the doctor again, and he did not know 
 what would happen if he met him in the street. 
 He wandered about among the hills at the 
 back of the town, looking at the white horses 
 in the bay, and letting the rain beat in his 
 face. When he got home at dusk, there was 
 nothing to eat, and no one in the house, and 
 all the rooms were cold. All he had had that 
 day was coiFee in the morning, but he was 
 certainly not hungry now either. 
 
 He locked the door and puUed down the 
 blinds, and sitting on a chair beside the stove, 
 stared into the darkness. All the vultures 
 of his thoughts attacked the tenderest places; 
 but no good feeling succeeded in coming suffi- 
 ciently near to be anything to cling to. 
 
 When did it happen? 
 
 Chimpanzee I 
 
 Steps outside became less frequent. He 
 
The Face of the World 293 
 
 would not take the trouble to look at the 
 clock. Perhaps it was late. Perhaps it was 
 midnight or past. 
 
 Some one opened the garden gate, and steps 
 approached. He recognised them, and invol- 
 untarily grasped the chair as if to hold him- 
 self tight. There was a knock at the door, 
 but he did not move; then Dr. Mark's voice 
 called: "Are you in, Holth? Are you ill? 
 Let me in if you're at home! You know it's 
 me, Holth! Holth! Are you there?" 
 
 Oh, that voice that had once been so dear 
 to him! That man who had once saved him! 
 Chimpanzee! Had lie come to try a new ex- 
 periment? 
 
 Now he was knocking at the window, but 
 Ivar sat motionless. The doctor spoke again. 
 "Are you there, Ivar?" There was a long 
 pause, and then the steps receded, and there 
 was only the storm out there in the night. 
 
 At last Ivar rose, went into the kitchen and 
 put a box of matches into his pocket. He 
 passed out into the passage, put on his coat" 
 and hat, and went out, locking the door after 
 
294 The Face of the World 
 
 him and putting the key in his pocket, and 
 then set out aimlessly for the town. He had 
 forgotten his umbrella, but that did not mat- 
 ter; and he had to keep a continual hold on 
 his hat to prevent it from flying away. The 
 sea roared in the harbor where the ships were 
 tossing on the great waves. Most of the 
 houses were dark as he passed them. Yes, 
 here was the laughing-stock of the town again, 
 and the hundreds of eyes had closed for a mo- 
 ment; but tomorrow they would open again, 
 and they would have something to rejoice over 
 when their glance feU upon him in the street 
 — perhaps. 
 
 He did not know how he had come out to 
 the white house. Was it through a dim in- 
 stinct to clutch at a straw? The doctor's win- 
 dow might be lighted up, and perhaps he 
 ought to go up and ask if it were really true 
 that — Oh, but one doesn't ask about such 
 things, for it's only ridiculous. Things like 
 that hurt, but one says nothing. One feels 
 lonely each time the snake-bites become swol- 
 
The Face of the World 295 
 
 len, but one is only betrayed if one is stupid 
 and complains, even to a good friend. 
 
 But the white house was dark, too. ISTo! 
 Upstairs there was a light behind the dark 
 blind. The doctor must be reading in bed as 
 usual. But knock? Go up there? The chim- 
 panzee indeed! 
 
 The town slept. A solitary policeman 
 paced the quays in the storm, and he saw a 
 dark figure hasten past with collar turned up 
 and hat pulled down over his eyes. A doctor 
 perhaps, who has been rung up, or some one 
 going home from a festive gathering; for who 
 else would be out in such a night? 
 
 The west wind came in gusts across the bay, 
 and played with the tiles on the roofs ; and up 
 in the mountains it began to whirl round as if 
 trying to find some hole through which to 
 make its escape. But every place was closed, 
 and it divided and rose into the air or re- 
 turned to the town, blowing all its trumpets, 
 then met a relative from the sea, and joined 
 it in a new dance. 
 
 Carpenter Wium was just coming ashore 
 
296 The Face of the World 
 
 from a toddy-party with the steward of the 
 North StaTj which was on her way south with 
 fish-oil. Outside the chemist's — on whose first 
 floor Captain Harrang lived — ^Wium stopped 
 to set his hat more firmly on his head and to 
 steady himself on his legs. "Look there, 
 ladies and gentlemen! It's shining, it's smok- 
 ing 1 It surely isn't a fire?" But when a 
 flame really flickered out, he pulled himself 
 up, threw out his hand and made a speech. 
 "Ladies and gentlemen, this will be a valua- 
 tion business. It must be insured in 'Store- 
 brand,' so I shall get a job. Put it out? No 
 good trying. The house was an old one, I 
 know. Ha! there's the flame! It may become 
 serious. Rome's burning! And the watqh- 
 men are asleep!" And suddenly he began to 
 run, shouting: "Fire! Fire!" 
 
 Here and there a window was opened and 
 heads were put out. "Fire!" they repeated, 
 and shut the window. People began to run 
 down the stairs and to telephone "Fire! Fire!" 
 all over the town. 
 
XX 
 
 There was an a^"'^dance of inflammable 
 materials at the chemist's. The barrels of 
 spirits and ether caught fire, and gigantic 
 flames rose into the air accompanied by re- 
 ports. The west wind was ready to carry the 
 sparks about, and before the fire-engines ar- 
 rived, half the block of buildings was in 
 flames. 
 
 It grew light in all the narrow alleys where 
 half -dressed people began to run about in dis- 
 tress, one, in her bewilderment, carrying a 
 chair, another with a child wrapped up in a 
 blanket ; and all over the town there were cries 
 for wife, husband, mother, or money. Up the 
 hill, where as yet only volumes of smoke were 
 rolling in, furniture was being dragged out 
 into the street — bedding, pictures and butter- 
 tubs, one on the top of the other; but the next 
 moment there was a shower of burning frag- 
 
 297 
 
298 The Fcu:e of the World 
 
 ments, and every one dropped what he held in 
 his hand, and fled. 
 
 In a short space of time the entire town was 
 in a tumult, cries, shrieks, words of command 
 from the firemen and from persons in author- 
 ity, all intermingled. Bearers made their way 
 through a crowd with a stretcher on which lay 
 an old cripple, and a woman with her new- 
 born child was dragged away on a hand-cart 
 by her two little girls. From a gun and caj- 
 tridge-maker's shop, where there were cases 
 of ammunition and dynamite, a cannonade was 
 suddenly heard, and sparks rose high into the 
 air, while windows rattled as if there were an 
 earthquake. 
 
 The old landing-stages stood trampling on 
 the waves which splashed up to the dbors of 
 the ground-floor warehouses; and it was so 
 light all over the town that the inscription 
 "J. M. Randers & Son— Herrings & Fish," 
 in large black letters, could be read on one of 
 the walls. The wind, with its capricious gyra- 
 tions, had now covered half the town with a 
 sheet of flame and smoke, and was beginning 
 
The Face of the World 299 
 
 to send a shower of sparks over the quays 
 where the North Star, with her sleeping crew, 
 lay. As the men awoke and stumbled up on 
 deck, flames burst from the barrels of fish-oil; 
 and before the engines could be started, and 
 the large vessel manceuvred out from the quay, 
 she was alight in several places. Hoses were 
 turned on, captain and officers darted about 
 among the men, shouting, and a commercial 
 traveller jumped overboard and swam ashore; 
 and before they had gone very far, both crew 
 and officers took to the boats, the engineer 
 forgetting in his confusion to stop the engine, 
 so that the forsaken ship moved on towards 
 the dark bank of clouds in the west, a mass of 
 flame and smoke that lighted up the white 
 crests of the surrounding billows. 
 
 The other ships in the harbor also en- 
 deavored with ail speed to get away from 
 the burning town and the sparks that were 
 raining down over half the bay, and to keep 
 out of the way of this ill-omened ship, which 
 was still plunging aimlessly alcmg, but might 
 perhaps drift in again. She was leaning more 
 
300 The Face of the World 
 
 and more over to one side now, enveloped in 
 flickering flames, and at last, against the back- 
 ground of open sea, looked like a whirling 
 mass of fire and smoke. 
 
 Harold would have liked to go with his 
 mother to her school, but the hospital was the 
 more important. He begged his mother to 
 leave the town at once, and then dashed off. 
 As he passed the wine-merchant's, his hair 
 was singed by the flames; but sailors and the 
 riff -faff of the town were lying in the street, 
 licking up the yellow streams of wine and 
 spirits that were flowing from the burning 
 stores. In shipowner Prebensen's large white 
 house there was such confusion that an old 
 washerwoman came running out with a large 
 red down quilt, which she meant at any rate 
 to save from the flames. 
 
 Nearer the hospital there lay a large pe- 
 troleum-barge which had already caught fire, 
 and each time a barrel burst there was a dull 
 explosion that seemed as if it would bring 
 down the mountains. It was lighter now than 
 in the daytime, but with a strange, flickering 
 
The Face of the World 801 
 
 storm-light, blue and red and flame-yellow, 
 that made all faces look like those of maniacs. 
 
 There were two people, however, standing 
 up on the hills, who had escaped thither in 
 good time. They were Lawyer Gundahl and 
 his wife. He had brought his portfolio of 
 documents with him; and her gray cat lay 
 safely in the covered basket which she carried 
 in her hand. The rest was well insured, so 
 what did it matter? And they now stood in 
 the storm, looking down at the burning town, 
 so occupied in gazing that they were speech- 
 less and perhaps unaware that they were hold- 
 ing one another's hands. 
 
 Fru Mark had not left the town, however; 
 and there was something of greater impor- 
 tance to her than her school. This was a little 
 collection of twenty pictures for which she had 
 found a room in the Good Templar premises. 
 She had hoped that in time it might become 
 an art-gallery for the town; but now when she 
 got there, the whole of the long, yellow- 
 painted building was enveloped in flames. 
 Hardly knowing what she did, she was going 
 
302 The Face of the World 
 
 to rush in, but strong arms held her back, and 
 she turned away; and farther on in the town 
 she sank down on to a doorstep and began to 
 Tveep. 
 
 Far up on the mountain-side lay the little 
 farm with its two small buildings on a patch 
 of green, looking like a picture hanging on a 
 wall. The two old people had crept out and 
 were standing, each, for safety's sake, holding 
 a cow by the collar, and gazing down into the 
 accursed town below in the hollow that was 
 now beginning to fill with flame. 
 
 In the stillness of night at the hospital, 
 little Marie lay in her frame, with "Synnove 
 Solbakken" under her pillow. She heard 
 noises in the other wards, but she knew she 
 had to keep quite still. Then doors began to 
 bang, and people ran up and down the pas- 
 sages. Two women in the same room as she 
 sat up and took up the cry of "Fire !" One 
 of them had recently given birth to a child, 
 but she sprang out of bed. Little Marie was 
 infected by their fear, moved, and sat up. It 
 gave her great pain in her shoulder and back. 
 
The Face of the World 303 
 
 but she stumbled out of bed, dragging with her 
 the frame to which she was bound, and then 
 fell on the floor, crying that she wanted to go 
 home, and calling for her mother. 
 
 Windows were thrown open, and terrified 
 white forms leaned out as if with the intention 
 of leaping down. The sisters ran about try^ 
 ing to keep order, but they themselves were 
 bewildered. All the patients had left their 
 beds, the dying, delirious, some recently oper- 
 ated on, who should have lain stiU because of 
 their bandages — all stumbled about, fell, rose 
 and stumbled on again, driven by this weird 
 light, from the burning town. 
 
 "Here comes the doctor!" came the cry at 
 last through the corridors. "Get into bed and 
 don't worry 1 The doctor's coming!" 
 
 Harold saw at once that the hospital for the 
 moment was not threatened, but the wind 
 might veer round at any moment, and how 
 were more than a hundred patients to be res- 
 cued in a town where all the houses would 
 soon lie in ashes? How was he to get hold in 
 a hurry of people to carry them out, and what 
 
304 The Face of the World 
 
 was to be done with them? He dashed to the 
 telephone and rang up the police-station. 
 There was no answer: the station was prob- 
 ably in flames. To the fire-station — ^no an- 
 swer ; to the seamen's office — no answer. Next 
 time there was no answer from the Central 
 even; every one must have fled, or they were 
 paralysed with fear, or occupied in saving 
 their belongings. 
 
 "Oh, doctor!" — ^it was Sister Alma who 
 came running in. 
 
 "Where's the assistant physician?" 
 
 "We haven't seen him." 
 
 "And the porter?" 
 
 "He's here ; but the steward, Ivar Holth" — 
 
 She saw that the doctor suddenly turned as 
 white as a sheet, through fear other than that 
 of the fire; and for a second she stood motion- 
 less, but then had to take hold of something 
 to support herself. 
 
 Harold sent the porter out to bring in one 
 of the vessels that had anchored farther out in 
 the bay. "But as quick as you can!" 
 
 The old gray-beard hesitated. 
 
The Face of the World 305 
 
 r — ' ' ■ ' — . 
 
 "But, doctor 1 A little boat in such a sea!" 
 
 "Make haste, confound you!" thundered the 
 doctor, and the porter hurried off. 
 
 A fresh gust of wind had brought a shower 
 of burning fragments down upon the roof. 
 The patients would have to be removed in- 
 stantly. Harold had only three sisters to help 
 him, for every one from the kitchen depart- 
 ment had fled. The stretchers were brought 
 in, and he himself went from room to room to 
 endeavor to calm their occupants. Most of 
 them were induced to return to their beds, but 
 with a few he was compelled to use force. 
 "Quiet now! Don't excite yourselves!" 
 
 Would the porter manage to get a boat? 
 The patients would have to be carried down 
 into the garden in the meantime, despite their 
 thus having to lie in the open air. 
 
 "Bring a stretcher here. Sister Alma!" And 
 with brief orders he set the others to work. 
 
 "Is she to be saved — is she to be saved, and 
 not me?" was the cry from some of the beds, 
 when the burning fragments could be heard 
 beating against the windows. The confusion 
 
806 The Face of the World 
 
 began again, Harold thundered, and one after 
 another the stretchers were borne down the 
 stairs and out into the garden. The storm 
 raged out there, blankets were carried away 
 by the wind, and the patients screamed; but 
 they had to be deposited there and left to 
 themselves in the meantime. If only a boat 
 would come! 
 
 The yard had become one huge bed in 
 which the patients tossed and wailed, when a 
 steam whistle was heard from the beach. The 
 porter came to their aid, and a couple of 
 sailors from the large fishing-steamer that he 
 had brought, also came to help, Harold was 
 giving his orders ; but the next moment darted 
 into the house again, where the flames were 
 beginning to burst forth. 
 
 Day was dawning, a pale dawn coming up 
 from the sea; and stretchers carrying some- 
 thing white beneath fluttering coverings, were 
 visible passing in constant succession down to 
 the ship. Now and then one of these out- 
 stretched figures would raise his head and 
 shriek in delirium; some got away and tried to 
 
The Face of the World 807 
 
 flee ; while others had been allowed to stagger 
 along, half dressed and barefooted in the mud 
 and the icy blast. 
 
 "The roof's caught nowl" said Harold, as 
 he and Sister Alma came down once more with 
 a white burden upon their stretcher. 
 
 On board the boat the captain and mate and 
 a sister were busily engaged in arranging the 
 patients at the bottom of the hold, where they 
 had spread tarpaulins with blankets over them. 
 
 After the house was enveloped in smoke 
 and flame, Harold once more dashed in and 
 went through all the rooms to see if any one 
 had chanced to be left. In a room on the 
 second floor he thought he saw something 
 move under a bed, and going to it he got hold 
 of a foot, and dragged out the pale Nor- 
 wegian-American who had some time before 
 undergone an operation for hernia. 
 
 "What in the world are you up to?" 
 
 "Let me alone!" cried the man, struggling 
 to get free. 
 
 "Nonsense!" 
 
308 The Face of the World 
 
 "I don't want to live any longer. Why 
 mayn't I die?" 
 
 "Rubbish 1" The doctor had brought him 
 out to the stairs, but they were blazing. He 
 rushed to the window, opened it, and, seeing 
 that the yard was full of people, he shouted: 
 "Hullo there! Set up the fire-ladder here!" 
 
 Some of them ran round the corner of the 
 house, others crying: "Look! There's the 
 doctor! Up there, on the second floor!" 
 
 "A ladder! Quick! The stairs are on fire! 
 A ladder! A ladder!" 
 
 Some one came round the corner shouting: 
 "The ladder's padlocked to the wall! Where's 
 the key?" 
 
 "Harold!" cried some one from below. It 
 was Fru Mark who had come up, and was 
 standing wringing her hands. "He'll be burnt 
 alive! For God's sake, help him ! Help him!" 
 
 "It's impossible!" people cried, running 
 hither and thither. "The stairs are on fire !" 
 
 "Have you got a rope then?" Harold called 
 down calmly. "Make a knot at one end and 
 throw it up !" But at thfe same moment he re- 
 
The Face of the World 309 
 
 membered that there was a fire-escape ropie 
 coiled up under the bed in each room. This 
 he managed to get hold of and uncoil with one 
 hand, while with the other he kept a firm hold 
 of his captive, then tied the rope about his 
 waist, and after lifting him on to the window- 
 sill, slowly lowered him to the ground. 
 
 "Look! Look!" cried the people below. 
 
 The man came sailing down, his white shirt 
 fluttering round him, his thin, naked legs kick- 
 ing wildly, and his arms waving. He shrieked, 
 but he slowly reached the ground, where some 
 one took charge of him. 
 
 The roof now fell in with a crash. Harold 
 could feel the fire on the back of his neck, and 
 a puff of smoke blew into his face. After 
 feeling where the ring of the rope was fas- 
 tened, he climbed out on to the window-ledge, 
 took a firm hold of the rope and lowered him- 
 self over the edge. 
 
 "Look! There's the doctor!" 
 
 "Harold! Harold! Harold!" 
 
 They saw him hanging up there by his 
 bands, and feeling about with his legs for the 
 
310 ' The Face of the World 
 
 rope. He found it, but it looked as if it were 
 already on fire, and he himself was yellow in 
 the light of the flames ; but he gradually came 
 lower and lower, anxiously watched by the 
 crowd. Not until then did the fire-engines 
 arrive. 
 
 Up on the hills a man was wandering about 
 in mackintosh and sou'wester, and a stick in his 
 hand. It was Dr. Prahl. His family had 
 been brought to a place of safety, and he saw 
 it was useless to help to save things, so he 
 only gazed at the burning town, pale and with 
 a strange look in his eyes, and his whole body 
 in a cold sweat. He had thrown off his custo- 
 mary look of importance, for he felt as though 
 he were to blame for this, as if he had set fire 
 to the town by his own evil prediction; and 
 he did not cry in triumph: "Was I not right?" 
 He would like to have fled from the fact of 
 his being right. He had never imagined it 
 could be so terrible to be right. 
 
 The doctor! Mark! He must be helped! 
 He must help him now! 
 
 But just as he got there, the walls of the 
 
The Face of the World 311 
 
 hospital fell in, and people fled in all direc- 
 tions; and on the bay, the ship with the pa- 
 tients and the doctor on board was tossing on 
 the great waves. 
 
 When the sun rose upon the hills, parties 
 of half-dressed people were still to be seen 
 struggling along in the wind beside the bay 
 and up the little valley. Carts full of bedding 
 and children upset, and here and there, 
 startled by the flames, a horse would run away 
 with the wreckage of a cart behind it, sweep- 
 ing everything out of its way as it dashed 
 along. Fat shopkeepers might be seen per- 
 spiring behind wheelbarrows where they had 
 in all haste deposited a safe, and wealthy, 
 pampered ladies, with hair flying in the wind, 
 struggled along with one child in their arms 
 and another on their back — everywhere peo- 
 ple fleeing, everywhere screams and lamenta- 
 tion, and over all the great masses of cloud 
 rolling in from the sea, and when above the 
 town becoming as red as if the very sky were 
 on flre. 
 
 Among the fugitives a name began to be 
 
312 TJie Face of the World 
 
 called — ^two names. The fire must have been 
 the work of an incendiary! They turned and 
 saw their houses swallowed up in the flames, 
 and again a name was called. It must be he! 
 And the other who protected him? Ah! the 
 other! Look! There goes the school! Away, 
 away! 
 
XXI 
 
 On the mountain plateau between East and 
 West Norway, beside the line from Bergen 
 to Christiania, there stand some large hotels 
 where young people from half the countries in 
 Europe gather for the purposes of winter 
 sports. One day they all shut themselves up 
 in the large hall because everything outside is 
 hidden by driving snow; the next there is the 
 bluest of skies, and the sun tinges with red the 
 white plateaux and mountain-tops and the 
 great frozen lakes. The hotels then become 
 empty, and hundreds of skiers disperse in aU 
 directions over the white snowfields, some ap- 
 parently vanishing into thin air, but all re- 
 turning towards evening,, laughing and shout- 
 ing, with ruddy faces. It is as though both 
 lungs and soul have breathed in that clear, 
 unending sky. 
 
 In the middle of November, Sister Alma 
 alighted from the train up there, and faced 
 
 313 
 
314 The Face of the World 
 
 that immense winter scene. The huge masses 
 of snow had been swept up round the station, 
 and the air was keen and cold, causing her in- 
 voluntarily to raise her hand to her face. She 
 had come from the west, and it was still early 
 morning. She knew that Fru Mark was stay- 
 ing with her son at a little boarding-house on 
 the hill a short way off, where the guests were 
 few and the living simple. A boy from this 
 house had met the train; and when he had put 
 her trunk on his sledge, they both set off", the 
 snow crackling and creaking under their feet. 
 How should she find these two? How was 
 he, she wondered. She remembered him on 
 the night of the fire and the two days and 
 nights on board the ship before the half-de- 
 mented patients were brought in safety to the 
 neighboring town. And afterwards in Ber- 
 gen, where she had stayed with mother and 
 son at a hotel, and he had walked up and down 
 his room aU night. He had grown gray and 
 thin. He would not go out; he began to be 
 afraid of seeing people; and the two women 
 were at their wits' end. 
 
The Face of the World 315 
 
 At last his mother had persuaded him to 
 come up here with her. But since then there 
 had been bitter attacks upon hitn in the pa- 
 pers. The responsibility was laid upon him, 
 no one being satisfied with the fact that Ivar 
 Holth had appeared one day, and of his own 
 accord delivered himself up to the police, and 
 that he had now been sentenced to several 
 years' hard labor. 
 
 In the boarding-house no one was to be seen 
 except a couple of maids; but a message was 
 brought to the effect that Sister Alma could 
 go up to Fru Mark. 
 
 When she entered the little room, Fru Mark 
 was sitting at the dressing-table combing her 
 snow-white hair which flowed over her shoul- 
 ders. Being November, it was dark until far 
 on into the day, and a candle was burning 
 on each side of the white-framed looking- 
 glass. 
 
 "Why, my dear, I thought you weren't 
 coming until tomorrow!" said Fru Mark, ex- 
 tending her hand. 
 
 Sister Alma would have liked to fall on her 
 
316 The Face of the World 
 
 friend's neck, but at the moment she lacked 
 courage. There was always something about 
 this woman that seemed to say: "You may ap- 
 proach me, but not too near." 
 
 "How are you getting on here?" 
 
 "Oh, fairly well, thank you." 
 
 "Is he sleeping any better?" 
 
 "It's want of sleep that is the difficulty." 
 
 "But I suppose he doesn't always keep his 
 bed?" 
 
 "In the daytime he generally lies on it 
 dressed. Unfortunately he doesn't seem well 
 when he's up." And the older woman sighed. 
 
 "Shall I do your hair for you?" 
 
 "Yes, if you will." 
 
 While Sister Alma stood behind the other's 
 chair and wound the silvery plaits in a coil 
 low down at the back of her head, she hap- 
 pened to say: "What's become of that beauti- 
 ful silver comb that you used to wear in your 
 hair?" 
 
 Fru Mark smiled a melancholy smile into 
 the mirror. "Do you think I had any thought 
 for such things that night?" 
 
The Face of the World 317 
 
 "I remember you used to wear it every day. 
 People said it was — it was all that was left 
 of the rich lady of the manor." 
 
 Fru Mark smiled again. "Well, anyway, I 
 don't know what there can be left of her now." 
 
 "Oh, when you have a son like the doctor?" 
 
 "Yes, and have brought him up as I have 
 done." Fru Mark grew serious, and seemed 
 unwilling to look at herself in the glass. 
 
 "Brought him up? What do you mean by 
 that?" 
 
 After a short pause the other answered: 
 "I've sat here alone with my knitting, and had 
 plenty of time to think things over. Harold 
 was so happy and merry when he was young; 
 and I — I have been quite without understand- 
 ing of such things for many, many years. I 
 wrote him letters and admonitions about 
 wrong and unhappiness and mercy and all 
 that. I fancy it must have set its stamp upon 
 his life; but there has been no joy either for 
 himself or for others. , 
 
 "And I myself. Alma! I got so many 
 things started there for the improvement of 
 
318 Tie Face of ike World 
 
 the people, both the school, and a little art, 
 and the theatre, and the technical college; but 
 I sit here wondering whether people were 
 really any the better for it. 
 
 "Now I wish I could begin the bringing- 
 up of my son over again from the beginning; 
 but it's a little late in the day!" 
 
 "Don't you think you look rather too much 
 at the dark side of things? I'm certain the 
 doctor is of another opinion." 
 
 "The doctor! Yes!" Fru Mark rose. 
 "You know the doctor. He is never serious. 
 He keeps you at a distance with a kind of 
 gaiety. We have become such strangers to 
 one another as that!" 
 
 Later that morning Fru Mark went into 
 her son's room alone, and a peculiar instinct 
 prevented her from telling him that Sister 
 Alma had come. She wanted to try once 
 more whether, after all, she was not the only 
 person who could help him to pull himself 
 together again. 
 
 Harold had been up and had dressed, and 
 was now lying as usual in his shirt-sleeves on 
 
The Pace of the World 319 
 
 the bed, reading a book which he held in one 
 hand, while with the other he incessantly 
 stroked his grayish beard. 
 
 "Is that you, mother? Good morning!" 
 He held out his hand^ 
 
 "How are you today, Harold?" 
 
 "Splendid! I go on improving. Last night 
 I slept like a log." 
 
 Fru Mark could see by his red eyelids that 
 this was not true. 
 
 "But for that matter I'm not at all ill, 
 mother. It's only this laziness. I soon shan't 
 have the energy to dress and undress myself. 
 I wonder if there aren't machines that do that 
 for you." 
 
 "Now, Harold, what do you think of getting 
 up and going out today? You who were once 
 a prize-winner in sld-races " 
 
 "Well, mother, shall we two go ski-ing to- 
 gether?" 
 
 "Oh, nonsense! You know quite well we 
 didn't learn such things when I was young!" 
 
 "There you are!" he said playfully. "It's 
 
320 The Face of the World 
 
 just as I say — ^no one'U go with me; so I may 
 just as well stay in my comfortable bed." 
 
 Fru Mark sighed, sat down and looked at 
 him. He had glanced at his book again, but 
 now turned his head and smiled at her. 
 
 "Is it really true, Harold, that — ^that it isn't 
 possible for me — ^to help you to find pleasure 
 again in living?" Her voice sounded like a 
 sob. 
 
 "Living? Why, I'm living splendidly, 
 mother!" 
 
 "I mean ... I mean that you may be 
 really happy again." 
 
 "Oh, happy! We-ell — ^that's another mat- 
 ter. It may be my own fault." He sighed 
 faintly, and laying aside his book, put his 
 hands under his head and looked up at the 
 ceiling. "In that case you'd have to make the 
 world into something different from what it is 
 now, mother, or teach me to be something for 
 myself, and that's what you're well on the way 
 to do. I get brighter every day. I was hum- 
 ming a tune just now as I lay here." 
 
 Fru Mark sighed and looked out of the 
 
The Face of the World 321 
 
 window. "I do wonder why you never will 
 speak seriously to me." 
 
 He laughed and lay for a little while pull- 
 ing his moustache. Then he said: "Don't you 
 understand that it'll take some time for me to 
 find out what road I shall now have to take? 
 It's by no means easy. We've got to make 
 the best we can of the world, such as it is, 
 either with wine and women, or — or with a 
 belief — hm ! — or with a rope, or by putting all 
 one's dreams on the other side of the Styx, but 
 for that, unfortunately, I'm not strong enough 
 in geography. Well, well. . . . Have you re- 
 membered to send that money to Ivar Holth's 
 sister?" 
 
 "I sent it yesterday," said his mother, rising. 
 
 "Mother!" said Harold, holding out his 
 hand again. "Today you're to go out for a 
 drive. I've ordered a sledge. You can put 
 my fur coat on the top of yours. Don't say 
 no! It'll do you so much good." 
 
XXII 
 
 ThekE were now two women whose only 
 thoughts were to do Harold Mark good. 
 
 Sister 'Alma was not often in his room, but 
 he heard her step about the house, and it was 
 a pleasantly quiet step ; and there was a har- 
 moniousness about her manner that made it 
 soothing to know that she was near. 
 
 There was a piano in the dining-room, which 
 was next to Harold's room, and up to the 
 present it had been torture to him whenever 
 any one sat down to play there. Now it was 
 different. In the long, moonlight evenings 
 Sister Alma sat there and let forth golden 
 streams of sound that were for him, and him 
 only. 
 
 He did not know that every time she seated 
 herself at the piano, there was something defi- 
 nite she wanted to try; but she never had the 
 courage, although she had practiced it every 
 day of late. 
 
 322 
 
The Face of the World 823 
 
 His mother began to look cheerful when she 
 came into his room, and she had so many- 
 amusing stories to tell. It was as though she 
 exerted herself to show him little glimpses of 
 a world that was so much brighter than the 
 one into which he lay gazing. It moved him, 
 almost to tears. He really felt he would like 
 to get up and help her, so that she should not 
 strive in vain. 
 
 One evening at about six he was lying as 
 usual on his bed, with his hands under his 
 head. The lamp had not been lighted, but the 
 moon shone through the frost-covered win- 
 dow-panes onto the floor. The stove was 
 burning, and in the next room he heard Sister 
 'Alma, seat herself at the piano, and after a 
 few preliminary chords, begin to play. 
 
 Harold closed his eyes. This music brought 
 scenes before his mind's eye. He had had so 
 much time to lie and look into himself and 
 act plays in his head. Now the walls glided 
 away, and he once more began to wander 
 about in a strange throng. 
 
 There came Dr. Prahl and all the wise ones. 
 
324 The Face of the World 
 
 Dreanaer, he says. Reality has no room for 
 dreamers. Belief in mankind — ^well, see if 
 that is not a crime! Just see how it worked! 
 
 Harold saw the burning town, and began to 
 tremble. Sister Alma played on. 
 
 That is right. Dreams are a crime. Reali- 
 ties are money, robbery, police, p^isons^^and 
 war. The rest is nonsense. You who try to 
 take a share in everything that happens, you 
 with the wounded, bleeding world's-conscience, 
 you stretch yourself upon the cross and suffer 
 and bleed like a fool. You help no one. Real- 
 ity continues its course. 
 
 With that world-picture you are to get up 
 now and begin to live. 
 
 Faith ! Very well. The only thing that can 
 save me is faith. Faith in what? In an in- 
 visible ruler, who in his wisdom lets the world 
 go as it goes? 
 
 In progress? In mankind? What am I to 
 believe in? 
 
 Thank you! Now she has stopped in there. 
 Not even she and her music can tell me what 
 I am really to believe. 
 
The Face of the World 325 
 
 There was silence for a moment, and then 
 she began again. What? Surely he knew 
 that! It was — yes, it was Beethoven, and the 
 piano arrangement of the Ninth Symphony. 
 Would she get through it? 
 
 Cautiously and hesitatingly her hands 
 seemed to touch the sacred thing; but she went 
 on, and began, a little fearfully, but always 
 gaining in freedom, to unfold that universal 
 hymn, which brings together all the races of 
 mankind to rejoice in life. 
 
 Harold lay pulling his moustache and smil- 
 ing ironically. But he was so curiously anx- 
 ious to see whether she could manage it. He 
 knew that her heart was beating with fear that 
 she might be playing in vain now, too. It was 
 as though she came towards him in white sacer- 
 dotal robes, and held out to him, a bowl of 
 sacred fire. 
 
 Would she stumble? He closed his eyes. 
 He wanted to stretch out his hands and help 
 her. 
 
 Ah, that man has lived! He who created 
 that music has walked this earth — like youf 
 
826 The Face of the World 
 
 Have you included him in your world-picture? 
 Is it no comfort to you that he has lived? 
 
 And the others — are there not more? 
 
 lYou see only the milhons of Judas-souls 
 with steel, and blood, and money, and betrayal 
 — ^those that prophesy evil and are always 
 right. But are there not others besides them? 
 
 Do you see that monk from the plains of 
 Iran, sitting under a tree and dreaming the 
 dream of mankind? Has he lived in vain? 
 And the others? 
 
 A slave rises in Rome with a star on his 
 brow; one of his disciples becomes emperor of 
 the world. In Judasa the son of a carpenter 
 stands with some fishermen round him, and 
 takes water out of a well. Over the Italy of 
 the Renaissance rises a figure with a chisel in 
 his hand; in England a poet builds himself a 
 world-throne; and in France there stands an 
 old man with toothless mouth, holding aloft a 
 torch whose light flashes down through all 
 ages. Is it no consolation to you that these 
 men have lived? 
 
 They were dreamers like you. Yoji are 
 
The Face of the World 327 
 
 nothing, but you may surely bow down to 
 them. They carried a world-picture in their 
 breast, of which they wanted to know the 
 meaning — ^like you. They were powerless 
 against an armor-plated world — like you. 
 They suffered on a world-cross — like you. 
 
 They were dreamers, and yet they are the 
 torch-bearers in the procession of mankind; 
 and it is owing to them that there is not night 
 over the earth. 
 
 Perhaps a dreamers' day may come, when 
 judgment will be pronounced upon all the 
 wise men who always prophesied evU and were 
 always right. 
 
 Do you see a workman coming with a plank 
 on his shoulder and a spade in his hand to the 
 scene of a recent fire? What is he doing? 
 He is not thinking, is not suffering; he is only 
 beginning to work, to clear up, to build up 
 again. Do you know who this workman is? 
 Suppose he were a brother of that divine 
 wizard who had to use an ear-trumpet to hear 
 whether the piano was in time with the world- 
 harmonies with which his soul was filled — ^he 
 
328 The Face of the World 
 
 who, for all his poverty, could afford to fling 
 the Ninth Symphony out over the world. 
 
 Is there no consolation for you in" all this? 
 
 Harold lay still, his eyes closed and his 
 hands clasped beneath his head, his breathing 
 slow and deep, while great billows of gladness 
 rolled over him under Sister Alma's gentle 
 hands; and at last he turned and hid his face 
 in the pillow, his shoulders heaving with his 
 sobs. 
 
 THE END